Lamb burger with Mediterranean vegetable giant couscous

Today once again started with mum languishing in bed, complaining about her various pains, saying “I just want to sleep”. This time, though, I learned from yesterday and told mum I wasn’t going to play that game again.

That led to an increase in the groans of pain, not placated at all by my repeated response of a simple “mm”.

After a while I went to the kitchen to do mum’s meds, which requires a little bit of concentration to make sure I don’t miscount the tablets. That meant I didn’t immediately “mm” a response, which led to mum following me to the kitchen.

She stood in the kitchen door, clutching her stomach: “I’m in agony, don’t you care?”

“One moment mum, I’m counting…” I said, to an empty doorway and the slam of mum’s door as she stormed off.

30 seconds later she reappeared, washed and dressed herself, and muttered a “sorry, but I really was hurting”. I’m not claiming the pain didn’t exist – I’m sure it did – but it eased to a simple ‘uncomfortable’ when I made clear I really wasn’t going to play along.

There, though, is the reason I don’t challenge mum more: I can’t cope with the resulting explosion of temper. Instead I walk on eggshells, constantly scanning what I’m about to say or do to see if it’s going to cause mum to respond unfavourably. And if that sounds a lot like emotional abuse, that’s because it is. The fact I have always lived with it doesn’t make it any less abusive.

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This afternoon, mum and I were chatting, and I mentioned that we’ve got another heatwave approaching. For reasons I don’t understand, this triggered mum into a wave of panic: heat makes her head hurt, she can’t do anything, she doesn’t want hot. Her chest started hurting, and she asked me repeatedly if I would look after her.

Then it turned into self-recrimination: she’s stupid, useless, never used to be like this. My assurance that it’s an illness, and we will get help eventually,  rang hollow and reassured her not at all. In hindsight, I must admit I rather feel the same on that point.

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Dinner was, once again, ready-prepared stuff that just needed cooking. The Tesco lamb grillsteaks were tasty enough, given that I’m not a big fan of lamb. (And I know it looks raw in the photo: I promise it’s just the lighting and it was thoroughly cooked!) The giant couscous, from Merchant Gourmet, is a freezer staple which mum always approaches with suspicion then really enjoys.

I just have to remember not to let her know that couscous is just pasta in a different shape, as she would almost certainly refuse to eat it if she knew that.

It really is exhausting, physically and mentally, constantly working out what I can or can’t say. Maybe tomorrow I’ll play the “I just want to sleep” card, and see how long it takes for mum to lose patience with me. 🤭