BY JAYNE T. FLORES
It’s one of those things you don’t think about until it happens in your own life. We’ve all seen friends and strangers pushing mom, dad, an auntie or uncle, or perhaps a handicapped child in a wheelchair. We don’t think about how they get from the bed to the wheelchair. Or who helps them with their most intimate bodily details. Who bathes them. Changes them. Dresses them. Combs their hair. Prepares their meals. Administers their medications.
I certainly didn’t think about it until my father fell ill. But . . .
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