I Cut My Father's Nails

My parents have long maintained that getting old is not for sissies. My father has stated several times that he's no longer getting old, he's there. He's old.

As they've gotten older my parents have made their accommodations to their diminishing strength through planning. They minimizing the number of times they use the stairs, wait for me to come over rather than chance climbing up a latter to change a bulb, etc.

After triple coronary bypass surgery my father suffered some problems which led to a loss of feeling in his right hand. One of the results was that just yesterday he asked me to cut his nails. The nails on his right hand were nicely trimmed, but because he couldn't trust his right hand to do the job the nails on his left hand were long.

My father had must have thought about it for a while before coming to the conclusion that he had to ask for assistance. It was an awkward experience on my part. I didn't think I'd nip his finger, but I couldn't feel where the clippers were. I had a new respect for manicurists and nail technicians. It might have appeared comical. I'd position the clipper, then move my head around to see if the clipper was going to nip his skin before actually clipping his nails.

I wonder why he doesn't use a nail file, but then maybe it's also a problem with gripping.