I am surviving weeks and weeks of Anna being unwell. Starting with the throat infection that started a couple of days before Diwali to his diagnosis of Eosinophilia in December. Not to forget sunburned legs.
Every day we struggle to get him to inhale steam, with a teardrop of Vicks Vaporub, to help relieve his congestion. We try to ensure that he does this at least three times a day.
Each time we ask if he is ready to inhale steam he says that he wants to have a nap or that he will do it later. When we finally manage to get him under the ‘towel tent’ over a steaming pot of water, there are wails of “Ayyo-Amma” or “I am burning” or “This is called cruelty to father” or “Now I know what a boiled chicken feels like!”
The Laments and the Repartees
Keeping my sense of humour takes real effort! I am running out of smart things to say. Just to give you an idea, here are some responses to his wails:
“Anna, your mother can’t hear you.” Really lame! I am latching on to the literal meaning of “Ayyo-Amma” other than the figurative call-out to a mother when a child is unwell or in pain.
“You feel sooo much better after inhaling steam. Why are you making a fuss?” As if feeling better makes a difference – it’s all about the here and now with him.
“Anna, you are acting like a child! What would you have said to us if the roles were reversed?” This is completely ignored by him. A few seconds of silence and then the lament starts up again.
“Anna, count to 30 and then we will stop.” This is a mean one. I know that when he counts he will forget some numbers, as his dementia makes its presence felt, and I can take my time to prompt him.
“Anna, count backwards from 30 and then we will stop.” Even meaner, as I know that his dementia will prevent him from being able to do so, and I will have to prompt him even more.
“Anna, your skin is glowing with all this steam and cream!” As if glowing skin has much value to this 87-year-old steamed chicken-man!
The Tale of My Mother, Told Every Winter
So after 60 days of this, he comes up with a gem.
His face glowing with steam-sweat, he recounts a story of my mother.
“Remember how your Amma used to feel boiling hot in winter?” he asks me. Of course, I remember. But why spoil his fun.
“Tell me the story Anna,” I ask.
Anna tells me the story, slurring and stumbling over words, and completely forgetting some. I fill in phrases and thoughts when they are lost. Here’s the story.
One cold Delhi winter night, my mother tossed and turned so much that she woke up my father. When Anna asked her what the matter was, she said that she was boiling hot.
At first, Anna could not understand how she could be hot when he was cosy under a blanket and a 3-kilo-heavy razai. She was under two blankets and a 3-kilo-heavy razai as she felt colder than Anna. We used to call Amma, “Thand-maru” i.e. someone who is perpetually cold/dying of cold.
Anna then asked her, “Sarala, what are you wearing?”
Amma responded with, “Just a woollen petticoat, saree, cots-wool blouse, knitted woollen blouse, two sweaters, a muffler, and two pairs of socks.”
Holding back his laughter, Anna meekly suggested that she may want to take off a sweater! She did. And slept well the rest of the night.
Anna regaled us with the story the next morning. And multiple times every winter. My mother could never say she was feeling warm in winter – poor soul – for we would promptly ask her if she was boiling hot and how many woollen clothes she was wearing!
(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
From a Real Life Piku: Looking After an Elderly ‘Child’
Dealing with Dependence: A Daughter’s Tale of her Father
My Dad Hallucinates – and Even the Happy Ones are Painful
As if in Solidarity With Chennai, My Anna is Having Rain Delusions
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?
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