jmgoyder

When I entered Anthony’s room the other day, his lunch had just been delivered but he was staring past the meal into space. So I pulled my chair close to his and began to feed him, spoonful by spoonful. Despite the way Parkinson’s disease has affected his facial musculature, he is still able to eat – to chew and swallow – but at times he seems to forget how to actually feed himself. He will often pick up a knife and poke at the food but not know what to do with it. Staff are aware that: (a) he still has a good appetite; and (b) he sometimes needs to be fed. So that is reassuring.

I compare Anthony’s increasing confusion about sustenance to my own hopeless sense of direction. When I was in Perth last week, I got lost several times on my way to various destinations. As soon as I knew I was lost, I became anxious, then went blank. Of course these situations were short-lived; nevertheless, they were a bit frightening because I didn’t quite know where I was.

Anthony often doesn’t quite know where he is. His list of possibilities include the following:

1. His childhood home in a country town down south.
2. The boarding school he went to as a child.
3. The boarding school he went to as a teenager.
4. A country mansion not far from here.
5. An historic hotel owned by a neighbour.

A couple of hours after I fed Ants his meal the other day, afternoon tea was delivered at about the same time my mother arrived to visit. Anthony has a sipper cup now but often cannot figure out how to use it. I took the lid off and tried to get him to sip but it was as if he didn’t remember how to do that either and some of the liquid spilled onto the feeder/bib. “Can’t you even drink now?” I exclaimed in frustration as the lukewarm tea continued to dribble out of his mouth. My mother remonstrated and I pulled myself together immediately.

I don’t like this impatient side of myself but, luckily, it doesn’t happen very often and of course is easily fixed with an apologetic hug. But I am now noticing within myself a strange, new disorientation; I fluctuate daily between a sense of desperation to see Anthony and a horrible reluctance. This means that lately I haven’t been visiting as often, or for as many hours, as usual.

Most probably, this is just a new phase. After all, Anthony is often asleep for hours now, unaware that I am sitting next to him with my hand on his shoulder. I think our phase of watching television series together has exhausted itself and I need to get back to more productive ideas of how to be in his room for long stretches of time. Scanning photos from the many photo albums I have stored in Anthony’s room will be my first task.

This afternoon I wanted to show Ants the more recent photos of the flourishing vegetable garden. But Anthony was too drowsy and incoherent which made me feel very tired and sad and, yes, disoriented too. I wanted (briefly) to just give up, whatever that means.

But then my mother sent me a photo of me with my first great nephew!

I have found my footing again.

Reorientation.