At some point in the not-too-distant future, I know the tables will turn from my being a caregiver to a care receiver as I earn senior "senior" status. I see some privileges that come with that honorable title. I don’t need my children and grandchildren to put applesauce, a bib or diapers on my shopping list, but instead, show tickets and a suitcase.
Not exactly palm reading. The blind man can not see the visible lines on your palm. A man with no vision has no way of seeing your skin color, eye twinkle, hair style or that stain on the front of your shirt, so you’re in luck because your character is not judged by first appearances. You may have appearance but you are not invisible.
Until I was about 13 years old, I believed my mom to be a natural redhead. Big surprise: she’d been coloring her hair for years! When she became homebound, and subsequently entered a nursing care facility by her own choice, she was determined to keep the allure of being a redhead, as she had done her entire life. I see her weekly, and get “reminders” every month or so that she needs a “cut and color,” something I am happy to do.
A daughter told the story of her mother having pneumonia at a nursing home except the story wasn't about the pneumonia. This was a story about being abandoned by the doctor who is assigned to her mother. It would be a stretch to say this is "her mother's doctor" because the system makes it all but impossible to have a relationship with the doctor of your choosing if you live in a nursing home.