Pasta amatriciana

Another day of mum feeling unwell and confused: she spent most of the day lying on her bed, emerging only to ask what’s happening about church next Sunday. My answers of “[friend’s name] will take you there”, “nothing yet, it’s only Tuesday”, and “please try not to worry about it” all proved equally unsatisfactory, even after multiple repetitions.

Equally unsatisfactory were the arrangements for getting the new dose of antibiotics, prescribed without the doctor even speaking to mum, which… I guess everything goes through me anyway, but it sits wrong with me that it was done without ever speaking to the patient. The doctor also asked for a new sample for further testing, but I just couldn’t find a way to organise it, eventually getting myself stressed to the point that mum had to tell me to stop as “you can’t manage everything”. 😬

One grocery order later – done after mum complained there was “nothing to eat” (except fruit, bread, cheese, salad, cake, chocolate…) – I spotted a cat whisker lying on the sofa. I don’t know where it came from, or which cat might have been its owner, but I pointed it out to mum and pretended to cry, then left the room rapidly before the pretend became real.

Dinner was a little later than usual as I delayed until our trusty friend turned up with the antibiotics she had kindly collected on her way home from work. I stress her kindness as her “have you chased up on…?” line of questioning, with everything else I’m trying to handle atm, rather got my back up.

Once she had gone home, and mum had taken her first antibiotic tablet, I served our dinner of pasta ‘amatriciana’: a fancy name for pasta with bacon bits and a jar of tomato and chilli sauce. Mum ate a large portion, aware that she hadn’t eaten much for the rest of day (what she can and can’t remember on any given day is a mystery to me), then followed it with a slice of lemon meringue pie and several squares of chocolate.

Now I’ve got my usual cup of decaff coffee, and a mum who can’t stop worrying about church no matter what I say in response. A whisker of guidance around this would be helpful.

Which was meant to be a vaguely philosophical end line, but I’m going to rephrase it as a serious request for help: what can I do or say to reassure her? TIA for your help, folks.