At one point this afternoon, Ma Schmidt got agitated and demanded to stand up. Schmidt was there. I had already given her one anti-anxiety pill. So I let her loop her arms around my neck, and then I stood up—hoisting her out of bed into a standing position.
"Where now?"
She mumbled something incoherent and started walking to her left. I followed and talked to her. In the end we got maybe three to six inches to her left, with no idea where to go next. Then she wore out.
So I piloted her back to the bed and sat her down. Schmidt and I organized her in bed, and he gave her a second anti-anxiety pill. After a while she calmed down, and then dozed.
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