***
Having cleaned for an hour while I read the morning paper, Douglas stows the vacuum cleaner. I snap my fingers and point. He knows to drop to all fours and offer his face, presenting his nostril leash for my guiding hand.
“Come,” the gentle tug so amazingly controlling.
Into the spare bedroom, the Posey cuffs are removed and Douglas positions himself on the hospital bed, the tedium of a long day of restraint not seeming to be bothersome.
I encircle and close the many nylon strips, tighten the head brace and double check the many straps. I note that a forearm spontaneously tugs resulting in the slightest motion of his left wrist. The effort is an unfortunate attempt to act under his own will. This is not to be. This will not do! I smirk and immediately adjust to tighten his bonds.
