Living without a habitation or name

Those afflicted by Alzheimer’s are as vulnerable as children, and need the same care

Today is World Alzheimer’s Day. To most, Alzheimer’s is just another of those disorders which has yet to find a cure, although it was diagnosed as far back as 1909, by a German pathologist, Alois Alzheimer. Awareness about the condition in India has crept in only recently, and only among certain sections of society. Earlier, it was linked to some form of insanity, and nobody would even talk about it.

Those affected by this disorder change beyond recognition. Their intellectual capabilities deteriorate and only “little islands of memory” remain. As a specialist puts it, “memory becomes polka dotted”. With pathological changes in the brain beginning to take place, the affected person’s life undergoes a sharp transformation. Problems such as recognising even immediate family members or doing even the most routine chore set in. And pathological changes in the brain have many off-shoots. The affected person may get into a shell or turn aggressive.

My father passed away almost 10 years ago, but before he died, he — and the rest of us in his immediate family — had to grapple with Alzheimer’s. He wouldn’t recognise us, although his eyes relayed much restlessness. Sometimes he would murmur sentences and recall some incident, long gone by. Occasionally he would burst into tears, something terribly disturbing for us.

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There was the added factor of guilt. Those with Alzheimer’s need time, affection and care, but I couldn’t spend much time with him since he was located in a different city. My mother did the best she could, with the help of the family cook. She would bathe and feed him, and even set out to look for him on the couple of occasions when he got lost after stepping out of the front door and going on to the road beyond.

I remember one incident that moved us deeply. We saw him looking for something he seemed to have lost. He moved about restlessly, peering under beds, behind sofas and doors. When we asked him what the matter was, he spoke with restless impatience, “Where are my children? I’m looking for them. They’re lost!” We were standing right there, staring at him in utter disbelief but he couldn’t recognise us.

It was in times like these that we remembered what a loving father he had been. An engineer by profession, he often took us to work sites in far-flung rural pockets to see dams and irrigation projects taking shape. He enjoyed driving and playing tennis and, yes, he was always particular about what he wore. I still recall how he’d be impeccably dressed until, of course, this baffling disorder laid him low.

Those who have parents struck with Alzheimer’s would know that it’s best not to take them from a setting familiar to them. As the memory fades, they become like little children and need the same warmth and loving care.