Jacket potato with cheese and coleslaw

Today has been another difficult day. Mum was feeling really low this morning, and refused to get up or eat anything until gone lunchtime. It took me most of the morning to persuade her just to take her tablets.

While she was hiding from the world in bed, I called the GP practice to remind them that I had been on yesterday’s list for an urgent call-back but hadn’t heard anything. “Yes, we’re aware,” said the staff member who answered the phone, “but we had too many calls yesterday and couldn’t get through them all.” It might have been nice if they’d made me aware, but I was promised a call from a GP today.

This afternoon our gardener, who I shall be calling Prunella (cos she prunes things), came round. Mum wanted me to just send her away but, before I did, I asked her to dispose of a young holly bush that liked to grab at me as I negotiated past on my crutches. She did as requested, and cut back a few other pointy-leafed shrubs to make my passage easier, too. Nice job, Prunella!

Eventually I did get a call-back from the GP surgery, albeit from an ANP rather than the promised GP. The nurse had no idea why she was calling me – do these people not make any notes? – but at least took my concerns seriously once I had explained.

She offered to call the Memory Service and let them know we’re at crisis point. Some time later she called back to let me know that the Memory Service had told her she needed to contact the Dementia Outreach team, and that the number for said team was ringing out unanswered every time she called.

At least it’s not just me finding it impossible to contact anyone, but it’s very concerning that the team meant to be providing assistance in emergencies is uncontactable.

The ANP also said she had a note to call me “re paracetamol”, and no further explanation. I guessed that that message was in reference to my request for a prescription for paracetamol, which they don’t always agree without me explaining that a standard packet, as purchased over the counter, lasts me three days.

“Oh,” said the ANP. “What do you take paracetamol for, then?” Which meant explaining my back-story all over again, which is always a depressing occurrence. At least she set up the paracetamol as a repeat prescription, so I (hopefully, anyway) won’t have to go through this rigmarole every month.

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For dinner I cooked jacket potatoes, because I know they are something mum will eat and she hasn’t had much nourishment today. I will note that Tesco’s ‘large’ baking potatoes are, in fact, bordering on ‘enormous’.

Mum said she wouldn’t eat much of hers, then that she would only eat half, but eventually managed nearly three quarters of it. I didn’t manage much more of mine.

Now it’s tennis and waiting for a cheesecake to defrost, while mum sits beside me, proving again that her main stomach and her sweet things stomach are entirely separate. I really hope the ANP gets somewhere with the dementia helpline, as I’m currently at the stage where watching her scoff a pot of toffee mousse and cream is a relief, because it means she is at least eating.

That it’s the last pot of toffee mousse, and I again didn’t get even one, is for once a secondary concern. 🤨