Start. Stop. Eyes Glaze Over. (How a Parkinson’s Patient Talks)
My conversations with my father have changed. Changed in content and context. Changed in tone and tenor. Mostly, ebbing away with no warning.
Our conversations have been impacted by the degradation of Anna's physical and mental abilities. His speech mimics his shuffle-walk of fits and starts, leading to conversations in short bursts. A meaningful conversation can take hours or days.
I call these "staccato conversations".
Here is a conversation I had on Monday.
I get to Anna's place after spending a day Ubering from one end of Gurgaon to the other in 37°C temperature.
I ask him how he is and get a one-word response, "Fine". I try starting conversations by asking if he had a good nap, or dreamed anything interesting, or what he had for breakfast. Nothing really works. At best, I get a one-word answer and at worst, none. This is not a conversation!
In an attempt to start a conversation, I decide to tell him about my saree. But first, let me give you a little context. For many years, I haven't bought new clothes unless I have given away / retired something similar. I am proud that I have often not replaced old clothes, shrinking my wardrobe. Earlier this year when I went to Jaipur, I had just given away four sarees and so did not feel guilty buying a couple more. Printed cotton sarees. One of which I was wearing on Monday.
The Staccato Saree Conversation
In an attempt to get Anna to talk with me a little, I get up and stand in his line-of-sight and model my saree.
Me: Anna, do you like my saree?
No answer, so I wait for a bit and repeat the question.
I continue to wait and twirl around.
Me: Anna, do you like my saree?
Me: Anna, do you know how much I paid for this saree?
No answer, so I wait for a bit.
Me (feeling proud): Anna, I paid less than Rs. 500 for this saree.
Me (holding the pallu out so that he can see the design and colours): Anna, isn't this saree pretty? Red and ocher on beige?
Anna (smiling a little): It's nice.
Me: Anna, I bought this saree when I went to Jaipur earlier this year.
He does not recollect my trip to Jaipur and hence there is no response.
Me: Anna, you remember I went to Jaipur in January this year?
There is no memory, no reaction.
Me: Anna, do you know – this is the first saree I have bought in three years.
Me (exaggerating my frugality to see if I can get a response): Anna, I haven't bought anything new in 7 years!
Anna (face changing from bored to incredulous): You really think I would believe that?
Bam! A bullet shoots out of Anna's brain! Straight and sure.
Me: Of course, Anna! It's true!
Anna (looking at me as if I just told him that unicorns are real!): I haven't seen you repeat a saree in the two years I have been here.
Not true. I don't have that many sarees and do repeat them often. And he has been in Delhi with me for nearly three years, but I am not going to correct him. I want to have a conversation.
Me: Anna, the second saree is like this one.
Me: It is prettier, and green and ocher in colour.
Still no reaction.
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(After working in corporate India for over 29 years, Sangeeta had taken time off to look after her father, who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease in 2008 and passed away in 2017. Sangeeta hopes that these authentic stories will help patients and caregivers understand and appreciate the impact of Parkinson’s Disease. You can follow Sangeeta’s blog here.)
(This piece is being repubbed from FIT's archives to mark World Parkinson’s Day.)
Related Links in the Series:
From a Real Life Piku: Looking After an Elderly ‘Child’
My Anna Holds on to his Bata Sandals, Even as He Loses his Memory
Who Knew That Nutella Would Convince My Old Dad to Take his Pills?
For a Dad with Parkinson’s, I’d Get Him All the Junk Food He Wants
Pray, Why Does My 87-Year-Old Anna Need an Aadhaar Card?
When Anna Forgot the Words for Pain & Medicine & Suffered Quietly
I Have a Dad With Parkinson’s (& Here’s What I Don’t Need to Hear)
A Dialogue: The Day I Saw My Dad For the Feminist That He Is
Why I’m Going to Research Organ & Body Donation For My Brave Anna
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