The last six days have been exhausting for both Anna and me. Anna has had a bad throat and runny nose. I have walked multiple times a day to Anna’s flat to see how he is doing – only to find that he is asleep. I have had to deal with mild disorientation and mild hallucinations. And, add to this, absconding attendants.
So I am tired. Tired with the additional work needed; the regular monitoring of temperature, additional medication, following up on which attendant will come to look after Anna, ensuring he goes out each day for a wheeled-walk, etc.
As Anna was always too tired to walk, I insisted that we wheel him around in his wheelchair for at least 45 minutes every evening. Even though he was knocked out and half asleep most days, whenever I asked him if he wanted to go out, he would say yes. I believe that even when Anna is half-dead, the answer to the question, “Anna, do you want to go out?” will be a resounding, “Yes.”
Today was different. Anna walked from the sofa, and out of the front door himself. He then pushed his empty wheelchair towards the colony gates. As he reached the gate, I was pleasantly surprised to see that he was standing straighter, and lifting his knees while walking.
Me: “Anna, it’s so good to see that you are walking well today.”
Anna: “You know, when we were young, your Tatha used to give the three-of-us-brothers homework to do in the evening. Tatha would sit at one end of the hall and the three of us at the other end, doing our homework.”
The Most Heartening Display of Swagger
My heart sinks. The disorientation seems to be back. I can’t for the life of me understand what walking has to do with homework as a young boy (Anna went to boarding school when he was 12, so this story has to refer to a time when he was younger and was at home.)
Anna: “Every now and then we would walk the length of the hall, reciting what we were learning.”
I still do not know where this is going.
Anna: “As we approached Tatha, the volume of recitation would go up so that he would notice that we were studying diligently.”
At this point, I have got to ask, “Anna, does walking remind you of when you were a boy?”
Anna, looks at me and smiles: “Did you notice that the gate watchman was standing with some of his cronies?” Pause. “I wanted them to see that I was able to walk. That I am not an old man who needs to be in a wheelchair. I had to walk well for them to take notice.”
He did not sit on his wheelchair till we were out of sight of the watchman and his cronies!
I kid you not, this 87-year-old, wants to show off!!
(After working in corporate India for over 29 years, Sangeeta has taken time off to look after her father, who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease in 2008. 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.)
Related Links in the Series
How my Father, the Parkinson’s Patient, Aced the Spoken Word
The Six-Day Merry-Go-Round
The Story of How My Father Learned to Swim
From a Real Life Piku: Looking After an Elderly ‘Child’
Dealing with Dependence: A Daughter’s Tale of her Father
What Happened the First Time My Father Visited My Office
Forgetting the Taste of Muffins
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