The sensible staff nurse who answered the call laughed when she heard that. She said that there was no such thing, and to tell whomever had insisted we put Jan in IMH to give her a call, and she would put the person right.
Jan was special needs, not an individual with mental health issues. The hospital could only ward him as a patient and then he would be discharged as normal, she explained kindly.
I have heard of another autistic child who is warded whenever he gets fractious. However, in this child’s case, under hospital care, his parents are able to persuade him to take his medication by slipping it into fruit or ice-cream. Getting him warded him for a few days seems enough to get his derailed routine back on track.
For my brother, it is a futile plot. Jan pays heightened attention to whatever he consumes. We have attempted similar ruses many times. All our attempts concluded with him giving us a look that clearly said, ‘Nice try.’
Jan now receives a monthly injection if he refuses to take his oral medication. It is alright if he sticks to his pill timetable, but once he starts using them for carrom-like games, we have to call in the cavalry.
Once, a nurse was scheduled to make a home visit to give Jan the injection.
‘A nurse?’ I asked my mother. ‘Singular?’
This last question could have gone two ways. I had meant that it was a nurse as opposed to a more reassuring group of nurses, but it would also have taken a very singular nurse to successfully get the deed done alone.
‘They said they will send him first and if things don’t work out, he’ll go back to report to the hospital. Then they’ll see what they can do next,’ my mother said with a shrug.
‘But they have Jan’s records,’ I said. ‘Really? One nurse?’
My mother was hopeful. ‘Maybe he can persuade your brother to cooperate.’
‘Maybe,’ I conceded.
Jan still loathes needles and injections with a single-minded passion, but there have been occasions when he relented after days of reasoning, cajoling, fake threats and bribery. He reluctantly allowed the medical people to poke him with needles to draw blood samples, inject medicine, set him up with intravenous drips, and so forth.
He would always have his favourite stuffed cushion with him, and would sit very bravely holding my hand till the entire business was over. We were always very proud of him.
‘Has Jan been told that he’s going to have an injection today?’
I asked my mother.
‘No, we haven’t told him anything,’ came the answer.
I started to laugh.
‘That’s not going to work,’ I said, still chuckling. ‘Mum, you know he doesn’t like surprises and he’s definitely not going to like this one, and it’s too late to start apologising to him now. Sorry, but I’m going to sleep.’
Which was what I did. When I woke from my nap, my mother told me that the nurse had come and gone, and my brother had gotten away scot-free without any injections whatsoever. Jan was smugly eating his lunch. My father and I had another good laugh.
Chapter 4
A Memento A Day
The 1st Step
Jan has grown to be very attached to home and family. He is not fond, for instance, of me leaving the house at all. He is resigned to the idea of me going for work and school, and when I go out with friends, it is alright with him as long as I bring him back something.
Whenever I travel now or stop at a friend’s place for a day or two, I would draw him a calendar marking the days I would be gone and highlighting the day I would return home. He would unwillingly relent, after listening to my routine recital of sundry promises of souvenirs and peering suspiciously at the calendar.
Souvenirs are very important. It is custom that when I leave the house, I must return with a souvenir. It does not have to be much, perhaps a small biscuit packet or a can drink. It lets Jan know that I have not forgotten him.
Woe betide the unmindful sister who forgets. Once, my father went out with a reminder that he had already prepared Jan’s meals, and that I was only to get lunch for my mother and myself if we were not cooking.
When I got home, I placed the packed lunches on the dining table and returned to my room. Some time later, I emerged only to find out that Jan had apparently been saddened to tears by the heartbreaking sight of only two sets of lunch. He had even sniffled and hiccoughed.
‘He thinks you forgot him,’ said my mother.
‘Because of one missing food box? And what about all the other things I got him, don’t they count?’ I joked.
Still, I had done the unthinkable. I had not even gotten him a drink in a can. He had not sobbed like that for years. Now I do not dare leave his order out of any menu.
Chapter 5
From Strength To Strength
The 1st Step
It is sad to see and hear people judging and punishing those with special needs in their lives. I know of people passing judgement upon parents, children, families – those who face the challenges of special needs from day to day. My own family is certainly not excluded.
These people blame everything from past sins (if they believe in reincarnation) to more recent sins (if they do not). They speculate on the cause – everything from karma to retribution to drain-rotten luck.
Sometimes one wonders if they would not stoop to tarring and feathering special individuals, if not for laws against such.
Perhaps it makes them feel superior when they say and do these things. Or perhaps it makes for a nourishing dose of gossip. I have
