The tray is meant to make the carer's life easier. Occasionally, the tray is used to carry things to the cared-for. I like to use the tray to pick stuff up and whisk said stuff away to the kitchen for cleaning.
Foolishly, I balanced the tray on an unbalanced object. Gravity lied to me, and led me to believe that the balanced tray would be fine on the unbalanced object.
I turned away to shut the curtains. It was curtains for one of the cups. My cup. No great loss, then. If a carer's cup takes a bullet for the team, that's okay.
But if the cared-for loses a favourite cup...
What the fuck does it matter, to someone with dementia? Well, yes, there is that argument. On the other hand, maybe that cup is one of the few fixed points holding the universe together.
Now if that is the case, you'll have to rush out and obtain a new cup that looks, feels, tastes, and smells just like the puppy that died in that tragic car accident.
You know what I mean.
Anyway, my cup took the bullet. Guess what. I didn't much care for that cup. The important thing here is to play safe once you've played fast and loose with safety.
I disposed of the shattered remains in a safe and timely fashion. No one died. I avoided spilling a single drop of blood. Many drops of tea kissed the carpet. Cold tea.
Also, I made no fuss. The crash was no big deal. There were cups to spare. A dustpan and brush went into action. Hoovering tiny particles of dead cup followed. The Hoover survived.
If you must drop cups, don't drop cups. But if you must drop cups, try not to break any. If you must break one or more, don't cut yourself or anyone else. And if you spill a drop of blood, know where to grab First Aid gear from with the minimum of fuss.
Adding a tray to the kitchen was handy. The tray made things safer. But you risk introducing a new element of danger with every piece of safety equipment you cart into the house.
I explore that theme in this non-dementia dementia book I am putting together.
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