Not as easy as it looks

Washing your hair is pretty straightforward, right?  Why wouldn't you take it for granted? It's simple. Just adjust the temperature of the water, put your head underneath, soap, lather, rinse, and repeat.  What's so difficult? Well today I discovered that it most certainly can be a chore. . .no, not chore, more like an acrobatic feat to perform that simple task of shampooing hair particularly when bound to a wheelchair.
Until today, Billie had used a store-bought waterless foam to clean her hair. Sure sounds like a great product, but it really can't replace a good old fashioned shampoo with water. So the goal today was to get Billie in her blue "Transformer-type" wheelchair into our tiny bathroom and somehow maneuver it around so I could spray her hair with some real honest-to-goodness water.
Our first obstacle was passing through the threshold of our tiny bathroom. It became promptly evident to me that the "Transformer" was slightly wider than the door opening. I pushed, then squeezed, then pushed some more all to no avail until Billie stood upon her good leg then lifted the Transformer, slowly entering the room. "Geez, who makes these  darn chairs?" I thought, "they sure don't make 'em to fit through doorways, I tell ya' that"
Now we approached another hurdle. And this stumbling block appeared worse than getting into the room. Remember before when I said we have a tiny bathroom? Well, I was being kind at the time. Our restroom was built many years ago when people were a helluva lot smaller. In short, we started to slide the Transformer around, knocking over the cats' dish and also spilling their water, just to position the back of the chair as close as possible to the sink.
The final stage and messiest was the simple task of washing Billie's hair. After finding myself bent over the kitty litter box, I grabbed the detachable shower spray wand from Billie's hand and prepared to commence the shampooing.
Did I mention we own cats? They were hiding a good portion of the time, but one of them (I can't remember the damn cat's name), decided to visit and sniff around at the wrong time. Billie was inching up the seat so she could put as much of her head over the sink, and I resembled someone who was losing a game of "Twister." Eventually, I sprayed the water onto her hair, then into my face, and onto my pants—water went everywhere.
Afterward, when we had moved back into the real world, I began to appreciate the fact that eight more weeks of this type of recovery isn't so godawful, especially when compared to someone who's chained to a wheelchair forever.