Creamy chicken and mushroom with green veg; apple crumble and ice cream

Usually I write my posts at the end of the day, by which time many of the things I’ve thought ‘must mention that’ about have been forgotten. Today, instead, I’ll do it as I go along.

Time unknown, but it’s only just light: I’m woken from from a dream by mum knocking on my door, to ask… I don’t know what, tbh, as I was mostly asleep. My “huh, wut?” response was apparently not suitable, though, as mum gave a huffy “well, I suppose I’ll just leave you alone then” and went off to leave me alone. Thankfully.

9.30am: I wake up a second time, and head for the bathroom. Mum plaintively asks if I’m going to come back – from the bathroom? No, I eventually figure out: from delivering a ‘sample’ to the GP clinic. I remind mum that that’s tomorrow, and I really do need to use the bathroom, please?

10.00am: mum tells me she doesn’t feel well, and can I please do something? I give her some painkillers to take with lots of water.

10.02am: mum tells me she doesn’t feel well, and can I please do something? I remind her that she’s just had some painkillers and she needs to give them a chance to work. Mum says she’s going to have a nap, which I acknowledge.

10.05am, 10.10am, 10.15am (times approximate): mum tells me she doesn’t feel well, and can I please do something? I remind her that she’s just had some painkillers and she needs to give them a chance to work.

10.20am: mum tells me she doesn’t feel well, and can I please do something? I remind her that she’s just had some painkillers and she needs to give them a chance to work. Mum says that’s not what she means. I can see the signs of anxiety so suggest reading, watching television, doing puzzles – anything to distract her mind. Mum says that if that’s all I can suggest she’ll go back to sleep instead. I say “fine, do that then”. Mum says “I thought you’d help me”. I say “I’m trying to help you!” Mum slams her bedroom door shut, then reopens it 10 seconds later to apologise.

10.30am: I finish in the shower, stand up from my shower stool, and my foot slips. Only the grab rail and the edge of the shower stall stop me from falling. Mum shouts through the door to ask if I’m OK (I knocked over a couple of bottles as my foot slid, making a noise that could be heard from outside the bathroom); I say I am, but I scared myself. Mum laughs and walks off. I know it’s her “I’m too embarrassed to admit I didn’t hear what you said” laugh, but I will admit I’m a little hurt by her lack of interest in my wellbeing.

[Throughout this morning, and the past few days, mum has occasionally remembered that she had an invitation to go to the tea and cake aftermath of her church’s harvest service. Each time, mum said some variant of “no, I don’t want to go, I want to stay here with you”.]

12.15pm: mum’s friend arrives to ask if mum wants to go for tea and cake. I know she doesn’t, so imagine my surprise when her eyes fill with tears and she exclaims “oh, I would love to, just let me get my shoes”. A few moments later, mum is hurrying out of the door with barely a backwards glance, leaving me bewildered but in possession of a basket-full of homegrown apples from the friend’s generously-sized garden. I shrug to myself and settle down to read my book and eat an apple.

1.20pm: mum comes home, elated from seeing her church friends, and for some reason develops an obsessive thought that she has lost one of the house keys. I tell her I have it, then less than a minute later hear her searching for it again. This time I show her the ‘missing’ key, but just seconds later she is searching the house for it again. I’m slightly ashamed to admit that I distract her with chocolate before I end up throwing the damn key at her.

Late this afternoon / early this evening, I peeled and chopped the two cooking apples from the basket-full and topped them with the leftover crumble mix that has been in the freezer for the past few weeks. The apple to crumble ratio was a bit off (too much apple, too little crumble), but the scent of hot, sweet spiced apples is about as autumnal as you can get.

(The main course, from a Simply Cook recipe box, was very much just OK. Mum ate her portion slowly, stopping to play mahjong on her kindle between each bite, which is a pretty clear indication that she’s not keen.)

Now it’s tv, which mum insists she wants on but pretty much ignores unless I draw her attention to something in particular, mum complaining that her head hurts, and me pretending that my feet don’t hurt. Tomorrow I have to arrange transport to an appointment with the Chronic Pain Clinic in the county town the following week; mentioning it gets mum into a panic that I’m going to go off and leave her (and go where? I don’t think she knows), so I just won’t mention it.

🤫, OK?