by: Sterlyn Jones
December 23, 2007, my day started like so many others in our busy household. My oldest son, who had just turned one, was toddling around with that innocent curiosity that makes you smile even when you’re exhausted. My three-year-old daughter was a whirlwind of energy, bringing laughter to every corner of the house. In my arms was my youngest son, only four days old, sleeping peacefully. My husband sat beside me on the couch, marveling at our newest edition.
I was physically drained, still recovering from childbirth and running on fumes, but my heart was full. Life felt hectic, chaotic even—but it was also beautiful and full of promise.
And then, in a single instant, everything changed.
Our one-year-old waddled into the living room, and I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. Something wasn’t right. He suddenly froze, his tiny body stiffening as his face changed to a horrifying shade. My husband noticed it too—his complexion shifting, his eyes crossing. “Call his name!” he said, his voice tense.
I did, but there was no response.
My heart started pounding as I realized the unthinkable was happening. Something was lodged in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe.
My newborn was still sleeping nearby, blissfully unaware of the chaos erupting in our home. My daughter was playing in another room, unaware of what was unfolding. The air felt heavy, the kind of heavy that crushes your chest and makes you want to freeze. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Instinct took over. I scooped up my son, carefully positioned him over my knee, and began performing back blows, the motions coming back to me like a distant memory from a CPR lesson I’d learned in high school. When that didn’t work, I switched to abdominal thrusts, praying with every motion.
Finally, he gasped. His little body relaxed, and relief washed over me. I held him close, my heart still racing as I whispered words of comfort I’m not even sure he understood.
But we weren’t out of the woods yet.
My husband, trained in CPR and medical procedures because of his profession, quickly examined him. He couldn’t find anything dislodged in his throat. That’s when he realized the object had been swallowed—and there was no telling what damage it could cause inside his tiny body.
Without hesitation, he scooped up our son and rushed to the emergency room. I stayed behind with our other children, trying to keep calm while fighting the urge to panic.
When he returned home hours later, I could see the relief on his face, but there was something else—something almost incredulous. He held up an x-ray in one hand and what looked like a manila envelope in the other.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said, setting the x-ray down on the kitchen table. He pointed to the image of a small, white, circular object, lodged in our son’s stomach. “Meet the world’s most expensive dime.”
I stared at the x-ray, then at him, then back at the x-ray. “A dime? Are you kidding me?” I asked, half-laughing and half-incredulous.
He handed me the dime, now retrieved, along with the hospital bill: $989.
I held it up, shaking my head. “A ten-cent piece… almost turned our lives upside down.”
“And it cost us $989 to fix,” my husband said with a chuckle.
We laughed, not because it wasn’t serious, but because sometimes laughter is the only thing that keeps you from falling apart.
As the laughter died down, my husband leaned back in his chair, a more serious look on his face. “You know,” he said, holding up the x-ray, “if you think education is expensive, try ignorance.”
That phrase stuck with me. He was right. His training as a dentist required him to know CPR—but what if we hadn’t known what to do? What if I hadn’t remembered that high school lesson? The “what-ifs” haunted me.
Looking at him, I said, “It doesn’t matter what you do for a living. If you’re around people, you’re around life. And if you’re around life, you need to know how to save one.”
That moment became a turning point for me.
The experience with our son didn’t just leave me shaken—it left me determined. I realized how important it was to know what to do in emergencies, and even more, I felt a responsibility to help others be prepared.
In 2019, I founded Sterling First Aid CPR to teach parents, caregivers, students, and community members life-saving skills. I expanded my mission to include free training in public schools and underserved communities in the U.S. and even the Caribbean and Africa.
My goal is simple: to make CPR and first aid education accessible to everyone because emergencies don’t discriminate.
That dime? I carry it with me in a frame to every school speaking event and training. A reminder of the day our lives were forever changed—and the day my mission began.
I like to tell people, “If you’re around life, you should know how to save one.” It’s not just a lesson from our family’s story; it’s a call to action.
Life’s emergencies don’t come with warnings, but with preparation, they can have happy endings. Learn CPR, take a class, and be ready for the unexpected—because who knows?
One day, you might have your own ten-cent story to tell.
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