A Fish Called Tippy

About 10 years ago, I bought a goldfish from the local pet store. I picked her because she had a beautiful long tail and she seemed to be content...well, as content as you can be for a goldfish at the pet store! When I brought her home, I noticed she had a funny little habit of tipping over whenever she stopped swimming. Most times, she was upright and fine. But when she stopped swimming she would tip over on her nose. I thought it was cute and decided to name her Tippy.

One day I was either reading something about fish or watching a program about fish and it mentioned that when fish have a swim bladder infection (the swim bladder is what helps a fish keep their balance in the water) they lose their sense of balance and will either turn completely upside down or tip over. Which would be similar to when a person has vertigo or an inner-ear infection. I was mortified. At that moment I realized that my fish wasn't being cute, she was sick. And I felt so horrible that I'd named her something based on her illness. Immediately I rushed to the pet store to buy medicine for my poor fish. After a few drops and a few days, Tippy didn't tip over anymore.

Recently, I've discovered a kind of swim bladder infection of my own. I'd thought some of my patterns, behaviors, tendencies and habits were just part of my personality and quirks. But when I really looked at the issue and identified the root of the problem, I had the same heart-wrenching realization I'd experienced with Tippy. It's a sobering thing to look at yourself with new eyes. When you recognize that the perception you had of yourself was based on misreading the signs, and that you viewed your history through eyes that couldn't see clearly, it can make you a little off-balance.

Some of you may have heard of Jenny McCarthy's experience with her autistic son, Austin. She'd talked about the first time the doctor revealed to her that her son's habits and tendencies were actually displays of autism. When she heard that, she said she suddenly couldn't see her little boy anymore. All she saw was the autism. The little things she thought were cute- how he would repeat things, how he lined up his toys, and other habits, were suddenly scary to her. I can relate to that. Not to say that I know the pain and confusion of realizing a child has an illness and feeling helpless to do anything about it. But I know the pain and confusion of feeling helpless and trying to understand who you now are in spite of something that's not quite right.

Seeing the horror in Jenny's eyes, the doctor grabbed her by the hands, made her look him in the eyes and firmly told her- he's still your son. After Tippy got better, she was still Tippy- my goldfish with the long beautiful tail. Venita, you are still Venita. And just now my wonderful husband walked in to tell me he will help me work through this and that he loves me. I hope I can see again who he sees.