Southern-spiced chicken pasta

One thing I didn’t expect from becoming a carer was how samey every day is. Partly it’s because mum, like many people with dementia (or so I believe), likes a set routine, and partly because the same things need doing every day.

So mum woke me up this morning, earlier than I would have liked, because she was in pain and needed assistance. So I got her some painkillers, called the GP practice to get us added to the day’s call-back list, and tried to reassure mum, over and over, that the doctor would call and would try to help her.

Around lunchtime mum got up, so I joined her in the living room to watch daytime quiz shows that have been repeated so often even mum has started to notice. After a while the duty GP called and I relayed mum’s symptoms. The GP wanted to see mum in person, so I explained that, while mum can get to the surgery with no problem, my disability makes it very difficult for me to accompany her.

I agreed to get mum to the surgery in return for the promise of an extra-long appointment to discuss all of mum’s current medical issues and how to make her more comfortable. I’m exhausted just thinking about it, and how much mum is going to panic (she’s already started today, until I advised her to try and forget it was happening), but it will be worth it if it results in any improvement in mum’s situation.

After some more quiz shows – including Lingo, which mum did better than me at (OK, I was only half paying attention, but still) – I cooked dinner. While charring cherry tomatoes in a pan I was hit by a sudden wave of déjà vu, immediately followed by wondering if it really was déjà vu or if I was just experiencing the same thing over and over again.

Dinner, which was cooked using a Simply Cook kit but not quite in the intended way: I roasted the chicken rather than frying it, roasted some frozen Mediterranean veg alongside the chicken to take the place of fried peppers and onions, and used a splash of milk rather than creme fraiche as we didn’t have any. And, of course, I used less than half of the mild spice mix, because we know how mum reacts to spices.

Mum cleared her bowl, commented that the spice level was “perfect”¹, and gave a double thumbs up when I asked if it was OK. Then she ate most of a Graces’ apple doughnut, while I ate an Isle of Wight doughnut, and generally seems a little happier in herself than she has been for most of the day. [Oh yeah: the order from Graces turned up this morning, in time for me to have a cheese scone for breakfast. Mum started the other one but threw most of it away because it “wasn’t very nice” – the fact she’d put lemon curd on it might have had something to do with that.²]

Tomorrow will doubtless be more of the same. At least there will the other doughnut, plus a grocery delivery that will include more ice cream. Yay for that, I suppose?

1. To me, the spice level was about equal to pre-ground black pepper, but my opinion isn’t the one that counts. ↩︎
2. That’s not a dementia-related mistake, btw: mum’s favourite sandwich is ham, emmental, and lemon curd. Weird, but it’s her mouth! ↩︎