Jacket potato with leftover stirfry
I’d tell you today was another difficult day, but by now you probably expect that as much as I do.
Mum woke up about 6am thinking I was about to go out, and it took me 40 minutes and many, many repetitions of “I’m right here, mum, go back to sleep” before she eventually settled again. My voice may have been a touch muffled, to be fair, because my face was half buried in Suki’s fur, and Suki wasn’t inclined to move from her spot in my arms.
Today’s carer was someone new, so I had to go through the whole story again to get her up to speed. She quickly learned what mum is like in the morning when mum snapped “no thank you”, and shut the bedroom door in her face. She had a point, though, as the carer then walked straight into my room without knocking, while I was getting dressed: I get enough of that from mum!
At least, unlike mum, the carer was mortified and very apologetic.
On her way out, the carer told mum her friend – Charolais – was coming to take her out to lunch. It was well-meant, but I then had an hour of “I don’t want to go. Maybe I should go? What can I wear? No, I can’t go, it’s too embarrassing. Oh, it’s so nice to be invited. Can I wear this? No, I don’t want to go,” over and over and over.
She did eventually go, leaving me with an almost unnervingly silent house for a couple of hours. I spent it researching emergency help with boiler repairs and day centres for people with dementia, both of which I will actively follow up tomorrow.
Dropping mum home, Charolais popped in to tell me that mum needs her hair cut, and her nails need doing, because she always used to be so well put together and now she isn’t. Oh, and have I bought cream for mum’s sore bits, and have I considered continence pants, and what am I doing about getting heat in the house?
It was all well-meant, but it was clear she doesn’t think I’m doing well enough in looking after mum. She’s not entirely wrong, but I am running periously low on my lifetime allocation of spoons to do anything about anything.
Mum then spent the afternoon in a state of advanced fidget, misplacing her glasses, then misplacing her spare pair of glasses, then bringing me various old cables, then misplacing her glasses again… It became clear that what mum wanted was my undivided attention, by any means necessary. It was precisely as irritating as you would imagine.
By dinner time I was completely out of enthusiasm for anything, so I just cooked a couple of jacket potatoes. Mum had salad and cheese with hers; I had the rest of the tofu and veg stirfry from the other night, which was surprisingly delicious with a jacket potato.
Now mum is watching the frustratingly ubiquitous Strictly Come Dancing, and seems fairly involved in it. Except for an unexpected appearance in my doorway just as I was stuffing a chocolate caramel wafer bar into my mouth. Secret snacking is less fun when it’s no longer a secret, I find.
