“Oh, I fell up the stairs again.” My wife tags her accidents on the end of her story whenever she wants to brush past them. “It was nothing.
I never hit my head falling up the stairs, only down.” I don’t push the issue when Liv doesn’t use her cane, not even when she’s limping or stumbling.
I can’t force her but if I insist, she succumbs to guilt and retrieves it from the trunk. Her doctors want her to sit, in a wheelchair, at home, on a stool in the kitchen — always sit.
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