Carl, Dad’s physical therapist, motioned to me just outside the elevator door. He was bringing Dad to his room after his morning session and he wanted to talk to me. I sat down in the activity room across the hall and waited for Carl. (By the way, Carl is a made-up name; the rest of the names in this piece are aliases, too.) “He’s just not himself today,” Carl said. “He likes to work out hard, but today I had to sit him down. He just couldn’t do it.” “Do you mean today he didn’t want to do it?” I asked. “No,” Carl said. “He felt dizzy and sick. I had to sit him down to rest. And after a while, I said, ‘Mr.…