Perspective: A Reminder To Embrace Our Unique Paths In Life

Perspective. [per-spek-tiv] Webster's Dictionary defines it as "the state of existing in space before the eye," or "the state of one's ideas, the facts know to one in having a meaningful interrelationship." But in reality, perspective is how you soak in each and every second of each and every day.  

Last week, perspective hit my family right in the face. Actually, the throat to be exact. My youngest daughter, age 10, was diagnosed with Hashimoto's disease, which is an autoimmune disorder affecting the thyroid. While grateful that it explains her sudden fatigue and the remedy is swallowing a simple pill every day, it is never easy learning that your child has to do something to remain healthy for the remainder of her life. It is even harder when this is the third chronic illness (and second in less than one year) that has been thrown my family's way. My oldest son has cystic fibrosis. It is the leading chronic, progressive and fatal genetic disease in the United States. Sean was diagnosed just a few days before his second birthday. Then last August (at the age of 13), he was diagnosed again with cystic fibrosis related diabetes, a common complication of CF.  

Once again, it seemed as though our genes were not in our favor. And this must have been going through Allison's mind while I explained her new diagnosis to her. Because when I finished, Allison slumped down in her chair, cradled her head in her hands and said, "Oh. I feel just like Sean." And, at first, my instinct was to give her perspective. Allison will have to only take one pill. Sean takes an entire pharmacy of medications, including two to three nebulized drugs, a shot of insulin, special vitamins, antacids and as many as 25-30 digestive enzymes every day. Allison has yet to see the inside of a hospital room as a patient and most likely will never as a result of her disease. Sean has been admitted eight times and knows that many more days, weeks and even months lie ahead for him. Allison's disorder will not have any major impact on her life beyond the two seconds that she needs to swallow her pill. Currently the median life expectancy for a person living with CF is only 37. In more ways than one, Allison's Hashimoto's Disorder does not hold a candle to Sean' cystic fibrosis. Comparing the two is like comparing apples to oranges.  

And, yet before I could open my mouth to explain all of this to Allison, I reconsidered. Instead I leaned over my defeated-looking daughter, wrapped my arms around her and whispered, "I know." Who was I to compare one person's journey to another? While Sean's disease is definitely more comprehensive, time-consuming, and dangerous, it is not any more life-changing. No one wants to hear that something in our world has changed. It doesn't matter if means starting a new school, chaning jobs, moving to a new city, taking a new medication or even adjusting to a bad medical prognosis. Life is hard. And we don't need to make it harder by comparing our lot to someone else. It doesn't do us any good to look backwards and pinpoint the exact time and place something started to unravel. Nor does it serve us to glace over to the person next to us and see how or what they are doing. We all have our hardships. The just manifest differently. 

And I think that is one of the biggest lessons I have learned from living with a chronic illness. I am often asked how we handle living with CF. The answer is simple. We have to. We don't have a choice but to fight cystic fibrosis with all our might. The alternative is unthinkable. But the important thing to remember is that everyone would do the same if the tables are turned. It just looks harder, braver, longer and more difficult from someone else's point of view. And it is probably what gave me the wisdom to hug my daughter - perhaps when she needed it the most. Once again it is all about perspective. 

The day after Allison was officially diagnosed, I was talking to a friend. She was recently put in the position in which she not only had to start a brand new chapter in her life; she had to start an entire new book. New home, new job, new family life. New everything. She told me that she never would have thought that she could pick herself up and start all over. But she did. More importantly, her daughter noticed. One night during dinner she looked up and said, "Mom, you used to always be involved in charities and helping others. But now you seem to do even more. You are helping others when you actually could use some help yourself." She then asked her mom "Why?" To that, my friend simply answered, "Because I know what it is like to loose something." Perspective.  

One of my favorite authors is Robert Fulghum. He is known world wide for his famous essay on looking at life through the eyes of a kindergartner. He reminds us that life would be better if we reverted back to the perspective of playing in the sandbox. His final lesson is a reminder to look around: "Remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned — the biggest word of all — LOOK."  However, some of his most though provoking words come from one of the final chapters in his lesser known book, It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It. In this essay he gives his "credits," similar to what you find at the beginning of books or at the end of a movie. He acknowledges that there are some things in life that make all things possible. In true Fulghum style, they are not the obvious people in his life. Instead they are the periphery things that make special "guest" appearances, yet give him unique perspective. My favorite credit is the first item on his list in which he gives thanks to "the large man in the red dump truck - for the mercy of not blowing his horn at me while I sat daydreaming through a green light."

I don't think a single day goes by that I don't try to listen to those wise words. In so doing, I try not to "honk" at other people's mistakes. I try to assume that the person in front of me missed the green light because she is thinking about a sick friend or worrying about making her next mortgage payment. Not because she was texting or playing on Facebook on her phone. It also means that I try not to get upset when someone cuts me off or passes me when I am going the speed limit. Again I try to focus on putting myself in his shoes. I imagine that he is late to pick up his child from school or his passenger desperately needs to get to the hospital. It doesn't mean that I am perfect. But I try my best.

For the longest time, I had a quote hanging in our laundry room that says "Assume the best. It makes everything easier." I still repeat those words to my children at least several times a week. On more difficult days, I sometimes repeat it mantra-style several times within an hour. It doesn't matter if we are discussing who gets to watch TV, whose turn it is to feed the dog or even whose life is most "unfair" at any given moment. The important thing is not what you are doing. But how you are doing it. As Robert Fulghum concludes in his famous essay, "It is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out in the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together." Life isn't a contest. It doesn't matter who has more or who is worse off. What matters the most is moving forward in the best way we know how. Look around. Be kind to others. And no matter where the road takes you, always keep your perspective.