As already chronicled on a couple of occasions since Monday, earlier in the week my sister Helen facilitated a change in our mum’s care package. A move aimed at improving the day to day living circumstances of her dementia afflicted matriarch and eldest brother – Actions which’ve returned familial cordiality back to the place where in recent weeks increasingly fraught had lain.
It’s early days yet, but the early signs are the metaphorical smouldering bridges are not yet beyond repair. Subsequently, it’s hoped an amicable accord can manifest from those embers like a phoenix. The proof of the pudding, though, will be in the eating – As ‘The West Yorkshire Proof Of The Pudding Will Be In The Eating Society‘ and the ‘Mumbling Pointless Platitudes Club‘ are oft inclined to proffer.
Much to my delight, the new carer protocols arranged by Helen allowing me greater liberty to leave chez Strachan. Consequently, earlier in the week I spent a cathartic two day break in East Yorkshire; and this weekend intend to visit Newcastle/Gateshead (area of my upbringing) for a similar length tarry.
The latter sojourn arranged so I can spend two nights socialising with buddies who reside one hundred miles north of my Leeds home. Pals who, courtesy of COVID’s spiteful and uninvited intrusion, I’ve been robbed of any opportunity to share a beer for nigh on two years….. Unless you count sharing a tipple via Zoom session quiz nights; which, although brio filled occasions, I don’t.
Heartwarmingly, my mum also seems a lot chirpier with the arrangements made by her only daughter. Maggie appearing particularly impressed with the hot meals she now receives courtesy of outside caters. Upon my return from East Yorkshire yesterday, a culinary approval she revealed with the words “It’s nice to have a nice hot meal for a change.”
Bearing in mind I’ve been making my mum a hot meal for the last two years, a comment which during fraughter times (ie last week) would’ve made me react with the trademark discontent I exhibit when confronted with shows of ingratitude.
However, with a massive weight lifted from my shoulder by my younger sibling, I shrugged this off as a harmless slur of a cognitively impaired woman – As I should’ve done prior to Monday’s re-arrangements. So there’s something positive to grasp onto while I tentatively endeavour to rebuild the aforementioned scorched bridges.
As it stands, ambivalence reigns with regards my short and long term future, viz a viz where I’ll live and the tangible input required from me towards my mother’s support and welfare. The early signs are encouraging, though, in that without the responsibility of full-time carer role the pressure feels as though it’s significantly diminished.
Consequently, my interactions, decisions and general behaviour have already benefitted, meaning that hopefully from now on any interaction with mater will start from a more positive baseline.
To close I wanted to relay how one of the major catalysts to my discontent when more hands on as mum’s carer, ie her inability to turn the TV on/off and navigate the channels if it was already ‘fired up’, seems to have magically dissipated.
Since my return from East Yorkshire she seems perfectly au fait with the controls of a television set which for months I’ve had to channel hop for her….. See Ian (my brother) and Helen, I told you all along she knew how to work the remote and she was just feigning ignorance to antagonise me!!!…… Aaarrrrghhhh!! …. 😉
