In the preface to one of his most important books – An Anthropologist on Mars – the great Oliver Sacks writes:

Defects, disorders, diseases […] can play a paradoxical role, by bringing out latent powers, developments, evolutions, forms of life, that might never be seen, or even be imaginable, in their absence. It is the paradox of disease, in this sense, its ‘creative’ potential, that forms the central theme of this book.

Thus while one may be horrified by the ravages of developmental disorder or disease, one may sometimes see them as creative too – for if they destroy particular paths, particular ways of doing things, they may force the nervous system into making other paths and ways, force on it an unexpected growth and evolution. This other side of development or disease is something I see, potentially, in almost every patient; and it is this, here, which I am especially concerned to describe.

It is in these words – among the deepest and wisest that can be said on the theme of “illness as a path” – that I find the proper leitmotif with which to conclude. For to the same degree that they serve as guideposts for individuals, they can and should also serve as orientation, solace, and support for those fragile yet vital systems that shape our lives: the family.

Autism, at least at this stage in the progress of science and medicine, appears to be a lifelong diagnosis – and so it inevitably becomes a vast challenge that every family “chosen for a visit” must face. The hardships and bitter cups it brings are legion. But just as numerous are the solutions, and the wholly unexpected opportunities, it can open.

The story I have told is both typical and singular. It is marked by no single dominant theme; it is neither the chronicle of a family’s collapse nor a triumphant hymn of “victory.” I see in it only an example of something that – strange as it may sound – feels normal. Just normal, and nothing more. We are not the happiest family in the world. But the simple fact that, after everything we have been through – even though we no longer live together – we still see ourselves as a family, still share the sorrows, joys, lows, and celebrations that life inevitably brings, is enough for me to face the future with hope. There is nothing static in this; it remains the same daily, hourly, perhaps even minute-by-minute struggle for normalcy. But we are used to it now, and have long since accepted it as simply part of the path.

That, I think, is all I can offer you at this moment in my life.

Sincerely,
Zlatko Enev

Zlatko Enev is a Bulgarian writer and publisher of the webzine Liberal Review. He has published seven books in Bulgaria (the children’s trilogy Firecurl, 2001-2005), the novels One Week in Paradise (2004) and Requiem for Nobody (2011), the collection of essays The Heat as the Embodiment of the Bulgarian (2010) and the autobiographical novel Praise of Hans Asperger (2020). His children’s books have been translated into several languages, including Chinese. He has lived in Berlin since 1990.