At RDV Sportsplex Pediatrics, we believe that educating families is an essential part of keeping children safe and healthy. From time to time, parents choose to share their own experiences with serious medical incidents in hopes of helping others avoid preventable injuries. The following stories are shared with the patient’s permission and reflect the parent’s personal account of events. We provide this space as a community resource to raise awareness about potential hazards found in everyday consumer products.
Disclaimer:
The experiences described in these testimonials are individual accounts written by the families involved. RDV Sportsplex Pediatrics does not endorse or criticize any specific consumer product or manufacturer.
The information on this page is not medical advice, does not replace professional evaluation, and should not be used to diagnose or treat any condition.
If you believe your child may have ingested a foreign object—including a button battery--
call 911 or go to the nearest emergency room immediately.
Why We Are Sharing This Testimony
Button battery ingestion is a well-documented medical emergency that can cause life-threatening injuries within minutes. This parent chose to share her experience to raise awareness about the speed and severity of this type of accident.
We are grateful for her willingness to help educate other families. We have lightly formatted the story for readability, but the events and wording come directly from the family’s written account.
Patient Testimonial: Charlotte’s Button Battery Accident
(Presented with permission from the family)
On May 19, 2023, at around 10:00 a.m., I was sitting at the kitchen table registering my older children for summer camp. My laptop was open, and I was focusing on filling out the forms. Beside me, my car keys were resting on the table, attached to my membership key card that was needed for the registrations. Charlotte, just 18 months old, was playing nearby, and I was so absorbed in what I was doing that I didn’t even think twice when she grabbed my keys.
It was only a few moments later when I heard the sound of keys hitting the ground. I looked over just as the key fob had broken open. Panic immediately surged through me as I scrambled to gather the pieces. I knew what was inside that fob—a tiny button battery—and I instantly feared the worst.
Ten minutes later, my heart sank. Charlotte suddenly started vomiting, something so unusual and alarming that I knew something was terribly wrong. My gut told me that this had to do with the key fob. I’ve always known how dangerous button batteries can be, and I feared she might have swallowed one. I grabbed my phone and called my husband, asking him to check the spare key to see how many batteries it contained. When he told me there were two, I was flooded with dread. One of those batteries was missing, and I feared it was in my little girl’s stomach.
I didn’t hesitate for a second. I scooped Charlotte up, rushed to the neighbor’s house with my older kids, and thankfully, they were kind enough to watch them for me and let me borrow their car since mine was now useless without the key. I drove as fast as I could, hoping—praying—that we’d get to the hospital in time.
I arrived at AdventHealth Apopka Emergency Room within 30 minutes. The X-ray confirmed my worst fear: Charlotte had ingested a button battery. But that was only the beginning of a long, terrifying journey. The emergency room staff quickly informed me that they didn’t have the resources to treat Charlotte adequately, and an ambulance was on the way to transport us to AdventHealth Children’s Hospital in Orlando.
When we finally arrived, I felt a strange mixture of relief and terror. They took Charlotte straight back to start the procedure to remove the battery, and the doctors told me it would only take about 30 minutes. But after what felt like hours, they came to speak with me. The procedure had been much more complicated than they anticipated. The battery had become lodged in Charlotte’s esophagus, causing significant damage. They'd managed to remove it, but she would need to stay in the hospital to recover.
My heart broke as I followed the doctors to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU). They had sedated Charlotte, intubated her, and placed a feeding tube. Critical airway signs were posted above her bed, and I could barely hold it together. That image—of my sweet little girl in that sterile, cold room—will forever be burned into my memory.
Over the next day, Charlotte drifted in and out of consciousness. The doctors gave her additional medication to keep her still and sedated, hoping to prevent her from moving too much or causing any further harm to herself. I stayed by her side, feeling helpless as I watched her go through it all. The days that followed were a blur, and I barely recognized the little girl I knew.
On May 23, 2023, they removed the breathing tube, and I finally saw her eyes open. It was the first time in days, and it felt like a miracle, though she was still groggy and disoriented.
She stayed in and out of sleep for the next few days, battling withdrawal symptoms from all the medications they’d given her. It wasn’t until May 26, 2023, at 9:00 p.m., that Charlotte spoke her first word since the whole ordeal began. Hearing her voice again felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders.
On May 28, Charlotte underwent a swallow study to check for any leaks or damage from the injuries. It was the first time in nine days that she’d been able to eat solid food. I watched her eat, and though it was a small thing, it felt like such a huge victory. But her body was still fragile. She couldn’t sit up, walk, or even crawl—her strength had diminished drastically. But on May 29, she surprised us all. With some assistance, Charlotte sat up for the first time to play with bubbles. It was a small victory, but to me, it felt like a huge milestone.
Finally, after 12 long days in the hospital, we were discharged on May 31, 2023. As I walked out of those hospital doors, I felt a mix of exhaustion, relief, and gratitude. But we still had a long road ahead. Charlotte went home with an NG tube, and I knew our lives weren’t going to return to normal just yet. She had a long recovery ahead of her—physical therapy, speech therapy, and occupational therapy to help her regain strength and skills that she had lost. The trauma of that experience had set her back by about 18 months developmentally.
But Charlotte is a fighter. On June 1, 2023, she sat up on her own for the first time since the hospital, and by June 4, she took her first steps. The doctors decided to perform a procedure to dilate her esophagus on June 16, 2023, and after that, on Father’s Day, June 18, 2023, we received the incredible news that her NG tube was finally able to be removed.
Though we still had to be cautious, I felt like we were finally beginning to move forward. Charlotte’s recovery wasn’t easy, but I never doubted her strength. I’m so proud of how far she’s come. She is the epitome of a survivor, and every day she continues to overcome the challenges this incident set in her path.
I now share our story to raise awareness about the dangers of button batteries. They are everywhere—car keys, children’s toys, sound books, light-up cups, and countless other things we don’t even think twice about. I want other parents to understand just how quickly things can go wrong. Button batteries may seem small and harmless, but they can be deadly if ingested. Please, be aware of the risks and always keep these dangerous little batteries out of reach. The trauma our family endured could have been avoided, and I hope our experience helps prevent something similar from happening to someone else.
It was only a few moments later when I heard the sound of keys hitting the ground. I looked over just as the key fob had broken open. Panic immediately surged through me as I scrambled to gather the pieces. I knew what was inside that fob—a tiny button battery—and I instantly feared the worst.
Ten minutes later, my heart sank. Charlotte suddenly started vomiting, something so unusual and alarming that I knew something was terribly wrong. My gut told me that this had to do with the key fob. I’ve always known how dangerous button batteries can be, and I feared she might have swallowed one. I grabbed my phone and called my husband, asking him to check the spare key to see how many batteries it contained. When he told me there were two, I was flooded with dread. One of those batteries was missing, and I feared it was in my little girl’s stomach.
I didn’t hesitate for a second. I scooped Charlotte up, rushed to the neighbor’s house with my older kids, and thankfully, they were kind enough to watch them for me and let me borrow their car since mine was now useless without the key. I drove as fast as I could, hoping—praying—that we’d get to the hospital in time.
I arrived at AdventHealth Apopka Emergency Room within 30 minutes. The X-ray confirmed my worst fear: Charlotte had ingested a button battery. But that was only the beginning of a long, terrifying journey. The emergency room staff quickly informed me that they didn’t have the resources to treat Charlotte adequately, and an ambulance was on the way to transport us to AdventHealth Children’s Hospital in Orlando.
When we finally arrived, I felt a strange mixture of relief and terror. They took Charlotte straight back to start the procedure to remove the battery, and the doctors told me it would only take about 30 minutes. But after what felt like hours, they came to speak with me. The procedure had been much more complicated than they anticipated. The battery had become lodged in Charlotte’s esophagus, causing significant damage. They'd managed to remove it, but she would need to stay in the hospital to recover.
My heart broke as I followed the doctors to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU). They had sedated Charlotte, intubated her, and placed a feeding tube. Critical airway signs were posted above her bed, and I could barely hold it together. That image—of my sweet little girl in that sterile, cold room—will forever be burned into my memory.
Over the next day, Charlotte drifted in and out of consciousness. The doctors gave her additional medication to keep her still and sedated, hoping to prevent her from moving too much or causing any further harm to herself. I stayed by her side, feeling helpless as I watched her go through it all. The days that followed were a blur, and I barely recognized the little girl I knew.
On May 23, 2023, they removed the breathing tube, and I finally saw her eyes open. It was the first time in days, and it felt like a miracle, though she was still groggy and disoriented.
She stayed in and out of sleep for the next few days, battling withdrawal symptoms from all the medications they’d given her. It wasn’t until May 26, 2023, at 9:00 p.m., that Charlotte spoke her first word since the whole ordeal began. Hearing her voice again felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders.
On May 28, Charlotte underwent a swallow study to check for any leaks or damage from the injuries. It was the first time in nine days that she’d been able to eat solid food. I watched her eat, and though it was a small thing, it felt like such a huge victory. But her body was still fragile. She couldn’t sit up, walk, or even crawl—her strength had diminished drastically. But on May 29, she surprised us all. With some assistance, Charlotte sat up for the first time to play with bubbles. It was a small victory, but to me, it felt like a huge milestone.
Finally, after 12 long days in the hospital, we were discharged on May 31, 2023. As I walked out of those hospital doors, I felt a mix of exhaustion, relief, and gratitude. But we still had a long road ahead. Charlotte went home with an NG tube, and I knew our lives weren’t going to return to normal just yet. She had a long recovery ahead of her—physical therapy, speech therapy, and occupational therapy to help her regain strength and skills that she had lost. The trauma of that experience had set her back by about 18 months developmentally.
But Charlotte is a fighter. On June 1, 2023, she sat up on her own for the first time since the hospital, and by June 4, she took her first steps. The doctors decided to perform a procedure to dilate her esophagus on June 16, 2023, and after that, on Father’s Day, June 18, 2023, we received the incredible news that her NG tube was finally able to be removed.
Though we still had to be cautious, I felt like we were finally beginning to move forward. Charlotte’s recovery wasn’t easy, but I never doubted her strength. I’m so proud of how far she’s come. She is the epitome of a survivor, and every day she continues to overcome the challenges this incident set in her path.
I now share our story to raise awareness about the dangers of button batteries. They are everywhere—car keys, children’s toys, sound books, light-up cups, and countless other things we don’t even think twice about. I want other parents to understand just how quickly things can go wrong. Button batteries may seem small and harmless, but they can be deadly if ingested. Please, be aware of the risks and always keep these dangerous little batteries out of reach. The trauma our family endured could have been avoided, and I hope our experience helps prevent something similar from happening to someone else.