Honey BBQ Quorn with veg and potato wedges
What’s one thing you know now that would have saved your younger self a lot of pain?
I don’t usually respond to WordPress prompts, but this one struck a chord. What’s the one thing?
It gets worse.
Honestly, no matter how terrible you think things are, they will get worse.
If you think the first flat is bad, with no insulation and a roof that drops tiles on you when the wind blows, the next one will be worse. It will have black mould from floor to ceiling, and be haunted [or be structurally unsound enough to cause ghost-like effects] so you will have nightmares almost every night.
The next one will be so poorly constructed water will pour through the ceiling every time it rains.
Losing your dad at only 67 will be terrible. The resulting nervous breakdown, aggravated by a bullying work manager, will be devastating. You won’t work for a year, and your finances will never recover.
Just as you start go recover, along will come a pandemic and end your beloved younger sister, weakened by years of what doctors will insist is a resurgence of the bulimia of her teenage years. Your mother will deny all knowledge of your sister’s lifelong mental health issues. This is foreshadowing.
A few years later you will attempt to respect your elders by giving up your home to care for your grandmother in her last days. This selfless act will cause a family rift that still lingers, with your aunt accusing you of theft and attempting to disinherit her. Needless to say, it won’t be true, but the hurt feelings on both sides will linger.
At the same time, you will be discovering that your mother’s lapse in memory about your sister wasn’t (or at least wasn’t just) narcissistic selective memory: she has dementia. You will find yourself stuck at her side, home and livelihood lost.
All the time you will be battling physical symptoms that are remarkably similar to the ones that ended your sister. Doctors will tell you you’re just depressed and lazy. Three months in hospital will convince doctors they’re wrong, but it will take them another two years to reach a tentative diagnosis that it’s a genetic condition that you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. Never again will you wander through woodlands or along the beach, clamber around a historic building, or indeed climb a single step without assistance from a rail or crutches.
And it is what your sister had, which might not have killed her if doctors had paid more attention and not simply dismissed her symptoms.
Coming out of hospital less than a week before Christmas, to a mother who barely recognises you, will be another lowlight of your life. The following two years will go up and down, but mostly down: either your mother is confused and helpless, struggling to dress or feed herself, or she is almost entirely cognitively capable and being emotionally abusive to you.
I can’t yet tell you what happens next. I hope it will be better. I’m afraid it might not be.
I meant,” said Ipslore bitterly, “what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?”
Death thought about it.
CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.Terry Pratchett, Sourcery
Oh, but: this. ⬆️
Cats will always be nice.
So that’s my prompt response. For my regular readers: today I mostly read a book, Suki snuggled at my side. By dinner time, mum grew tired of this and started up the distraction tactics, wandering into my room semi-clothed, demanding I find her something to wear.
Of course, whatever I found her to wear was wrong, and any expression that I was busy provoked the “you don’t like me anymore, do you?” guilt-trip. In case I was in any doubt about whether or not it was intentional, after dinner mum apologised for her behaviour.
The actual Quorn strips, which I haven’t had before (I have had Quorn, just not in this form (which almost rhymes)), was rather odd, with little flavour and a strange texture I almost recognised. After a few bites I realised what it reminded me of: well-cooked lamb’s liver.
Needless to say, I didn’t mention this thought to mum.
To my surprise, she enjoyed the meal, clearing her plate with a “not bad”. Honestly, anything with a sweet sauce and a side of potatoes is going to be acceptable to mum. (The sauce, BTW, was an ad-hoc combination of the smokey bbq sauce that came with the wedges, melted butter, honey, and garlic powder. It was a bit sweet for me, but mum liked it, which is all that matters on days like these.)
Tomorrow morning I am meeting a friend down in the village, and might try to get across the road to Tesco, although the walk across the car park might be too far. Sad, but true.
