Twisted， nude， and soaking wet on the floor of the 1)shower stall I sat. “Bill，” I 2)hollered， “Bill，” I screamed！ Bill is hard of hearing， thus the reason for my 3)bellowing.
“Yes，” he said on hearing my scream. “What do you want？ Oh my goodness！” he 4)exclaimed upon arriving in the bathroom and seeing my5)predicament. “Here let me get you up！”
“Bill you can’t lift me.”
“Yes I can！”
I began to laugh.
“Now here， let me get a hold of you.”
Picture this， a well-past-middle-age woman， well past her prime weight of 120 pounds， weakened from the effects of 6)multiple sclerosis， sitting twisted on the floor of a small shower stall. It was not a pretty sight even by the largest stretch of the imagination！ The shower stall had 7)sliding glass doors which limited his access to the whole of my generous 8)physique. With my weakened legs there was no way I could untwist myself and stand upright. I was 9)stuck！ He was frantic； I was calm.
“You can’t get to me， and even if you could， you couldn’t lift me， just see if you can help me get on my knees，” I said.
“Okay， okay，” he said nervously.
Picture this if you can， a whale still wet from the ocean，10)dumped out on a newly 11)waxed rowboat. Those uncooperative legs of mine could not be situated so as to get me on my knees， not on that wet floor， no matter how hard the both of us tried. He placed a towel under my legs and it too only slid out from under me. So here I was slip-sliding and 12)slithering around， not exactly looking like a desirable mermaid. You get the picture？
“Come on， let me get a hold of you and get you up from there，” he still was not going to give up， no matter the extreme impossibility of the situation. By this time though， the water 13)logged， 14)nautical， 15)wayfaring sea monster that I was， began to dry out and become somewhat less slippery. My husband， though， was no less frantic in his pursuit to get his disabled wife out of these circumstances.
“Here put that towel down again and let’s see if I can crawl out of here，” I instructed. My position and the whole picture of me kept playing over in my mind and the more it ran the funnier it got. I started giggling—and my husband became nervously irritated. Here I was in all my generous glory slithering out of the shower stall， he trying to be my caregiver， becoming more irritated that I was not accepting his need to help. My laughter was becoming 16)hysterical. His frustration became 17)aggravation and increased with intensity. The more upset he became the more I laughed， until finally， after much effort， I was somehow out， on my feet， and in his arms.