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Overcoming Obstacles
Photo: Dan Gottlieb

Everyday Heaven


I knew there was no cure for my paralysis. Nor was there any hope for my
baldness. But this was an infectious-disease doctor on the other end of
the line, and he was calling me about my urinary tract infection. We had always cured them in the past, and even though this one seemed much more difficult than the others, I assumed we would resolve this one too.

So I was pretty shaken when he said: "I don't think we can cure this
one, Dan."

Urinary tract infections are an inevitable side effect of spinal cord
injury because the bladder is paralyzed. Ordinarily, I get a few a
year, and after a couple of weeks of antibiotics, I'm OK.

But this one has lasted a full year. I even told friends I was going to
take my infection out to dinner to celebrate our first anniversary!
That moment on the phone, with tears in my eyes, that joke didn't seem
so funny.

After some research, I found out this is not an imminent death sentence.
It does mean I will have to take these antibiotics for the rest of my
life or else I could get quite ill. And of course long-term use of
antibiotics is rarely good news for one's body.

Nevertheless, that phone call represented a new chapter in my life to
me. One I was in no rush to begin.

I do believe in coincidences. And I had a quite fortunate one when my
friend Amy came over to visit just two days before that phone call. At
one point, she asked if I believed in heaven. Without giving it any
thought, I said: "Yes. You're in it right now."

I saw the dazed and confused look on her face that I often see when I
make proclamations, so I went on: "What were the chances of that sperm
fertilizing that egg and producing your life? And what were the chances
that you would have lived all the years you have lived in relative good
health? And what were the odds that you would have so many people in
your life that you love and who care about you? And what were the
possibilities that you could look outside of almost any window and see
the beauty of nature? Heaven? You bet."

Of course, it's not the perfect one we read about in mythology or that
many believe in. There is great pain and suffering and loss in this
particular heaven. But deep inside, most know it's precious. That is
why we clutch this life so tightly. That's why we have so much anxiety,
even anger, when something threatens us or our loved ones.

I had the good fortune to visit the Grand Canyon last month. I'm not a
good enough writer to describe the magnificent vistas. Suffice to say
that when most people see it for the first time, they are moved to
tears. Not from sadness. But from awe.

At the end of the day, several hundred people gathered to watch the sun
dip slowly behind the canyon. Everyone sat in silence as nature did
what it does. And in the moment the sun closed the day, everyone
applauded. More awe.

And then I thought: But the sun sets every day, everywhere. And it is no
less magnificent wherever it sets. The only difference is the attitude
we all had as we watched.

In the Grand Canyon, we felt awe. At home, we don't even notice. Heaven?
Absolutely. It just takes some careful noticing to realize we are there.

I made a joke about taking my urinary tract infection out for an
anniversary dinner even though I've been trying to kill it all year.
With my most recent news, I am hoping we have many more anniversary
dinners together.

What changed as a result of the phone call? The call got me thinking
more about sunsets. It seems that if we spend the day aware of the
gifts of our lives, we are much more likely to notice the beauty of the
sunset.



This piece first ran September 4, 2006 in the Philadelphia Inquirer. Dan Gottlieb is the author of "Letters to Sam". His website is www.DrDanGottlieb.com.








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