A year and a half ago, my mother got two new knees. I didn’t heed the hints from my mother and father how much this would involve me. I had a love/hate relationship with the hospital, especially the ever present invisible germs. I was too tired to post much more than thoughts that should have been twittered and pictures of the new knees. My father was as helpless as my mother. Sometimes, the stress and chaos were too absurd to do anything but laugh about. I cried anyway. She stepped down from the hospital to a nursing home and there was less worry about her health, but a LOT more errands to do for her. I was eager to get back to some semblance of normal, but terrified that my mother wasn’t ready to go home. It starts with knees. After that it’s a roller coaster of broken body parts and chronic illnesses.