ABSTRACT
As I push Edith’s wheelchair out of the waiting room along the corridor and into the therapy room she complains bitterly to me of the aches and pains in her ageing body. Specifically, she tells me about the bruises she suffers every day as she’s lifted and moved, enduring the indignity of physical dependence. Edith delivers her litany of complaints each week as we move from one space into another to begin her weekly psychotherapy sessions. I understand her as railing against the pains of growing older and being less able to do things for herself.
