Veggie burger, hash browns, salad

Another anxious day for mum. Lots of complaining about random pain, and ‘things’ (foxes or badgers, maybe) digging up the garden, and she didn’t know Lady Friday was coming, and so on.

Then the reps from the Dementia Outreach Team came round for a follow-up visit, and mum panicked that “I don’t want them here”. They were very nice people, although I wasn’t a fan of them asking me how I was doing because how do I answer that without triggering mum’s worst behaviour? (Foreshadowing alert!)

We agreed that mum will stay on the increased dose of antidepressants for a bit longer, so we can see what difference they make. They will come back next Tuesday for another follow-up with mum.

I had barely ushered them out of the door when Lady Friday arrived, 15 minutes early. Mum wanted to go out, so I asked Lady Friday to help her get ready. Somehow, despite being on my respite break, I ended up finding mum’s glasses, and sunglasses, and handbag, while Lady Friday flapped around helplessly.

If mum didn’t like her so much I would politely dismiss her ‘services’, such as they are. Actually, that’s a bit unfair: she does get mum out of the house for an hour twice a week, which is the only time I get alone.

I spent that hour making phone calls: I arranged a meeting with a rep from the domestic abuse organisation for a couple of weeks’ time – it was oddly validating when the person I spoke to said “that sounds suffocating” when I described mum’s behaviour. I paid for the PA advert, and spoke to the Council to arrange my attendance at the next available session of first aid training.

Then mum and Lady Friday came home, watched tv for an hour, then I was on my own with mum again. Mum instantly jumped into her response you the Dementia Team visit with a lot of “I love you, I don’t mean to be horrible to you, I really do love you, do you love me?” Any failure on my part to respond with appropriately matching fervour resulted in more protestations of devotion.

It’s not that I don’t love mum, obviously, but this feels more like manipulation and reassurance-seeking than a real expression of feeling.

Under that barrage I was grateful that I had arranged a pre-grocery delivery dinner of ‘stuff from the freezer’ and salad. Mum bravely agreed to try a veggie burger: she didn’t think much of it at first, but liked it more as she ate it, and ended up clearing her plate. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she really liked the hash browns: crispy potato-y things are always going to be a hit with mum!

Now we’ve got complaining that I didn’t produce a dessert, and her head hurts, and there’s nothing on tv, and so on and on and on. At least the protestations of love have stopped.

For now, at least.