Cheese and wild garlic frittata, herb focaccia, salad / raspberry tart

I didn’t post yesterday as I was having a really down day: I had no energy or enthusiasm for anything, and I just felt thoroughly miserable.

In the morning, I had a phone call from Social Services, following up on my request for a Care Needs Assessment. The conclusion was that there’s no point in doing one, as it would need mum to cooperate – they can’t implement care against someone’s wishes as long as they have the mental capacity to make that decision, and mum does – and I already know that she won’t.

The social worker did, however, email me lots of links to organisations that that might be able to help, and has done a referral for me to Paragon, the local domestic abuse charity. I didn’t mention ‘abuse’, btw: the social worker decided herself that that is what I’m dealing with, when I mentioned that mum was standing over me listening to the conversation, and that that is what she usually does.

In the afternoon, Lady Friday came to visit and, while mum was in the bathroom, I told her a bit about what had been happening. Lady Friday was instantly understanding, and took mum out for a long drive so I got an hour or so of actual peace.

I went out into the garden and planted some things, discovering that I don’t actually dislike gardening – I just dislike gardening with mum. The constant complaining and criticising take the fun out of it, somehow.

I listened to the birds, watched the insects buzzing and fluttering around, and felt almost happy for a short while. Until they came home and mum complained that there was “mess” in the garden where I spilled a bit of compost, anyway.

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Today… well, the following gives you an idea of how it has been.

Mum said she had a sore mouth – “can’t you do something about it?” So I got up, got her the medicated mouthwash, and sat down.

Mum came in with the cup for the mouthwash , “where does this go?” I told her, and went back to my phone.

Mum said “there’s a label in my shorts that’s rubbing me – can’t you do anything about it?” I told her to use the scissors to cut it out. Mum said “I don’t know how – can’t you do it for me?” I got up, got the scissors, cut out the offending label, and sat back down. 

Mum called “are you going to do something with the washing machine?” I got up, put the laundry on, and sat back down.

Mum said “thank you for doing that – not that you’re doing anything for me”. Miraculously, I didn’t scream.

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This afternoon mum’s friend Charolais took us both out to a flower festival run by the Robert Hooke Society. We spent some time wandering around looking at ingenious displays created by Society members to illustrate various aspects of the life of the 17th century ‘natural philosopher’ (as scientists referred to themselves in those days).

(In case you’re wondering what the connection is, Robert Hooke’s father was a curate at All Saints Church in Freshwater. The road running up to the church is named Hooke Hill in honour of this father rather than his son.)

Then we had coffee, cake, and a chat. I talked a little about how mum has been treating me recently; mum cried and said she doesn’t remember any of it. Charolais said that “it’s fine, you don’t remember it, Cat forgives you”, which… idk, felt a bit dismissive to me. I’m not claiming mum always intends to be hurtful – although there’s certainly an element of intention, I’m sure – but the effect on me is the same either way.

Charolais did, however, agree with me that mum’s symptoms don’t suggest Alzheimer’s disease. Next week I will be contacting whoever I need to contact to request a second opinion. That will be fun. 😬

For dinner we made a start on the new delivery of groceries, from Sainsbury’s, much to mum’s vocal disapproval. (I remember a time when mum refused to shop at Tesco on principle. Now she gets upset if I shop anywhere else.)

The four cheese and wild garlic frittata was nice enough, but it stuck to the foil I heated it up on so was more like cheesy scrambled eggs than a frittata. Mum quickly decided that it wasn’t for her, and left most of it.

The focaccia wasn’t – it was just a herby flatbread – but I thought it was really tasty. Mum found it too hard to eat so left most of that, too.

Then we had the raspberry tarts, from Tesco. We both thought they were nice, although for me the berries needed to be a bit sharper to contrast with the sweet pastry and frangipane filling. Mum followed hers with a berry ice cream lolly and a toffee mousse sundae, in case I was worried about her being hungry after leaving most of her dinner.