I love driving along the Columbia River Plateau. The way the rock formations shoot up straight and flatten out far above their base are so majestic. However, I am not so keen on plateaus in my spiritual walk or when “plateau” is used in medical settings. My grown son Christopher has reached a “plateau” in his recovery process from his traumatic brain injury. According to therapists, he is not advancing or retreating. He is stable, though, and has advanced to a certain stage of recovery (as discussed in prior posts), for which we are grateful.
A trusted physician, who has served as an ethics consultant to us ever since Christopher endured the traumatic brain injury, wrote the following summary of the matter. The therapists
… describe Christopher as having reached a stage of not advancing in his recovery. This means only that they will not be doing heavy daily therapy for a while. It does not mean that he will not improve. It only means that we are watching for signs of the next stage of improvement. There will be frequently speech and physical therapy by skilled nurses rather than the therapists. Observations will be constantly made and when Christopher shows any sign of improving, the skilled therapists will start up immediately. This is the approach they take with all patients when they come to these plateaus of recovery.
I need to take all such matters in stride. After all, the news is not devastating or earth-shattering. Like the word “plateau,” which is derived from the Latin and means “flat,” implying a level plane, Christopher is on a level plane and stable.
So, I will try to be level-headed and remain stable in my actions. To this end, we will be receiving training to assist with rehabilitation exercises. I already assist Christopher by doing passive range of motion exercises when I visit. I look forward to gaining greater understanding and skill to do whatever I can to support my son’s recovery process. Christopher may plateau from time to time in his recovery. Still, I cannot afford to sit back and coast in terms of assisting him and the medical staff.
The same is true of my personal and spiritual journey: I cannot afford to sit back and coast in my wilderness wanderings. In fact, the spiritual and medical domains are connected. I do not separate the biological, physiological, psychological, and spiritual dimensions of life. They are intertwined. So, I am seeking to discern how to advance, even when I endure spiritual plateaus in the midst of my family’s relentless struggle involving my son’s traumatic trial. People’s prayers, meditations, caring thoughts, and sacrificial actions are my spiritual equivalent for physical therapists’ range of motion exercises and respiratory therapists’ suctioning of Christopher. My wide range of spiriual caregivers assist me when I plateau.
As with Christopher’s neurological situation, it might appear to be the case that I am not advancing personally or spiritually presently. Today is a perfect case in point. This morning, I really felt as if I had come to the end of myself. Pastor Tom Schiave indicated that he has never witnessed an ordeal that involves so many complexities, so much upheaval, and rugged and treacherous terrain. I told him just this morning that I didn’t think I could bear it much longer. I wasn’t on a plateau. Rather, I felt as if I was falling into a deep crevice. Pastor Tom listened empathically, prayed, and provided invaluable counsel on how to climb this spiritual and emotional mountain. Soon after our call, a few people reached out quite unexpectedly to provide encouragement and notes of prayer over email. Also, a difficult matter pertaining to the relentless crisis was soon resolved. I was able to look up and experience a panoramic view of life again. But how long will the experience last?
One step forward. Two steps back. Three steps forward. Plateau. Take a deep breath. Drink some water. Hum or whistle a tune. At least, I’m standing on level ground.
Christopher may be on a plateau to which he has neurologically climbed. But that doesn’t mean he’s standing still deep down inside his brain. He may be taking a deep neurological breath to take a giant step forward. Until then, he appears to be humming along—quite literally. A caregiver wrote in his log that Christopher made a humming sound for approximately a minute the other day. According to my wife, Mariko, our son made other such sounds last night. She thinks Christopher isn’t humming, but trying to say something to caregivers.
Keep humming along, Christopher. Keep trying to communicate. No matter how much time you need, know that we will be ready and waiting and doing whatever we can to listen, interpret, and help get you to the next stage of therapy in the recovery process. Maybe, just maybe, I can look at your plateaus as well as my own against the panoramic perspective of how far you and I have come to this point in our journey as father and son.
While I wish every day could be a mountain top experience, spirituality like nature includes such diverse and manifold terrain. I will keep on the lookout for signs of improvement, even while doing everything possible to prepare Christopher and myself for the next advance in the journey.
For updates on Christopher, please wander over to this link to what I hope is a level-headed site in honor of my son.
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