In the hospital emergency room, someone accidentally bumps into an aide carrying a bedpan, and urine sloshes onto the floor. After several hours of waiting, my mother is finally admitted. I pay for TV, but she does not have the strength to push the buttons on the remote. She can’t find the red button to call the nurse either. She tells me that last night she was taken down to a dungeon where she lay awake in terror. Now she wonders why someone left a black Scottish terrier in the corner of her room. Despite the fact that I gave the doctor a detailed printout of all her medications, doses and times, no one bothered to give her the pill that prevents hallucinations and fear. My mother is in the hospital because unrelenting nausea has left her unable to eat or drink. The dementia comes from her Parkinson’s, or from the medications that help her to walk. Or both.