At The Bottom Of The Well

In the movie based upon Dan Brown’s book, The DaVinci Code, character Robert Langdon describes a horrifying childhood experience of falling into a cold dark well and being trapped there for many hours.

As an elementary school kid, I remember peering down into just such a well that was located at the back of our old Dodson Ranch cabin. The well was being cleaned out and dug deeper by my grandfather and some helpers. Grandpa looked awfully small way down at the bottom of that old stone-lined well. I recall how scary it looked way back then.

The mental images of Robert Langdon’s well together with my own memory of the Dodson Ranch well have arisen and lingered in my mind for perhaps the last three months. What is different with the well in my mind now is that instead of treading in deep water at the bottom of it like the Langdon character, I am standing in chest deep water at the bottom of mine. Where the Langdon character fell down into the well, I simply awoke from a restless sleep finding myself standing in the bottom of it.

How did this well image business all come about you ask? The past four and a half months have been the toughest gauntlet for me to steer through as a caregiver since 2004.  The deep well image seems to have arose during this time. 

In October 2012, Beatrice Dodson, my mother, passed away. She had been a resident at the Sherwood Healthcare Center in Sacramento for just over a year. Mom’s heart finally gave out after struggling with both diabetes and Alzheimer’s disease. Rest in peace Mom.

Just prior to this, Pop Dodson sustained a minor dog-bite from his beloved dog and bled profusely and dangerously due to his prescription medication Coumadin. He was also laboring with an infected cyst that defied healing up properly and requiring daily manually induced drainage. I executed my amateur nursing duties faithfully each day with that damned cyst. Either on the way to work or after getting off.  Seven straight weeks of draining then redressing, draining then redressing. Puss in the morning, puss in the evening, ain’t we got fun? Sorry Dad, I realize nobody wakes up in the morning asking for a cyst to arrive like some kind of mail order gift fruit basket.

Following mother’s passing and cremation, we hosted a memorial gathering of family, relatives and friends for her in late November. My wife and I handled all of the arrangements.

December had barely begun when my poor father, struggling to care for and live by himself at his home, fell several times sustaining injuries and having a couple more dangerous bleeding sessions and trips to the ER.  With his primary care physicians’ assistance, we finally took Dad off Coumadin. It was also in December that he collapsed a couple of times due to complications from his diabetes. Enough is enough. 

In mid December, with the help of some guardian angel medical personnel at Sutter Hospital, we were able to finally place my Dad in a nursing care facility for long term care. Dad himself chose the place which was Sherwood. He could no longer care for himself and live alone without 24 hour daily medical assistance. That, plus I had used up all of my available sick and vacation time at work to care for Mom & Dad.

Funding for Dad’s stay at Sherwood had to come from somewhere, which necessitated a very quick cash sale of a second home that he owned locally. With the help of an amazing real estate broker and family friend named Kevin Goring, the house sold quickly. Amen.

So now back to the well.

At least once or more each day, my image of standing at the bottom of that well in the cold water occurs. I am in no danger of drowning but there is no chance that someone is coming to assist in hoisting me out of this deep dark wet place. I am on my own in this predicament of my mind. I must use my own ingenuity and craft my own escape. 

Just this morning, in my mind’s eye, I began to examine the layers of old wet stones that line the depth of the well and noticed something I had not seen before. The faint outlines of cut out notches spaced evenly and rising up along one side of the well lining. A kind of ladder! Perhaps it is my own version of Jacob’s Ladder. Not  up to some kind of heavenly place: just a way up and out of where I am now. The possibility of climbing out successfully, one niche at a time. It will require strength of will hot sparks to ignite my campfire of stamina and start to climb. 

Though I have been feeling less powerful than my norm for some time, I am not powerless.

I can do this, however many hours or days it may take. Climb out of the place that I awoke within. No storm or adverse setback lasts forever. Not even being stuck in a well.

The warmth of the sunshine and dry footing beckons.

Jeff Dodson

February 17th 2013