Jacket potatoes with bacon-fried greens
Today was the long-dreaded day: the day mum had a dentist appointment. I have a severe and long-standing (30 years plus) phobia of dentists, so this is most definitely not my idea of fun.
I was hoping for a nice late start to the morning, giving me less time to panic about the forthcoming appointment, so of course we were once again woken early by some obnoxious spam caller. (😠) Once awake, there seemed little point in going back to sleep for just another hour or so, so I released the furball from the kitchen and, very carefully, got down on the floor with her for snuggles. And got up again, such things being considerably easier in the mornings when my muscles are less tired.
We then had a call from the nice African doctor (who, earlier this week, I was very relieved to learn is indeed Nigerian, so my ear for accents isn’t quite as terrible as I thought), asking for an update on mum’s headaches. He’s upped mum’s dosage of propanalol again, and will be writing to the neurology consultant oversees mum’s treatment for Alzheimer’s to ask for his input. So no progress, but a doctor who’s determined to keep pushing until there is progress. Hooray for good doctors.
A few hours later, with Suki back in hiding under the kitchen cupboards – she can go anywhere and sleep on anything in the house, so it’s typical cat that she chooses the underside of a cupboard as her favoured sleeping place – it was dentist time. I had phoned in advance and warned them of mum’s Alzheimer’s and my disability and phobia, so they were a model of supportiveness, right?
Nah, of course not. Sitting in the waiting room, I was visibly distressed enough that even mum noticed, but no members of staff offered any support or kind words. I accompanied mum into the treatment room, shaking the whole way, was offered a seat but said I preferred to remain standing so (light-heartedly) “I can make a quick escape!”
The dentist and dental nurse stared at me blankly, so I explained my phobia. “Yes, I saw that on the notes”, sniffed the dentist, with audible disdain. He asked mum about dental issues, which of course she didn’t remember, so I told him what mum had been saying.
He absorbed this information in silence, then took out the tools of his trade and put them down right beside me. That was it – panic took over and I fled, in tears, outside into the cold and wind. No-one bothered coming after me.
Composure regained – and ears and fingers frozen – I returned to the waiting area where, after a short while, mum rejoined me. She needs a further two appointments, and the member of staff on reception suggested “maybe someone else could come with mum next time?”, as if I hadn’t thought of that and tried every other possible solution before forcing myself into one of the worst places on my personal planet. 🙄
Our transport driver kindly allowed us to stop at the nearest bakery on the way home, though, so I at least got a bit of cake out of the whole ordeal. (A Viennese finger from Grace’s: very big, very crumbly, very sweet, very delicious. Should have got two.)
Mum has spent the rest of the day telling me her mouth hurts, and what is the dentist going to do about it? I, of course, have no idea what the answer to that question might be, because I wasn’t there, so I’m going to have to call them tomorrow and ask. Yay. 🫤
After all that, I had neither the energy nor the inclination to do anything fancy for dinner, so mum got her way and, more importantly, the jacket potato she’s been asking for the past few days1. Served with cabbage and spring greens stir-fried with bacon and garlic, which is one of my favourites, so we were both happy.
And so, with Suki hiding from the (admittedly very loud) gales outside2, to an evening of not much on tv. I might sneak off to my bedroom and watch something on iPlayer on my laptop. Mum will interrupt every few minutes to ask me a question that she forgets the moment I take off my headphones and ask her to repeat herself.
I’m going to leave the kitchen door open tonight – less for Suki’s sake than mine, as I can’t take the big, sad eyes when I say goodnight any more – so I’m hoping I’ll be sharing my bed with a tabby puddy tat come morning. Unlikely, but I can hope.
[I was just about to hit ‘post’ when mum came and asked me what there was for pudding. I suggested coffee cake (the last of her birthday cake), but she didn’t fancy it. Then she found some cream in the fridge, but what to have with it? I suggested carrot cake, brownies, mini sponge pudding, coffee cake? Mum didn’t fancy any of them.
A few minutes later: “ooh, coffee cake! I’ll have that!”
🙄)
Is it pineapple sponge today? 