I had looked at the triangular yellow sign on the ceiling for six days. It was placed above the patient bed of the hospital where my dad had been admitted. I knew that hospital staff would boast how many days since their last patient had fallen, proving that they were capable and conscientious. I read it the first day I arrived to help assist in caring for my father, then the days following, like a freckle on my face, I had just gotten used to seeing it, and overlooked it – that is until a crucial moment in my dad’s care happened.

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