My husband, grumpy, has COPD etc. etc. etc. On an evening, every single evening, this is my job, take up his spare oxygen cylinder in case the concentrator blows up, take up the nebuliser, his tablets, his drinks, his flask of tea, turn the bed down, pile up his pillows, draw the curtains and then go back downstairs, take the dog for a walk, then lock up, turn the heating off, and then get him in the stair-lift and hold the oxygen tubing whilst he rides upstairs, wait downstairs until he gets off the stair-lift then go upstairs and wait for him to come out of the bath-room so I can go in.
I then climb into bed (separate bedrooms now) and just start to get comfortable when he starts calling my name, I jump out of bed thinking there is something wrong and ask what the trouble is, he says, 'YOU HAVEN'T TURNED ON THE BEDSIDE LIGHT'.
I am such a mug. 70 years old and getting older by the day.