There was minimal lighting in my Mom’s room in palliative care. With the curtains open and the overhead light on, you would still need the light in the corner to satisfy Mom’s light quota for reading. There was one more light in the other corner but it couldn’t be plugged in for the last month of my Mom’s life. The electrical socket now was employed by the alarm for her bed if she fell off the bed or stood up without assistance. It was a loud and stark reminder of Mom’s decline. And the lack of light was both troublesome and sad every time Mom asked for more light.
Mom also had a headlight, for night time when the nurses turned out her lights and if she couldn’t sleep and wanted to read or colour (yes, she had some lovely, therapeutic colouring books).
The world seems more dim without Mom.