Cecilia, responding to my request for assistance, helped me get up from the lift recliner to a standing position (yes, even with the special chair, I still need assistance). I thought I had my balance but I was mistaken; I teetered to left, fell onto the chair, and slid to the floor. This might not have happened but for the fact that I was wearing my oh so sexy knickers (as Rose likes to call them) AND landed on my very glamorous, very functional but very slippery zebra print cushion (on which I was resting my back); my size 11 feet weren't able to support me and down I went.
Cecilia managed to prop me up, then went to call Jenny. At the same time, Marsha arrived to get my dinner for me. Not able to lift me by herself (remember, I am the walr-ass) she called in the few, the proud, the Marine. But not until I put something on over my drawers -- I still have a little bit of pride. Marsha had her work cut out for her wrestling my black pants over my uncooperative legs and rear end.
Poor Bob, I am sure in all his deployments he never faced so unpleasant a duty. He got behind me, Marsha moved to the front, Bob hoisted while Marsha prepared to catch. None of us being certain of my balance, we stood as one for several long seconds. As they slowly released their collective grip, I regained my balance and finally stood on my own.
The battle having been fought and won, Bob was thanked and dismissed. I think he deserves a purple heart -- as he walked home, I looked out the window... he was limping. Marsha deserves a medal as well. In addition to the heroic actions described herein, she became a certified potty pal.