DEMENTIA CARE: CANCELLATIONS AND THE MILK-POCALYPSE.

We are all wrestling with the standard unit of measurement: ONE MONTH LATER. If anything is going to be done, it’ll be done ONE MONTH LATER. Or…A MONTH AFTER YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE DONE.
   I am clearing the house in stages. Clearing began in October and started officially ONE MONTH LATER. Rubbish accrued. Time to ditch rubbish. I kept things in the garden hut. You couldn’t get into the garden hut for those things.
   Well, damn it, I wanted that space for rubbish. Yes, I felt the only place I could temporarily store rubbish was in the hut. I arranged for uplifts of assorted things that had to go. Of course, in October. Come November, those things went.
   I’d been in a peculiar queue. Booking an uplift, I was trying with difficulty to secure a week in November. There it was. Right there. I went for a coffee. When I came back, the slot was gone. I had to book the next week.
   For reasons of safety on the street and for basic management of bulky items, I split the overall uplift in two. So I then went in to book the second slot. They offered me the slot I’d missed. All the stuff from week one would be picked up in week two, and all the later stuff would now be picked up in week one.
   This feels like a million years ago. It meant changing the routine for what went out and when. I had to move furniture. The weather remained rainy for both collections, without stormy winds, and all went smoothly.
   Here I am in December, arranging for more items to go. This time, I am sending furniture away. The standard unit of measurement is ONE MONTH LATER. This furniture goes to the discount place where it can be put to another use. We’ve had our use out of it, and if someone can’t afford that stuff straight out of a shop brand-new, then, hey, here’s the discount option for you.
   I hope someone had great use out of two chairs, a washing machine, a fridge, and a tumble dryer that all had to go to the great Council Discount Facility in the sky. Something tells me I’m missing a few items off that list. Donated more than that, I think.
   And there’ll be further donations now, ONE MONTH LATER, in January. I’ve had to move even more furniture around the place, to keep the stuff as close to the exit as possible. Yes, the kitchen is a disaster-zone. And yes, everything is all over the place upstairs.
   At least there’s space for rubbish in the hut if I need that.
   The main result of all this nonsense, with the addition of new mobility equipment consuming its own small corner of the universe, is that I offloaded enough material in November to make room for the Christmas tree.
   From last month’s blog…

As we head to the year’s end, with a touch of reorganisation, there should still barely be room for a very tall tree covered in spangly lights.

Close. Very close. But I made it. The tree is important. It’s the last tree the cared-for went shopping for. Well, not exactly. She was parked in a house not too far from the shop while I purchased the very tall tree she wanted.
   There was a deal on a laundry basket, as I recall. I had trouble securing these bulky items for a dodgy trip across a road. Anyway, Christmas isn’t cancelled. It’s just low-key. But at least we have spangly lights on the tree.
   The last meal she picked out for Christmas dinner is one I (more or less) make every year, just to keep that going for reasons of nostalgia. Christmas dinner’s main ingredient would vary, as I recall. Turkey was never a winner.
   Any event experienced under the stress of being a carer needn’t be stressful in the extreme. I make Christmas all about the meal. It has to be about something. So I choose that, and a spangly tree loaded with decorations, and a few other festive items scattered around the place.
   I decide to have that big extravagant meal at Christmas, on Boxing Day, and again on New Year’s Day and Second New Year’s Day. Hobbits have Second Breakfast. Scots have the New Year’s Holiday and the Hangover Holiday that follows it.
   New restrictions by January might cancel the uplift of furniture. Cancellation has been a feature of the festive landscape. It’s not all about ONE MONTH LATER. Lately, it’s been about juggling.
   The nurse is coming on a visit. No. Cancelled. Can she come out to see you on the BLAH of the month? For that, I need to check my calendar. Who is coming when? What is arranged for the cared-for and what’s been set up for me?
   We cancel the nurse. My much-delayed appointment at the dentist is cancelled and moved the better part of ONE MONTH LATER. The nurse is cancelled again and moved one day earlier. This almost clashes with my own Covid booster appointment, which was made ONE MONTH AGO.
   The state of play is now as follows: I’ve endured many important events cancelled and moved around – nothing missed so far.
   So much for appointments. The main cancellation was MILK. If your diet is mostly milk, this is, what do they call that again…fucking important. We’re talking about the dreaded Milk-pocalypse.
   The supermarket says that THE BEST TYPE OF MILK is not in stock. What about a replacement? No, milk’s been cancelled. It’s an apocalypse of milk-based dimensions. Damn you, 2016. Quick, throw a protective cordon around Sir Pat Stew and Tiny Tim.
   Ah, vintage jokes from 2016. Yes, a simpler time. Feels like three fucking centuries passed since then. We don’t count 2020 or 2021 in that calculation. I suspect we won’t be counting 2022, either.
   What the hell was I going to do about the Milk-pocalypse? Nothing. I’d already prepared for it. The milk that forms the regular diet…that’s strawberry milk. And it goes well with the dietary supplements – the powdered milkshakes, whether those are strawberry or vanilla themselves.
   Strawberry milk. Plentiful. (Ha!) Cheap and cheerful. Medium shelf-life. To deal with a shortfall, I had a back-up. Other brands of strawberry milk. More expensive. Longer shelf-life. Buy those in dribs-and-drabs. Store them in the fridge.
   Well, the Milk-pocalypse came and blitzed my entire reserve. The worst case I ever dealt with was the arrival of chocolate milk instead of strawberry. I had to reject the delivery and go into town that afternoon for the strawberry milk I knew would be in stock by the time I reached the shelves. And it was, too.
   That’s a pre-Covid story, when casual travel was a thing.
   Now, I have the reserve in reserve.
   Except, with the cancellation of milk in its entirety, I had a week of supplies and then the risk of a further apocalyptic non-delivery. I can survive one empty delivery. There’s only so much space inside that fridge. And it’s a massive fridge, too.
   What did I do? I ordered all the milk. Every strawberry concoction I could find. For safety, I also ordered some banana milk. We can survive on that in small doses.
   The Milk-pocalypse wasn’t really the lack of milk…no, when the new delivery came, it was the abundance of milk that was the problem. One brand of strawberry wasn’t available, so it was changed to vanilla by the time the delivery went through…
   And that works with vanilla milkshake powder. No big deal. Almost all of the extra milk had long-term shelf staying-power. The main supply of milk was back in stock. It had disappeared for a week. When it left, it was in round-based bottles. And when it returned, the bottles were square-based. Apparently, it was impossible to switch seamlessly from one to the other. Milk demanded a week’s holiday to deal with the alteration.
   Well. Here it was, back in fashion. I accepted the long-term milk supplies with ease. But I had three other brands that were medium at best. And so, the Milk-pocalypse began. I considered adulterating my coffee with milk. Short consideration. No longer than ten seconds. Yes. Five seconds.
   So I had to invent occasions on which to drink strange milk products. Hybrid milk-yoghurt stuff that I can best-describe as mock-yoghurt with milk, or…mockghurt. We’ll agree that’s not a thing, and we’re never to use the term again.
   I made it through. My regular drink is coffee. When I am not drinking that, I switch to apple juice. The apple juice in the fridge will last until the end of our solar system. Easy enough to refrain from drinking apple juice, and to switch over to drinking random bottles of milk in all shapes and sizes.
   After a week, all of the remaining milk is intact and fine. I just have to down a few of the smaller daintier bottles on the shelf. What’s cancelled next? I don’t know. Possibly…late delivery of a book. It’s looking a bit shaky. There’s always a refund.
   Of course, milk might vanish from the next delivery. In which case, my stockpile will avert another Milk-pocalypse, as planned. Or semi-planned. Possibly semi-skimmed – I don’t check that stuff. If it tastes okay and it keeps you going, that’s all that matters to me.

Update. The book was cancelled. There's plenty of milk in the fridge.