Duck noodle stirfry

Today has been a bit of an exercise in frustration.

(And, off topic, did anyone else play Frustration as a kid? I used to play it with my sister, although I think it was generally a relief to both of us when our silly orange cat came and knocked the board over.)

My day started, as it usually does, with mum demanding to know if I was awake (“I am now”, I never respond) because she was missing me.

My breakfast took twice as long as it should have done as mum kept calling questions and comments from the living room, each quickly followed by “well?” when I didn’t respond immediately as I was trying to eat. Needless to say, none of the questions or comments were particularly urgent.

Just after midday I received a phone call (scheduled, although I had forgotten about it) from my consultant. She told me that the blood test sent off for genetic testing six months ago had come back negative for any genetic abnormalities. Apparently this happens in 60% of cases, and means they’ll now be sent a muscle sample, from which we should receive a result in another six months.

She asked if I needed ‘more’ physio, and was understandably not very happy when I told her I still hadn’t had any physio. She asked after mum’s health, asked after my financial situation, and, having confirmed I was neither totally burnt out from caring nor starving from lack of money, rang off with a “take care, dear” before I could tell her I hate being called ‘dear’.

A little later I mentioned to mum that I was booking travel to a hospital appointment on Monday. Mum said “I didn’t know about that”, and “you’re just desperate to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

I foolishly then mentioned reading applications from potential PAs, as one of them in particular shares a lot of mum’s interests and could be a good match for the role. Mum was, not surprisingly, not at all keen on the idea of me spending even a couple of hours away from her side: I think she thinks I should be happy to be with her all day every day, and why should I need or want time alone?

The guilt-tripping is real and so, sadly, is the guilt.

This evening I cooked a duck noodle stirfry. Mum loves duck, so I thought it would be a nice treat for her even though I dislike it. I told mum she can have the leftovers for lunch tomorrow as I don’t like duck. Mum said “nor do I, really”.

I’m rapidly running out of things that mum likes, given how many things she has now decided she doesn’t like – shellfish (except prawns, at least for the moment), fish, chicken (she’ll tolerate it occasionally, but without enthusiasm), tomatoes, carrots, strawberries, mayonnaise, and now duck and apparently home-cooked puddings¹ are all things mum has ‘never liked’, despite all evidence to the contrary.

As the list of things that mum has genuinely never liked includes all meat except lamb (and bacon, in small amounts), Quorn or other vegetarian meat substitutes, any type of peas, beans or lentils, most green leafy veg, soft cheese and any firm cheese stronger than a medium cheddar, rice, anything slow-cooked (stews, casseroles, and the like), and anything remotely spicy, the problem of what mum will reliably eat (except coffee ice cream and bananas) is becoming a real one.

And there I will leave things before my frustration boils over into tears, which it has been threatening to do all day. Tomorrow will be better.

OK, it probably won’t, but I have to hope.

---

1. The mixed berry pie I made last week, to mum’s great enthusiasm, mostly ended up in the food bin. Mum did try a few mouthfuls of the apple crumble I made over the weekend, but it was soon abandoned in favour of the usual coffee ice cream. Not that I’m sore about it or anything, obviously. ↩︎