Blog #4: Relativity and Empathy

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We have a small putting green in our front yard.  Last night, I walked outside to go on my training run to the sight of Emilia swinging a kid-sized hockey stick at a golf ball.  She swung about as hard as a kid her age could and whacked the ball nicely across the green…what I would have said was a great shot.  She instantly started stomping up and down and whining.  Dave and I both went to comfort her and ask her what was wrong, to which she yelled, “I MISSED THE HOLE!”  We couldn’t help but laugh.  This was behavior we see often from her perfectionist brothers, but from Emilia, shouldn’t a nice shot just be enough?  As will hopefully be apparent soon, this entry is on relativity and with any luck, will provide you with a bit of comic relief. 

Yesterday I had to take the boys to eye appointments.  Isaac had gotten a letter from their school suggesting we get his eyes checked because he failed their screening.  Ethan was due for a follow-up appointment from a year ago because he always complains about his eyes and does have some minor problems that the doctor wants to monitor each year.  I could not have even imagined the outcome. 

Isaac has one eye that essentially is not working at all and one near perfect eye; the two so dramatically different that even the doctor was shocked.  Ethan’s eyes were about the same as a year ago.  Strangely, both of the boys were nearly hysterical as we tried to pick out some glasses for Isaac; Ethan, because he wants glasses sooo bad and Isaac, because he doesn’t want anything to do with them.  Both were crying at one point and I was trying to console each without making the other feel worse.  It was a touchy discussion that at one point included me whispering to Isaac all the reasons glasses weren’t that bad and then whispering to Ethan why it would be terrible to have glasses.

There inevitably came a point that I was just annoyed and wanted to say to both of them, “Are you kidding me, do you have any idea how minor this is compared to what your sister goes through?”  But luckily I was reminded of an article I read in the paper a few years back.  It was about a young girl that was dying and was on her way to the Ryan House with her family.  The father told a story about how the young girl’s brother fought with her about riding in the spot that she had wanted to ride in in the car.  Obviously the father was incredibly frustrated with his young son and probably wanted to smack him and say, “Don’t you get it, this may be her last ride in this car, etc.”  But instead, in the article he went on to explain just how wrong that would be.  If I remember correctly, he described how everybody’s problems, issues, burdens, etc are real to them and he didn’t feel like it would be fair to minimize the small frustration his healthy son was experiencing. 

Relativity is real J which makes it impossible to judge how limited some people’s capacity for pain, discomfort, sadness, injustice might be while others seem to have such a large capacity yet endure much suffering.  Healthy siblings of chronically ill children may feel their pains are as burdensome and life-altering as someone that the rest of us may look at and say, “Wow, nothing that I suffer from can compare?”  The point being, their pain, their sadness is theirs and feels very real to them, and we have to balance comfort with that feeling of wanting to give them a good swift kick in the rear that sometimes bubbles up in us.

In all fairness to the boys they have been incredibly empathetic at times.  I recall that about a year ago while Dave was out of town for business, Emilia’s G-tube began leaking profusely.  It had to be changed out immediately.  At the time, Emilia had been going through one of her throw-up/diarrhea week-long episodes so I knew she was very nearly dehydrated.  I could do it but I would need a trusted person to hold her arms back while I did it.  After running around in a slightly rattled mode for an hour, plus a panicked, unsuccessful trip to Walgreens with all of the kids very late at night to acquire some sterile water, I think the boys were innately aware that I was going to need their help.

Once I had everything set up, I explained to the boys what I needed to do…describing in detail how the G-tube would come out, I’d put a new one in, blow up the balloon in her stomach, etc, etc.  I would need her restrained for 2 mins, and for them it meant I would need them to hold her arms back over her head no matter how hard she tried to jerk them away.  Ethan, who is always a little more concerned about Emilia’s well-being said, “I can’t do it, I won’t do it” and walked away very nervously.  After about a minute, Isaac said “I can do it Mom, I can do it.  Let’s do it.”  Mind you, he was 5 years old at the time.  He was so determined, and even Ethan eventually came over to serve as a cheerleader while Isaac, with his most serious game-face held Emilia’s arms down while she screamed.  We did it.  I think all of us were a bit shaken afterwards and a bit teary-eyed.  They are good kids and I know I need to be more empathetic to their needs, no matter how silly they may seem sometimes.

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