THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, July 14, 1995 TAG: 9507130189
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 08 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Cover Story
SOURCE: BY PAM STARR, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 185 lines
DAISY PRESSWALLA grabs a bottle of Keri lotion from a hall closet and strides down a fourth-floor hall of Virginia Beach General Hospital.
The gray-haired, 90-pound woman starts knocking on doors, looking for cancer patients who want a little company and maybe a partial massage.
Devoid of makeup and dressed simply in white jeans, a white blouse and white sneakers, brown-eyed Presswalla looks like a modern angel come to life.
``Hello, my name is Daisy and I want to know if you would like me to give you rub,'' she says in her Indian accent. ``I can massage your feet, your hands, anything you like.''
Some patients thank her and decline the tantalizing offer. But others, like 55-year-old Darrel Hughes, eagerly welcome the certified massage therapist into their rooms.
``That sounds wonderful,'' says Hughes, who has been in and out of the hospital since March for treatment of cancer of the esophagus and stomach. ``Do whatever you want.''
His visitor smiles and dabs some lotion onto his feet. As Presswalla begins to slowly massage each foot and ankle, Hughes sighs and relaxes in his bed.
``This feels great,'' Hughes says, laughing with delight. ``I've never had a massage before.''
Hughes doesn't know it, but he's being touched by the Mother Teresa of Hampton Roads. ``Babe Teresa,'' actually, as she's aptly called. Presswalla has given up a lucrative massage business to dedicate her life to helping the sick and dying and anyone in need.
In addition to visiting the hospital every Monday, Presswalla gives free massages to patients and their family members as a volunteer with Hospice Volunteers Inc. She's been doing both for four years. Presswalla's small but sturdy frame also can be found several days each week at DePaul Hospital in Norfolk.
She finds time to teach a relaxation and positive thinking class every Friday at Seton House, a crisis shelter for teenage girls, and Presswalla works one day a month at the Judeo-Christian Outreach Center's soup kitchen.
While Presswalla still sees massage clients in her house, every penny she earns goes to a different charity. The Bombay, India, native gets nothing in return for her charitable work, except for mounds of thank-you notes, flowers and warm memories.
Presswalla's reasons for giving up a life of ease and material comforts are physical and spiritual, she explains. Photo albums of former patients rest on the dining room table of her modest Pembroke Meadows home, next to a tablet of Presswalla's poems. Her paintings and handstitched items adorn the white walls, and rows of plants line the floors, all given by patients. Statues of Jesus, Buddha and Krishna sit on a table in her massage room, surrounded by candles.
Seventeen years ago Presswalla developed cancer in her uterus and ovary. She underwent chemotherapy but felt ``terrible,'' she recalls. After surgery, Presswalla became even sicker. The doctor's prognosis was bleak. That's when she decided ``enough is enough.''
``I told my husband, who is a doctor, that I would take charge of my own body,'' says Presswalla. Her husband is Faruk Presswalla, the state medical examiner. ``He was angry, my doctor was angry. I say `tough.' I work out in spa every day, I do yoga and meditation. It took over a year, but the cancer was gone.
``My husband says I'm from a different planet,'' she adds with a peal of laughter. ``But if Big Boss wants me, I'll go. I don't struggle. I'm not afraid.''
Presswalla's stoicism can be traced to her religion. A dedicated follower of the ancient Indian philosophy of Zoroastrianism, Presswalla is practicing a life of good thoughts, good words and good deeds.
``I think Big Boss puts you in a certain religion for a purpose,'' Presswalla explains. ``People try to convert me to Christianity all the time - they say `are you praying my prayers?' I think God is one but there are different ways of worshipping.''
Her father died when Presswalla, the youngest of four sisters, was 3 years old. The girls were raised by a religious mother who contracted Alzheimer's in her last years of life. Not surprisingly, Presswalla grew up wanting to be a nun.
``I feel that if I can't take care of my mom, I'll take care of someone else's mother,'' says Presswalla.
Although not required by her religion, Presswalla is a vegetarian and fasts once a week. The only concession she'll make to vanity is refusing to share her age. She'll say only that she was born on Sept. 7 and is over 50.
The role of caring for terminally ill patients is not for everyone.
Presswalla has cared for 23 hospice patients in the last four years and only one remains alive. She had been tending to several this year through the Hospice Volunteers program, but they all died within a few months. That's the stark reality of the job, says Hospice Volunteers executive director Gene Gramlich.
``You become part of their lives, you create a bond,'' he says. ``But most patients don't last very long. It's difficult - you have to be strong. Volunteers have to have a willingness to give of themselves and Daisy certainly does that.''
John Bunting came to understand that nearly a year ago when he lost both his wife, May, and son, John, to cancer within a month of each other.
Presswalla was their appointed hospice volunteer. She visited the Thoroughgood home several times a week for many months, to give massages or to just sit and talk.
``Daisy is wonderful,'' says Bunting, a retired Navy captain. ``She not only cares for your body, she cares for your soul.''
Presswalla has been with many patients at the time of their death, sometimes instead of family members. Some spouses or children can't bring themselves to see their loved ones at the moment of death, says Presswalla.
While she loves her patients unconditionally, Presswalla emphasizes, she doesn't allow herself to get too attached. That's the only way she can continue working with the terminally ill.
One night a patient's son called Presswalla, telling her that his mother was going to die soon, and asked if she could go over there immediately. Presswalla didn't hesitate.
``She was scared - I talked to her for 20 minutes,'' Presswalla recalls. ``I held a picture of Jesus in my hand and told her to look at Jesus, he will help you. I tell her to close her eyes and fly away.
``In five minutes she was gone. I wiped away her tears.''
Back at Virginia Beach General, Presswalla has moved her healing hands up to Darrel Hughes' face and neck. She talks animatedly with Hughes as she rubs, explaining why she has chosen this way of life.
``I get pleasure from this - this is my social work,'' Presswalla tells him. ``If I want, I can sit and do nothing but play golf or tennis all day. That's not me.''
Fourth-floor nurse manager Lynn Murphy watches the interaction with a smile. Presswalla had approached Murphy four years ago about giving massages to cancer patients. Murphy suggested that Presswalla become a hospital volunteer, which she did, because giving massages in hospitals was ``very unconventional,'' Murphy recalls. Presswalla can only massage the hands, feet, face and neck of patients.
``Daisy was our little secret - I wasn't sure how others would react,'' says Murphy. ``But she has a real special way about her. Patients and families feel real comfortable talking to her. Sometimes they tell her things they haven't told us.''
Presswalla has been so popular with the patients that if they come back for treatment, invariably they'll ask if Presswalla will be coming around. Nurses make a list every Monday, in fact, of patients who would benefit from Presswalla's gentle touch.
``Daisy really touches on the psychological component of healing,'' Murphy says. ``She provides a wonderful service for our patients. If she stops, I'm not sure we would be able to replace her. She's so unique.''
The phone rings insistently in Hughes' room but he ignores the noise and instructs Presswalla to do the same. She's massaging the back of his neck while he lies on his side. The look on his face clearly says ``I'm in heaven.''
``Wow, you hit pressure points I didn't even know existed,'' he says, turning to lie on his back. ``You hit some that are absolutely soothing.''
Presswalla thanks him and stops suddenly. She closes his eyes, places both hands on his head and prays. Hughes' eyes stay closed, too. When she is finished, Hughes opens his eyes wide and looks surprised.
``All I can say is I'll drive you anywhere, Miss Daisy,'' he says as they share a laugh. ``That was very, very nice and very relaxing.''
Presswalla visits three more patients and performs the same routine on each. At the end of the day she says goodbye to the nurses and heads toward the elevator. She'll be going to DePaul Hospital later, to visit with an elderly Indian woman. In the elevator, Presswalla admits that she is a little worried about having her story told in the newspaper.
``I don't want people to think I'm doing this for the publicity,'' says Presswalla. ``But maybe someone else will see what I'm doing and decide to help someone, too. I hope this will be an inspiration to others.'' ILLUSTRATION: [Cover]
THE MOTHER TERESA OF HAMPTON ROADS
[Color Photo]
Staff photos, including color cover, by BETH BERGMAN
Daisy Presswalla massages cancer patient Darrel Hughes. ``All I can
say is I'll drive you anywhere, Miss Daisy,'' he says. ``That was
very, very nice and very relaxing.''
Staff photos by BETH BERGMAN
Hospice patient Ruth Noland of Virginia Beach holds a comforting
conversation with Daisy Presswalla after a free massage. ``Daisy is
wonderful,'' says John Bunting, who lost his wife and son to cancer
within a month of each other. ``She not only cares for your body,
she cares for your soul.''
Presswalla, a native of Bombay, India, enters the cancer ward at
Virginia Beach General. Some patients thank her and decline her
tantalizing offer to massage the hands, feet, face and neck.
Presswalla massages the hands of cancer patient Darrel Hughes. ``I
feel that if I can't take care of my mom, I'll take care of someone
else's mother,'' says Presswalla, whose mother had Alzheimer's in
her last years of life.
by CNB