How Many Angels Can Dance on Pins and Needles?

People associate us who are theologians with asking irrelevant questions like “How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” Honestly, I have no idea what the ‘correct’ answer is. In fact, I’ve never asked that irrelevant question, though I may have asked similar ones.

That said, there was nothing irrelevant about the question I asked myself in preparing for a neurology visit today. It’s been more than a year since the incident—what happens if the neurologist shares disheartening news about my son Christopher’s traumatically injured brain?

I went into that morning meeting walking on pins and needles. Walking on pins and needles is hard enough. So, I can’t imagine what it would feel like to dance on them, especially since I’m no angel.

To my relief, the meeting was painless and uneventful. It was also encouraging in that it confirmed what we already know. No bad news is good news, as are no unwelcome surprises. Dr. Potter said it was a hopeful visit and that we keep hoping. It was an early birthday gift. Tomorrow I turn one year older.

Christopher was not very responsive this morning, and rather stiff of limb. Nonetheless, he was still present. Our medical consultant Dr. Potter joined the family for the appointment. After the visit with the neurologist, he went up close and looked into Christopher’s right eye. Christopher locked in on Dr. Potter and gazed long at him. Dr. Potter found this point of contact most encouraging.

The neurologist scheduled an EEG to make sure that none of the twitches we observe are the result of seizures. He also made recommendations and a referral for a specialist to ease Christopher’s evident pain that we have witnessed as of late. I will return to reflect upon my son’s pain shortly.

The neurologist also responded to Dr. Potter, who asked if he would concur with us that Christopher is in a minimally conscious, not persistent vegetative state. The neurologist spoke with confidence that Christopher is minimally conscious. He is the second neurologist to say as much. So, our first and second medical opinions align, which is a very good thing.

The neurologist also said that there is a greater possibility of meaningful recovery for someone who is Christopher’s age. He also noted that two years is the general rule of thumb for discerning the level of expected recovery. After two years, the likelihood of dramatic recovery decreases for a patient suffering from TBI. So, we have until next January to reach that possible marker. Even so, statistics deal with generalities, not individual cases.

Now to return to Christopher’s pain. Late last week, when I was bedside, Christopher’s right eye suddenly well up with tears. Simultaneously, he strained both arms and his face grew red with contortions. He was suffering horribly. It was so alarming that I called his mom. She drove over immediately in the effort to provide comfort. To my relief, Christopher settled down within a few minutes. Later, on Sunday, the nurse tending to Christopher could tell he was suffering. She asked him if he was in great pain. She instructed him to blink twice for “yes,” which he did. She waited and prompted him again. Christopher blinked twice once more. As a result, they did not put him in his wheelchair that day, but instead kept him in bed.

It is so hard to see my son suffer. And yet, Dr. Potter, who desires to maximize human flourishing and minimize human suffering, remarked that Christopher’s suffering is a sign that he is alive and conscious if he feels pain. Even if the pain feels like stabbing pins and needles, I can take comfort from the fact he is very much alive and sometimes even kicking.

As I said at the outset, I have no idea how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Nor do I have any idea how many angels tend to Christopher’s care. An “angel,” as I define it here, is someone whom God sends to minister to others. Dr. Potter and the two neurologists with whom we have met have been like angels to us. So was the nurse at the hospital, as well as the paramedics who transported Christopher to and from the appointment. So many nurses, respiratory therapists, certified nursing assistants, and an angelic host of prayer and holistic care warriors make up our heavenly chorus.

Thank you for your interest and care for my son. Thank God for so many angels who lift my spirit, lighten my step, and reduce the number of pins and needles.

To read the various posts related to our unfathomable journey this past year on life support with Christopher, please click here. Every blessing.