One of the saddest things I ever saw:
I was hospitalized for an infection, and had to share the room with a number of people. I was moved out of the first room; the other occupant was a boor who vomited all over the toilet seat and couldn't be bothered even to call someone to clean it. The nurses had pity on me.
In the second room, the first 'roommate' was a man fairly deep in some progressive dementia. He'd been in another care facility, which discharged him when they decided they couldn't handle him any more. He ended up in the hospital while his daughters tried to arrange for home nursing and the necessary bed. They were also trying to arrange for private duty nursing in the hospital, but it was nearly midnight and they couldn't get anyone quickly.
The daughters--late 30's, I would guess--were left to attend to their father's nearly constant, unregulated bodily needs. After a few hours one of them came around the curtain to apologize for the unending activity. I told her that none was necessary and that I admired how she and her sister were handling their situation.
That said, my own cultural sense says that a daughter should not have to attend to her father's bodily needs, nor a son to his mother's. That clearly shaped part of B2-Maurand.
