June 2013: During my week long stay in the hospital for Lyme disease and Ehrlichiosis, our son Anders was supposed to have more tests done down at Children’s Hospital. This was to rule out some puzzling results from a sweat test, which was the standard way of diagnosing Cystic Fibrosis. As I lay in bed, I worried about him. I wanted to be the one to take him. But once again, things were out of my control.
The day I was released from the hospital felt like a glorious taste of freedom! However I was shocked at how little energy I had. My mother-in-law helped me get settled and then I was alone. And that’s when I received the dreaded phone call from the lab at Children's Hospital... “Mrs. Waterworth, your son’s sweat test numbers are telling us it’s very likely he has Cystic Fibrosis. We’d like you to make an appointment with our genetics office…” After those words I don’t really remember what else was said. I jotted a few things down. I was weak and shaking, not only from my own recovery with disease, but because my worst nightmare was coming true. I knew what this meant. When Anders was told to have this particular test done I did my research.
Cystic Fibrosis was a genetic, life threatening illness with no cure. And the average life expectancy was 37. I hung up the phone and just started sobbing. I could handle an illness if it was mine. But this was different. This was my baby. It was my job to protect him and make sure he stayed healthy. With this news, I didn’t know if I could. I was home alone and all I wanted was someone to wrap their arms around me and tell me it was just a bad dream. I felt like I got punched in the gut. I cried like a child as I sat alone at the kitchen table, sobbing so hard I struggled to catch my breath.
But God saw me. I wasn't alone. He knew my pain. After all, His son suffered too...and died. God understood how I felt. Psalm 34:18 “If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there; if you’re kicked in the gut He’ll help you catch your breath.”