Betty Whitaker Jackson

To say the least, this has been a month of contradictions for me, and it’s only the tenth of the month!

I suppose I should not be “surprised,” for we are in the midst of a highly-contested election season, complete with the name calling, the misrepresentations, and the questionable claims of both national office seekers, and commentators who elevate the controversies. This has, I suppose been a historic season, with two flawed candidates and unprecedented occurrences—on the one hand, a candidate who was untested and registered not one vote in the primary selection process, the other facing multiple attempts to put him in jail and penalize him for supposed crimes. Add two assassination attempts, and the world is wondering what on earth is happening to the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Then we see devastation of multi-front wars and destruction, and now an unprecedented hurricane season, and we’re all asking the question, “What else could possibly go wrong?”

In my personal experiences of the last ten days, let me tell you my story. As I write about it all, I can’t believe it’s not fiction, but I assure you, Reader, it is all true, if unbelievable.

For the last six months I have been attempting to relocate my “baby” sister, Dottie to an assisted living facility here in Florida. For almost a year, she has been confined to a facility in upstate New York, recovering from disabilities following heart surgery last November. Because our other sister lives in West Virginia, and I reside in Florida, and because the insufficient level of care she was receiving in a rural area of New York, we mutually agreed I would find her a suitable place for her near me. It has proven to be difficult.

Finally, a week ago yesterday, she arrived here in Melbourne. And what a week it has been. Our son and daughter have helped facilitate the relocation by finding and moving furniture, reassuring my husband, sister and her husband, and Dottie that the possibility could become reality.

Last Wednesday we met her plane, delayed by lightning strikes in the area, and escorted her to her new place. All went well until the next day.

She faced a diabetic crisis because, while her medications were supplied by her former residence, she had no way to administer her daily insulin substitute. They had not sent the tiny needles for her injector. The assisted living facility does not supply them, so in a frantic attempt to explain to a pharmacist I’d never met and who probably thought I was out of my mind (perhaps true), she made a call to my sister, who was barely able to communicate by this time, just exactly what she needed. I left with an easily obtained over-the-counter solution to the problem, and within minutes, the crisis was over.

Yay, we all thought.

Dottie took to her new facility like ducks to water. That’s an allusion to the fact that on the door of the facility, it tells visitors and residents alike to “not feed the ducks.” There are numerous Muscovite ducks greeting everyone near the door. They congregate, waiting for tidbits they’ve learned to appreciate, in spite of the warnings.

Dottie has enjoyed meeting residents, joining in activities, and even finding ways to let them know her gluten-free diet will not be a problem. I’ve brought them substitute provisions.

Crisis two came on Sunday night. She fell trying to get into bed. After forty-five minutes of trying to get her call button to work and shouting “Help,” finally she got someone’s attention. Paramedics were called. She was transported to Palm Bay Hospital where it was determined nothing was hurt but her pride, her scraped arm was treated, and she was returned to the facility. My phone did not work. It was a series of surprises.

When I took her yet more supplies the next morning, she was meeting with her nurse practitioner. In a Godincidence of joy, I discovered Kristin was a former student of mine, and I knew in my heart that Dottie was in the right place and would be cared for appropriately. It was a blessed reunion.

Then came Monday. Dottie’s “good leg” failed her, and she has now been taken to Holmes Hospital for observation and evaluation by a physical therapist. She will be going to a rehabilitation facility. It is not at all the way we wanted things to go. That was surprise number three or four. Who’s keeping count?

Then, here comes Hurricane Milton. As I am writing this, the winds are howling, the rain descends in sheets, our daughter sleeps on the sofa-bed where she’s more safe than at home, and I’m limping around with a walker as I prepare for hip replacement surgery I’ve postponed it for months until after Dottie’s final arrival. My pre-op appointment is tomorrow, assuming roads are open and life returns to some semblance of order.

My firm foundation of faith is secure. My praying friends have literally been Godsends through the last week. At a church dinner on Saturday night, I met a new friend, recently moved to the area who advised me about all this “facility” stuff we’re going through. She will visit the one where Dottie is staying to “check it out” for me. Of course, now Dottie may not be returning there if her rehabilitation does not go well. She may have to go to a nurse-supervised facility rather than staying in assisted living. That, of course, remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, the sermon on Sunday appropriately reminded me of the Beatitudes and the attitude adjustment I needed after the recent events. While I’ve been tested recently, and face weeks of rehabilitation myself, I know God has been faithful. He has provided all I have needed and many blessings besides, I rest in prayers’ results and know He is sovereign.

We have apparently come through Milton’s challenges unscathed, Dorothy is being treated appropriately and may yet find a way to enjoy living in her new place, and I will walk securely on my second hip replacement device I’m so thankful for the scientists who invented it, the surgeon who successfully installed my other one, and confident that all will be well with my procedure.

The real surprise will be when November comes. and I can once again use the journaling devotional book I wrote to document my blessings. As part of National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo, I may even complete another book to add to my thirty-three others. This one will be my third anthology from the great writing group I founded at Glenbrooke Senior Living where I now reside. I’m putting finishing touches on their wonderful pieces, and will, God willing, complete it in time for gift-giving in December. That is, if there are no more “surprises” getting in the way before then.