Mrs. Sanchez lay uncomfortably propped up in her bed. She tried to shift her old bones to relieve the pressure on her hip. She had difficulty moving, her muscles weak and stiff, her bones brittle and her joints swollen. She sighed and picked up the remote control beside her, pointed it and changed the channel on her little colour television.
How pointless her life had become, she thought, she had become old and feeble. Reduced to a dependent pile of bones and flesh, able to do nothing more than waste her time watching television. She had been forced from her home and placed in one of those horrid nursing homes where her family would forget her completely, and she waited to die.
At least she had her grandson who she had helped raise from a babe. She loved him more than her son and Mike h
