Sweet chilli chicken tenders, mixed veg
I think I’m going to give another one of our regular carers a pseudonym. We already have Little Madam, who is excellent, so I think I’m going to call the one who came today Little Ms Lazy.
If that sounds mean, I will just say that the ‘proper breakfast’ she gave mum this morning was a pot of chocolate brownie sundae. She left the empty pot and spoon on the kitchen counter, then spent the rest of her hour shift sitting on the sofa, playing on her phone.
At least today she stayed for the entire hour: on several occasions she has slipped out five, ten, or – on one occasion – twenty-five minutes early.
Yes, I know I should complain, and I will, but I just didn’t have the energy. I have been feeling very low and lacking in interest in anything today. While the carer was here and at least keeping mum company, I called the letting agent about the property in Shanklin, following up on the viewing booking about which they promised to send me details, but haven’t.
Apparently they took one look at my income – which is just my PIP benefit payment – and decided I couldn’t afford the property, so didn’t bother adding me to the viewing schedule. I reminded them that I have savings, from my inheritance from my grandmother, to cover a year’s rent, but they still haven’t called so it looks like their decision stands.
I also called the housing department at the council to ask about a guarantor scheme, but the person who answered thought that it’s only available to people in immediate danger of homelessness. She advised me to send an email, appealing my banding allocation and asking about the guarantor scheme.
I did so, writing in two minute sprints between mum’s repeated room invasions to tell me about her various health concerns. After about an hour, my response was reduced to a vague “mm”, at which point mum started crying because “you don’t care about me, do you?”
I reminded her that I am making myself physically ill caring for her, and that accusations like that are very hurtful. She hugged me, apologised, told me she loves me, and went right back to the exact same loop of complaints.
This afternoon our cleaner came (I’ll have to think of a pseudonym for him), and kindly changed my bed for me, including putting on the fluffy new mattress topper I bought a while ago. My bed is now comfy, and I am really looking forward to sleeping in it tonight.
The cleaner put the previous sheet and duvet cover in the washing machine, and stayed about 15 minutes past the end of his shift so he could hang them up to dry when the machine finished its cycle. Now that’s truly caring.
For dinner I cooked some Birds Eye sweet chilli chicken tenders. Mum said they were surprisingly spicy. I thought they tasted of nothing much at all. Spice aside, they must have been completely cold by the time mum finished eating them, as she fidgeted so much during dinner that her plate of chicken strips and veg took her nearly 40 minutes to eat.
Part of the issue, I think, is one that I have finally worked out a cause for: her recurrent complaints that her underwear is hurting her. It’s taken me a while, but I finally realised that the problem is probably that her diet of five or six desserts a day has caused her to put on weight, and her underwear is now too small.
(If you think I’m exaggerating on the dessert front, today she had the chocolate sundae for breakfast, a toffee sundae and some coffee ice cream for lunch, and strawberry cheesecake and the last of a sharing pot of tiramisu for her post-dinner dessert. She will probably follow that with an ice cream lolly and a few squares of chocolate. This is why I want the carers to make sure she has something nutritious in the morning.)
I have ordered some new, bigger underwear for mum, but she is Not Happy that I can’t make it instantaneously appear. She is punishing me by complaining about the discomfort every few minutes of every single day, and it is seriously getting on my nerves.
As I write, the first rain of Storm Austen is pattering down outside. Stay safe, everyone in the affected areas, and wish me luck and a perfectly timed dry spell to take mum to the GP tomorrow. I might – just might – even be persuaded to bring her home again afterwards.
No promises, though! 🤭
