My father is definitely slowing down. Earlier, he could shuffle-walk to the big park behind his apartment. Now he barely gets to the gate of the colony. Previously we had more hours of wakeful cogent conversations. Now, when I do have cogent conversations that last for 30 minutes, I call it a good day.
As usual, last Sunday morning I decided to take Anna out for coffee. He was waiting patiently, sitting at the dining table for me at 11am, our usual hour.
Me: Anna, are you ready to go out for coffee?
Anna: Yes.
Me: Anna, where do you want to go? To Starbucks in the mall or to the Barista where we sat outside with Mamta and the family last weekend?
Anna: Say again!
Me: Anna, do you want to go to the mall or sit outside and drink coffee?
Anna: Outside.
I check that he is warmly clothed (something I check each day!), focusing on number of layers vs thickness of woollens. He says he is feeling quite warm. And off we go!
Dementia and a New Language
At Barista, he shuffles to a table outside the cafe, waits patiently for his coffee and treat. Today we have a double treat – coffee with Irish Cream flavouring and a paneer, corn and cheese turnover. We chat about mundane things. And about his illness and the restrictions it places on him. It's like a "repeat it" game. He asks me to repeat questions and responses and I do.