Just Breathe

Day five of our houseboat trip started out like all the rest. Our alarm clock that week was the call of a loon and the sway of the boat in the water. A beautiful sunrise sparkled like diamonds on the lake and gave an outlook for yet another glorious day. Several kids woke up already in their swim suits, probably having never taken them off from the previous day, and the smell of brewing coffee and frying pancakes drifted from the kitchen. Suddenly, a strange chirping sound, somewhat like crickets came from the back room. It took me a second to realize it wasn’t actual crickets, but my cell phone ringtone. It was on and charging in the back room because I had been using it as a camera all week. How in the world was I getting a signal out here? Ella reached it first and yelled,

“Mom it’s the hospital calling!” That jerked me to attention immediately and I grabbed it from her. Running to the top of the houseboat as fast as I could in hopes of the best possible reception I quickly swiped to answer, praying I wouldn’t lose the call. Miraculously, I heard a voice quite clear. “Hi, I’m from the University of Minnesota Genetic Counseling clinic. Is this Carson and Ella Waterworth’s Mom?” I was out of breath from running up a flight of stairs. I told her yes and how surprised I was to receive her call.

“It’s possible I could lose you, as we’re on a houseboat near the Canadian border and my signal is really poor.” I said, winded. She told me she’d get right to the point then. With an almost automated tone of voice I was told that my daughter Ella did not have any CF mutations. She wasn’t even a carrier. “Thank you Jesus!” I thought to myself with relief. But with barely a break in her speech, the geneticist went on to say that Carson’s results came back with the same exact findings as his brother Anders. Meaning he also had Cystic Fibrosis. Her words were overwhelming and I wasn’t sure if I heard her correctly.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I stammered.

“You son Carson needs to be seen by one of our CF specialists as soon as possible for an evaluation. I didn’t say anything for a while. I was in shock.

“Mrs. Waterworth? Are you still there? Can I transfer you to our scheduling department?”

“No!” I wanted to shout. I wasn’t ready for this news. I didn’t want to be transferred to scheduling. And then, something brought my attention to the lake and I looked up. There, out on the beautiful sparkling water was my son Carson. He was in his happiest place on earth; fishing in a kayak. He had no idea his world was about to be turned upside down. His only concern at that moment was trying to hook into a small mouth bass. Suddenly, the hymn, “It is Well with my Soul” popped into my mind and a calming presence and peace filled me. I took a deep breath.

“Yes, I’m still here. Go ahead and transfer me please. Thank you.” Just when I needed it, that first beautiful nugget of truth I had tucked away for just such a time as this came flooding back.

“Even if it is not well with our circumstances, it can still be well with our soul.” I was on hold for only a few moments. Then, a kind man from the CF Care Center’s scheduling department set me up with an appointment which would take place two days after we returned from our trip. Once the call was finished, I lingered on the top deck alone for a little while, just breathing in the summer air. The hymn, It is Well with my Soul was still going through my head.

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul.

And then, I thought about Corrie and Betsie’s willingness to thank God in all circumstances. Could I do that too? Bowing my head, I made the attempt.

“Thank you God for all three of my children. Thank you for miraculously allowing cell phone coverage so that I could receive this call.” My last prayer was the hardest. It took me a moment to say it.

“And thank you that Anders is not alone in his CF journey.”