Couscous-stuffed peppers with salad

Today has been One Of Those Days.

I woke up late, my body’s need for rest overcoming mum’s repeated attempts to wake me. I got up, and promptly dropped a contact lens that successfully evaded both my and mum’s best attempts to find it.

I received a phone call from someone I was meant to be meeting during the time I was asleep. He was very understanding, but I still feel rather embarrassed about forgetting I was supposed to be there.

Mum arrived in my doorway holding a box that, yesterday, contained beautifully ripe, sweet strawberries. This morning, it contained a dramatically fluffy ball of mould.

I sent a message to the GP surgery requesting a referral to local branch of Admiral Nurses, a specialist service supporting people with dementia and their carers, as I was advised by the advisor at the national organisation’s helpline. Later this afternoon, I received a call back, advising me that it’s not that easy: I had to answer yes or no to a list of questions (“is the care giver unable to prioritise their own needs?” Yes. “Is the care giver unable to guarantee the safety of the person with dementia?” No), and explain the type of assistance I was hoping to receive.

I guess I can see that Admiral Nurses only want to receive relevant referrals, but I did feel that I had to make a case for why we were deserving of the help provided by an organisation that exists to help people with mum’s condition. Worse, mum (as usual) insisted on listening in on my conversation, which triggered a panic of “are they going to help me, are we OK, what are they going to do to me?” which took me some time to settle.

I also followed up with the dentist’s office about the report I was promised on what to do next to ease mum’s tooth pain and mouth soreness. I was advised that it will be emailed to me “in the next day or so”, which is good to know but does leave me stuck on how to help her until then.

Given how much she is suffering in the heat, having no answer for her continual complaints about her mouth – and her head, and her back, and her eyes – means a miserable mum, and a miserable blogger. Mum at least liked the ‘cool pillow’ I bought for her: once she got over her initial “it’s too cold” reaction, anyway.

Late this afternoon I made a start on dinner, halving the peppers, laying them in a roasting tin, then diving into our overcrowded fridge to get the couscous and the cheese. In the process I knocked over a tub of cream: only a little was left, thankfully, but it made enough mess that mum gave an audible sigh of frustration at me.

That cleaned up – with no help from Suki, as the Fan Monster continues to scare her into hiding – I stuffed and roasted the peppers, cooked some berries for dessert, and collapsed in front of the fan.

And there I have been ever since, through mum going to the outside freezer to get something she couldn’t remember or describe, but definitely wasn’t coffee ice cream (it was, in fact, coffee ice cream), and the continued maternal complaints. Roll on the end of the day.