Caring with dignity and empathy

‘Very good! Now lift up the other leg to take a step forward.  Wonderful! See how much progress you have made!’. This was not I talking to a small baby but the physiotherapist encouraging my 83-year old mother, and coaxing her to take one more step..  The same woman, who once efficiently ran a crowded household, providing for her husband, growing children and demanding brothers-in-law, was having trouble walking without support.  As I watched him slowly egging her on to move forward, I wondered if he could believe me if I told him about how active my mother had been.

As a child, I had never seen my mother sleep. She always arose before us and slept well after us, and never had the habit of napping in the afternoon.  She dropped and picked us up from school on foot, managing smoothly even when, for a while, her three children were in three different schools.  In spite of the fact that our family finances were not good, she ensured that there was hot wholesome food always available, for us as well as for the innumerable guests who dropped in at all times of the day. On her feet all day, she made time to attend music and ‘shloka’ classes twice or thrice a week. She also rarely missed a play, music concert or dance performance at the auditorium that was a fifteen-minute walk away.

This same hyper-active lady now has to learn how to walk! A silent stroke has made her entire left side almost immobile very gradually. The person who used to recite the “Soundaryalahiri’ while going for 5 or 6 rounds of the ground outside our house, and attended yoga classes at the local park at the age of 75, slowly had to start using a cane, and then, when she started losing her balance and falling, was told to start using a walker.

 The hands that taught me how to wear a sari are now still while I go around her, tying her sari for her, after first helping her with her blouse. The hands that oiled and combed our hair and sent us to school in two tight plaits now wait on her lap while I comb her hair.  Only after watching her struggle with simple daily tasks have I realised how much we take our mobility and dexterity for granted. It is so tough to do something as simple as folding a sheet or unscrewing the lid of a bottle or even scratching an itch when only one hand is able to function efficiently.

I know she hates being dependent on anyone, but does not have a choice.  I see her watching me as I bustle about the house and my heart breaks when she pensively says, ‘I can’t believe I also used to rush around like you once upon a time’. I wish there were some instant remedy to this immobility that is slowing her down so much. Even while I can see her frustration, we can at least be grateful for the fact that her mental faculties are unaffected – she is bright and cheerful most of the time.  Thanks to her, I have learnt to be patient and let her do some things slowly, even if I could probably complete them in half the time. I think I have also learnt the art of helping just enough so that she is also left with some sense of independence.  I can only hope that I have been able to convey to her my pleasure in having her around, and being able, in some small way, to do for her what she did for us, selflessly and tirelessly.

This was published in the Hindu's Open Page on March 3, 2019 - https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/caring-with-dignity-and-empathy/article26419861.ece