Cajun chicken salad with pitta

The weather has been much cooler today, meaning mum has been less fretful and more like her old self. I suggested we go out into the garden after lunch, which mum interpreted as ‘right now’: within moments she had her shoes on, her gardening gloves in hand, and was looking at me expectantly, like a dog who heard the word “walk”. So we went out in the garden before lunch instead.

I potted on some tomato and pepper seedlings and a perennial sunflower, and realised we need some bigger pots for the overabundance of dahlias I got cheap earlier in the year. I’m hoping mum might agree to a trip to the garden centre next week, with a promise from both of us that we really are only going to buy pots. We really don’t need any more plants!

Mum cut back one of the climbing roses, and found a ladybird – the first one we’ve seen this year. Then mum had a nap and, when she woke up, she realised it was nearly time for Lady Friday to arrive. Anxiety arrived first and, as usual, completely took over.

Mum paced the house, told me to ask Lady Friday to come back tomorrow, clutched her head, and ended up in genuine pain as her anxiety twisted her IBS into action. Then Lady Friday arrived, and the anxiety fell away so completely that, when I explained to her the cause of mum’s stomach ache, mum refused to accept she had ever been anxious in the first place.

This has convinced me that I really do need to speak to someone about treating mum’s anxiety. That kind of panic over every letter, visit, or outing really can’t be good for mum.

Dinner was simple – leftover roast chicken, red pepper and onion cooked with Cajun seasoning, spooned over salad with pitta on the side – but tasty. I used enough Cajun seasoning that I could taste it, but not enough for mum to complain the meal was too spicy.

As often happens after time in company, mum seemed much more like herself this evening, right up until I pointed out that the programme mum wanted to watch is on tomorrow, and she turned the television off in a huff of indignation. It’s one of those stupidly painful reminders that, even at her best, mum will never again be the way she used to be.

So now I’m on my bed with Suki purring on the floor beside, while mum is on her bed doing I don’t know what. At least it’s quiet, and cooler heads have prevailed for now.