I was the one who eventually got my father-in-law into a high-quality nursing facility—after my late husband’s sister completely refused to step in.
One evening after work, I went to visit him. He was slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the wall like his mind had drifted somewhere far away. But what struck me first wasn’t his expression.
It was the cold.
The room felt like a freezer.
A wave of anger rose in my chest. I went straight down the hall to find the head nurse. She listened, then gave a weary sigh.
“His daughter already spoke with us,” she explained. “She gave very clear instructions—not to turn on the heat unless the temperature drops below fifty. She said he prefers it cold.”
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