The Dangers of Airport Shopping

20 Apr 2017:
Anna doing a great impression of Gautama Buddha

Saturday night was a bad night for Anna. He was agitated all night. Trying to get up off the bed by himself. Insisting on walking (shuffling) around the house. Speaking in English. Looking for something or someone. He finally went to sleep at around 4am. I was a little surprised to hear this, for Anna has been sitting with his eyes closed, whole body relaxed, doing a fabulous impersonation of Gautama Buddha.

On Sunday, Anna builds up enthusiasm to go to the mall for coffee and cake. I keep asking him about his dream, to determine why he was agitated. He just tells me that he does not remember.

23 Apr 2017: Anna & Manish

After our mandatory stop at Starbucks, he is wheeled around the mall while I shop. His attendant, Manish, takes a rest stop in front of a camel covered in flowers. Both Anna and Manish find it interesting.

Then on the way home, we have this conversation:

Anna: Were those real flowers on the camel?

Me: Yes Anna. I think so.

Anna: It must have been very expensive.

Me: Probably.

Anna: Last night I had a bad dream.

Me (suddenly realizing that he, now, remembers his dream): Really? What happened in your dream?

Anna: I bought a shirt. It was really expensive.

Me (not understanding how buying a shirt can be a bad dream): Where did you buy the shirt, Anna?

Anna: At the airport.

Me: What were you doing at the airport?

23 Apr 2017: The marigold covered camel

Anna: Going to a wedding.

Ah! Now I understand. There is a definite connection between a marigold decked camel and a wedding.

This conversation goes on the entire journey home - about 40 mins. All in question answer mode.

Anna recounts his dream (hallucination) with a little encouragement from me, like asking "And then what happened?", or "Really?", or simply saying, "Go on".

Here is the hallucination, using most of his original words.

23 Apr 2017:
Anna in front of the marigold camel

Anna is at an airport. He decides to buy a shirt for a wedding. He chooses the older "model" as the latest "model" is very expensive. He unpacks and wears the shirt and then goes to pay for it. It is then that he realizes that he has no "paper money" and no "plastic money" to pay for it. The cashier tells Anna that they will have to detain him overnight while he arranges for money to pay for it.

Anna searches his belongings and finds that he does not have any papers. He also does not remember our names, addresses, or numbers. He is panicking and the cashier keeps taunting Anna saying that all thieves pretend to have lost money and papers, and then claim not to remember their identity.

With superhuman effort, Anna taxes his brain. He remembers his "valet's" name, Manish. The cashier looks up Manish's contact details on the "address-0-gram" and calls Manish to bring money to the airport. Manish says he will take 1hr 56mins precisely and he does.

At the end of this tale, I ask Anna if he is feeling calm now. He says "Of, course! It was just a dream".

I decide not to tell him that he hallucinated the whole airport shopping event last night and was agitated. He says that the worst part of his "dream" was the embarrassment of being called a thief and being threatened with detention. The dream is over. He is calm now, and that is all that matters to us.

Singing Elephants (With A Cobra Thrown In!)

Dancing Elephant. Photo Courtesy: inquisitr.com

After a long, mentally exhausting day working, I reach Anna's house just after 5pm. That's the normal time he wakes up after his early evening nap. He is still in bed but awake.

Me: Anna! You awake?!

Anna (Looking up at me with a bright face and big smile): Bandiya-amma? (Loosely translated from Kannada it means - "You have come").

Me (smiling back at him): Yes Anna.

Anna: When did you come from Salem?

Me (realizing he is thinking of someone else): I came from Delhi, Anna.

Singing Elephants (c) John Lund

Anna (still smiling): You missed the elephants singing.

Me (deciding to play along): Really? What were they singing?

Anna: They were singing so well! Melodious songs.

Me: Oh good! Where were they, Anna?

Anna (pointing to the roof and high up on the walls): Here in the room.

Me: That's nice.

Anna: They often come and sing for me.

Me: Really Anna? How often do they come and sing for you?

Anna: Every other day. Some days they come and some days they don't.

 Me: Anna, what do they sing?

Anna: Beautiful songs.

Photo Courtesy: Kurt Halsey

Me (by now I am also smiling): Anna, do they trumpet-sing or do they sing like us.

Anna: They sing like us. Beautiful songs. With music.

Me: That is so nice for you Anna.

Anna's eyes move away from me.

Anna (pointing to the corner of the ceiling diagonally opposite from him): Oh see! One of them is there looking at us.

Me (looking up to where he is pointing, looking for an elephant on the ceiling or wall): Yes Anna. Do you think he will sing again?

Anna: I don't know. He is just smiling at us. He is also happy.

Me: That's nice Anna. Pause. Do you want to get up and have coffee.

Anna: Yes.

At the sound of coffee, Anna perks up more - as if that is possible in his happy mood, caused by singing elephants in his room! We lift Anna off his bed and help him shuffle to the dining room.

Anna: I haven't seen the black king cobra for some time.

Me (confused with the move from elephants to cobras): What cobra Anna?

Anna: The one who comes and dances for us sometimes.

Me: Really Anna?

I look at Anna's attendant and housekeeper, confusion writ all over my face.  They nod.

Anna: Yes. Is it because it is raining?

Me: Anna, it is not raining.

Anna: I should ask the elephants why the cobra hasn't come.

Me: Yes Anna. Do that the next time they come to sing for you.

Jaangiri
 Photo Courtesy: eatsofindia.blogspot.com

Anna's coffee arrives. His bother has sent a big box of jaangiri, laddu and boondi for him and I open it to ask Anna what he wants to eat. Of course, he chooses the jaangiri! And eats it with glee. And forgets the elephants and cobra.

And I? I drink my coffee and feel completely relaxed.

Lets Throw Cancer Into the Mix!!

When Anna was first diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease (PD) and Dementia, he researched these illnesses, by talking with his doctors and social workers, searching the internet, speaking with people who either had these diseases, or were caregivers to people who had these diseases (including his younger sister). He has known for over 8 years that he has an unrelenting and inescapable degenerative disease with no cure and very high variability in the rate of disease progression.

Photo Courtesy : http://narayanahealth.blogspot.in/

In the last stages of the disease, over 40% of patients die due to respiratory infections, mainly pneumonia. The other major cause of death is as a result of being unable to swallow (patients are often artificially fed through a PEG tube).

11 May 2016 - Anna having lunch

Anna knows all of this. We have talked about the symptoms / precursors of end-of-life. He does not want any extraordinary measures to prolong life. He wants only comfort care. His doctors and I know this.

I am used to Anna telling me that his throat is seizing-up, or that his voice is changing indicating that he is at the end-of-life stage.  I don't pay these comments too much attention as he is eating OK and I can understand what he is saying 95% of the time (no pronounced slurring).

A month ago he tells me that he has a growth in this chest and asks me to feel it.  I do. There is a hard hump that I believe is his rib protruding out of his shrinking chest. He is clearly losing weight. He has lost 10% of his body weight in ~10 months.  The weight loss is a cause of concern as less than one-third of patients survive a year after 10% weight loss in a 12 month period.

    Walking the Wheelchair  
October, 2015

Then one afternoon a couple of weeks ago, as I take him for his walk after 7pm (the heat is less oppressive then) he tells me that he has cancer. Cancer!

Anna: Sangeeta, the doctor came today.

Me: Really Anna? I thought the physiotherapist was not scheduled to come today.

Anna: Not that doctor.  The other one.

There is no other doctor who visits him at home, so I know that he has been dreaming or hallucinating.

Me (playing along): OK. And what did he say?

Anna: I have cancer.

Me: What???  

I am angry at the imaginary doctor for telling my father he has cancer! Couldn't they have talked with me before telling Anna?

Me (taking a deep breath): Anna, why does he say you have cancer?

Anna: There is a growth.

Me (unable to keep the disbelief from showing): Really?

Anna: Yes.  There is one at the top of my alimentary canal and one at the bottom.

I have no clue how to respond, so I don't.  We walk a little distance in silence.

Me:  Anna, do you remember that we went to the doctor a few weeks ago? At Neptune Hospital? For an enema?

Anna: Yes.

Me: Anna, we have never had a doctor come visit you at home. We always take you to the hospital.

Anna just absorbs this.  We walk a distance in silence till he gets tired and sits in his wheelchair.  We wheel him around the neighbourhood.

I decide to bring up the cancer again.

Me: Anna, no doctor came to visit you today.

Anna: OK.  Pause. Are you sure?

Me (nodding): Yes Anna. I am sure. Very sure.

Long pause.

Anna: It must have been a dream then.

Me (feeling relieved): Yes. It must have been a dream.

Pause.

 Me: Anna, isn't having Parkinson's and Dementia enough?  Why do you want to add cancer to the mix?

Anna (lets out a gurgle-giggle): I suppose so.

Me (driving home my point):  Anna, if you had cancer we would have to start treatment. Chemotherapy or radiation. Remember how terrible chemo was for Amma? And she had 32 sessions of it!!

Anna (nodding): Yes, she had so much chemotherapy. Your mother was a brave woman.

Pause.

Anna: I would refuse treatment if I had cancer.

Me: Anna, that would be painful. Very painful. Why would you want to live in pain?

Long pause.

Anna: Because, then I would die soon.

I have nothing more to say. He has had the last word.

My mother, Amma, was a ~19 year cancer survivor.

She survived stomach / gastric lymphosarcoma.

Amma passed away in 2011 of multiple organ failure brought on by septicemia after an emergency pacemaker insertion.  

A Titled Gent Gets Kicked; It Is a Privilege To Be There

The Delhi summer has taken its toll on Anna. He is eating less, preferring liquids (hot or cold) to solids. He is walking shorter distances. He is lethargic and sleeping more.

Weather 19 May - 25 May 2016
Courtesy www.timeanddate.com\weatherindia\new-delhi\historic

It is only after the heavy downpour on Monday, that Anna has walked to the park or eaten a proper meal. And I, smacking-myself-on-the-side-of-my-head-with-my-palm, have just realised that it is the heat. Tubelight that I am.

This morning, lethargy gave way to a new story of his young adulthood. We are drinking our first liquid of the day (Anna has hot coffee and I have warm water with lemon).

Photo Courtesy
www.highlandtitles.com

Anna: You know, I have had the privileged of kicking a "Sir".

I am very surprised. I didn't know Anna knew or interacted with any titled gentlemen from the Commonwealth. How had I missed this story as a child?

Me: You kicked a "Sir"? When? How? Why?

Anna: You know we were together.

That seems obvious, as he had to be near a "Sir" to kick him.

Anna: He was very happy to see a machine that was made by his family in the 1930s at the factory.

I now realise that this incident must have happened when Anna was a Director at the National Small Industries Corporation, where he was responsible for the growth of small scale industries.  There must have been some titled gent who came to India, as a part of some government program.

But that does not answer the question "Why, did Anna kick a "Sir"?" So I decide to ask him specifically.

Me: Anna, why did you kick a "Sir"?

Anna: I didn't kick him. We both got kicked.

This is becoming murky.

Me: Anna why did you both get kicked? And by whom?

All is quiet and so I change the topic. I see a great story ready for the telling and want to know more details.

Me: Anna, what was his full name?

Anna: I don't remember. He was a "Sir" from Scotland. Maybe Sir Badami or something that sounded like that.

Now, I am getting really excited. My maternal grandmother was born a Badami. She had fair skin, red hair, and blue green eyes (we teased her about her ancestors having liaisons with Scottish sailors). Maybe, Anna's "Sir" had a name that sounded like Badami.

Me: So why did you both get kicked, Anna?

Anna: I provided succour to him when we got kicked. I got him into the railway station in the 5mins that the lights were put on. We slept the night at the station.

This must have been long ago when not all stations had electricity 24x7.

Me: What station was this, Anna?

Anna: He told be all about travelling to England from India. I told him how to get to Scotland from London.

I am not sure how Anna knows about travelling to Scotland from London.

Me:  So Anna, why did you both get kicked?

Anna: Not kicked. Kicked out. From a party.

I want to know the juicy details! I can almost see my eyes twinkling.

Me: Anna what did you both do to get kicked out?

Anna just gives me a small grin.

Me: Anna, did you get kicked out for getting drunk? And misbehaving?

Anna: No.

Me: Anna, did you flirt with women and hence get kicked out?

Anna: No.

I can't think of any other reasons why Anna and a Scottish "Sir" were kicked out from a party in the 50s or 60s.  So I decide to get a timeline on this.

Me: Anna, when did this happen? What year? How old were you?

Anna (looking at me strangely): It just happened. A few hours back.

Then it hits me.  He has had a very real dream.

I ask some more questions, trying to determine if there are any facts that form the basis of this dream. I don't get anything. Finally, he asks for his holdall, which is with his grandmother's sister, so that he can open it out on the berth and sleep.

The dream has not completely ended.

I tell him that his holdall has been opened and his bedding has been spread out on the berth. We take him to his bed for his post coffee nap. He lies down on his side and grabs the protective rail as if he is on a railway carriage berth, and promptly falls asleep.

Elephants Outside My Window!

After my mother died in Bangalore in 2011, my father Anna, moved for a few years to stay with my sister and brother. He spent a little over 2 years in Westboro, Massachusetts.  My brother, converted the ground floor study into a bedroom for Anna.

Photo Courtesy www.hamphotos.blogspot.com

The room has floor to ceiling windows that look on to a wide strip of lawn and flower beds before it merges with the original natural forest that was there before the house was built. The road is beyond the copse of trees. It is a beautiful room with lots of sunlight. In summer one can see flowers, green grass, and trees shaded a dull brown under bright green leaves. In winter we can see bare trees and ground covered with sparse powdered-sugar-like snow on a cake, to 24 inch whipped-cream-like snow smothering the earth. 

The winter months were difficult for Anna even tho' he had lived in Westboro in winter when he was younger and well. But with Parkinson's it meant that he was unable to go outside for a walk. That he had to constantly be careful not to slip in the snow the odd times he did go out. His visits were pretty much restricted to travelling from home to Summit Eldercare and back.

Winter was difficult for Anna. The cold. The fewer hours of sunshine. Being restricted to home. Often when my uncle (Krishnakaka) or sister (Mamta) called him in winter, Anna would tell them about the elephants outside his window. This wasn't a hallucination that lasted hours, but occurred many times over weeks. Both Krishnakaka and Mamta have narrated their conversations with him. Here is how they went:

Photo Courtesy Tennessee Elephant Sanctuary 

Anna: There is an elephant outside the window.

Them (disbelievingly): Really?

Anna: Yes. There is an elephant outside my window. Standing in the snow.

Them (catching on): How long has it been standing there?

Anna: I don't know. It is always there.

Them: Is it the same elephant every time?

Anna: There are two of them. Sometimes it is one, sometimes the other.

Them: Are you sure it is an elephant?

Anna (affronted): Of course it is an elephant!

Them: Can you describe the elephant?

Anna (as if talking to a small child): It is grey in colour. Has two big ears and a small tail. 

Photo Courtesy Professions for PEACE

Them: Are they very big? Thinking of their size.

Anna: Yes. Big ears mean they are African elephants.

Them: Anna / Cheenu, you are in Westboro. There can't be any African elephants in the garden.

Anna (not hearing the logic): Its fascinating that these elephants are walking in the snow.

Them: Anna / Cheenu, what would an elephant be doing outside your window?

Anna (after a long pause): You will have to ask the elephant. It is outside my window standing in the snow.

This conversation could go on for many minutes till one of them would say something like, "Don't worry Anna. The elephants just came to see you. Even if it was snowing."

Anna has not hallucinated about elephants since he has come to Delhi, even though he has often thought he is in Westboro.

Dealing with Distress

It’s been a crazy 3 weeks. It’s been weird..... hmm..... no odd....... no…... I think it has been more disconcerting than anything else.

Anna has been more “out-of-sorts” than "present". In an hour-long conversation, he can be disoriented, lucid, witty, depressed, and worried. Responding to him takes the mickey out of me. I feel like I have been thru’ a wringer.  Here is an example.

Distress by Moshfegh Rakhsha

Yesterday evening, I wait at the dining table for Anna to come out of his room. He walks out and when I look up, my heart sinks. He is frowning and looking very troubled.

Me (concerned): “Anna, what’s the matter?”

He looks at me but does not see me.

Me (raising my voice): “Anna?!”

Now I can see his eyes focus, there is a glimmer of recognition.

Me: “Anna, what’s the matter?”

Anna (very distressed): “We have to go to the hospital immediately!”

Me (wondering if he is feeling really unwell): “What happened? Did you have another loose motion?”

Anna (his voice goes up a notch in distress): “Mamta has broken her foot and we have to go to the hospital.”

Mamta is my younger sister who lives in Bethesda.

Me (worried ‘coz I think that something has really happened to Mamta): “Anna how do you know that Mamta has broken her foot? Did she call you?”

Anna: “No. Vikram told me.”

Vikram is my brother who lives in Westboro. Now I am really worried. It’s got to be serious if Vikram called to tell Anna.

Me: “Vikram called to tell you that Mamta has broken her foot? When?”

Anna: “Vikram told me just now. A few minutes ago.”

Anna (looking around for Vikram): “We have to go to the hospital right now. Has the car come?”

It now dawns on me that Anna may be imagining this entire exchange. I am not sure. His distress is real. Tho’ my brother is not in the house, Vikram could have called Anna. I am more than a little frazzled, and don’t realise that Vikram would call me if there was something serious vs call Anna.

I check with the attendant if Anna has had any calls from Vikram or Mamta. He tells me that Anna has not. So now I know what to do. Calm him down without contradicting him.

Me: “Anna, Mamta is in Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire. The Ivory Coast. In Africa. ”

Anna looks at me with an expression that says, “What’s that got to do with her breaking her foot, dummy?”

Me: “Anna, you are in Sheikh Sarai. In Delhi.”

Anna’s expression does not change.

Me: “Anna, we can’t go to a hospital in Abidjan. It’s in Ivory Coast. In Africa. We are in India”

I have to go thru’ this sequence of comments a couple of times till he says “Ivory Coast and India are on two separate continents.” Finally! He gets it!! 

Or so I think.

Anna: “Tell Mamta to go to any Government Hospital.” Pause. “They will treat her.” Pause. “We need to go to the Orthopaedics Department of the Hospital with my CGHS card.”

How old does he think Mamta is? How old does he think he is?

Oh! And tho’ India and Ivory Coast are on two separate continents (a fact he remembers), it has no bearing on his reality where he needs to go to his daughter who has broken her foot.

We spend another 15 minutes, going thru his reality that has Vikram in the flat, delivering the news that Mamta has broken her foot and is in hospital (somewhere where Anna can visit). A hospital to which we need to go to immediately. Post-haste!  That we have to carry his CGHS card so that she gets CGHS benefits.

I finally decide to send Mamta a SKYPE message to call Anna as he thinks that she has broken her foot and is distressed.

Me: “Anna, I have sent Mamta a SKYPE message to call you to tell you that she is fine.”

Anna (his frown is disappearing slowly): “OK.” Pause. “You should also send a message to The World Bank to tell them that she has broken her foot.”

Oh dear me!  Here we go again.

Anna: “Tell them that it could be a broken bone or a torn ligament.”

Me: “Anna, that is a job for the hospital and not The Bank.”

Anna: “You never know with a hospital in Africa. Tell The Bank. They will take care of it.”

I am sure they will, Dad!! Your daughter is a queen!!

But, I decide not to respond on this. And we go thru' this sequence of "tell The World Bank" for another 5 minutes.  

I finally just pretend to type something on my phone, and tell him that I have sent a message to The Bank too.

Then we spend another 10 minutes on what we can do in Africa!

I finally convince him that we should leave The Bank in Africa to do what they should. That we cannot do anything. That I have sent Mamta a SKYPE message to call him. So all he has to do is wait patiently. This calms him. Clearly he has great faith in "The Bank in Africa"!

I hear Sister Francis's voice in my head saying, "You will burn in hell if you lie to you parents!!"  

But that is some time away, I hope.  I need to resolve the current burning issue. One of the things that has helped in the past is to take him out for a walk or a drive. It helps him when he is confused or has delusions or has hallucinations. 

Me: “Anna, do you want to take a walk?”

Anna: “No. Mamta is in the hospital. We can’t go for a walk. She will call.”

Me: “Anna, I have SKYPE on my phone and I will carry it with me. So when she calls, we can take it on the road.”

Finally, Anna says “OK.”

And off we go....

My sister has never broken her foot.

Hallucinating on Chennai Rains

A township passes us by
Venice, Sept 2008

For the last few days Anna has been hallucinating about being on a boat / yacht / ship. His questions and comments range from, "This ship is well decorated" to "I want to go on deck" to "I have never been on a ship". And tho' I keep reminding him that he is at home and in Delhi (miles away from the sea) I haven't been able to stop the hallucination, tho' he does break out of it for brief periods of time.

Photo courtesy Madras Crocodile Bank

Yesterday, on his evening walk, I tell him that there is a rumor that 40 crocodiles escaped the Chennai Crocodile Park and are swimming the streets of Chennai. He finds this interesting and funny, focusing on the escape and not the fact that it is a rumor. I then tease him that he needs to walk more, to build up strength and stamina, so that we can send Cheenu, the famous Tamil crocodile tamer to catch them. He lets out a loud laugh!!

Smooth Sailing, Kronborg Castle, Helsingor
August 2009

This morning, we are again on a well managed and turned-out yacht.

Anna: This ship is well decorated.

Me: Anna, where do you think you are?

Anna: On a yacht.  I have never been on a yacht.

Me: Are you feeling unsteady? Is the ground swaying under your feet?

Anna: No. Everything is steady. Technology has advanced so much that I can't feel the yacht move.


Me: Anna, look at the floor.  Can you see the granite chips embedded in cement? Like in all DDA Flats? You are at home in Sheikh Sarai.

Anna: Oh! Pause. I have never been on a ship. I want to travel on a ship. Will you take me?

Me:  Anna, we are in Delhi.  We will have to travel to Bombay or Calcutta or Chennai.

Anna: Aren't we there yet?

And then it hits me!! Ever since the heavy downpour and floods in Chennai, Anna has been hallucinating about being on a boat or a ship or a yacht.

It is that simple.

So till the floods abate and Chennai limps back to normal, I know that Anna is going to be on a yacht or ship or boat.

The hallucination is now so much easier to understand and manage.

Happy Hallucinations Are Also Exhausting

Anna: Is the lagna over? (lagna is the muhurat or auspicious time when a wedding is solomised)

Me: What lagna, Anna?

Anna, looking at me as if I am the dumbest person he knows: <xyz>'s madivay (wedding) lagna!

Me: Anna, it's 2015. <xyz> got married years ago.

Anna: So when do we go to the pandal for madivay oota (wedding feast)?

Anna thinks he has an
invitation card in his hand

I've had this kind of conversation multiple times over the last two weeks. Its always a wedding.  And always that of a first cousin's. Anna wants to know if the wedding is over, if people have gone to partake of the wedding feast, when can he meet the bride and groom to give them his blessings.  All the while pointing to various areas of the flat and talking with or referring to people who are not there.  But Anna sees them, and wants to know why I have not given them coffee, or a piece of fruit, or something to eat.

I have unsuccessfully tried to to snap him out of his hallucination, many times.  I have played along with "Anna, they've already had coffee.  You drink your coffee".  I have asked questions, "What does the bride / groom do? How many people are at the wedding?" I have tried to bring in a sense of time by asking, "When did <XYZ> get married? Anna, what year do you think it is?" I have also told him that there is no pandal, no wedding feast, no guests, no anything. But he is in a world of his own.

From foodandrestaraunt.wordpress.com

Then there are short periods of time when he is in the here-and-now. He will tell me that he is disappointed that he won't get idli dosai for breakfast (realizing that he is not at a wedding, and that he isn't going to have the scrumptious multi-course breakfast that is commonly served after dawn weddings in South India). Or he will ask when his majordomo is coming back from vacation - I haven't told him that Tairas is not coming back, and that I now need to find and train a new person.

So, all-in-all, the last 2 weeks have been exhausting. The bar on the definition of exhaustion seems to be setting itself higher and higher as the days and weeks and months go by.

Anna's infection has abated a bit.  The racking cough and the death rattle breathing are still there tho' they are less frequent. He has stopped sleeping propped up in bed as if he is sitting on a reclining chair. The big treatment plan is steam inhalation 4 times a day, accompanied by various complaints by Anna from "Ayyo! Amma!" to "I am dying (of steam inhalation)". It seems to be the only way to get the phlegm out of his upper respiratory tract. Possibly caused by food and drink going into the lungs and the airways to the lungs instead of the stomach - a common issue with Parkinson's patients.

For the past week, I have also been standing in for Anna's majordomo, washing clothes and dishes, ironing pajamas and bed sheets, cleaning bathrooms and courtyards, pumping water to the tanks and having drains cleaned.

And thru' it all, tho' Anna has been withdrawn and depressed when he is not hallucinating, I am comforted that his hallucinations are about happy occasions, surrounded by family and friends.

But I want them to stop.

It takes a lot of mental acuity to keep up with his hallucinations, even if they are happy hallucinations.

I just want them to stop, even tho' I know that they may be replaced with depression and disorientation.

And, I can't understand why ....... I just want them to stop!