64. Tantrum

I’m mortified. I’m not the most patient, nor the most equable person on this earth but I’m proud that I can present a controlled, relatively calm facade, regardless of inner turmoil. And that’s what I’ve been doing, to the point where I wonder if there is any inner turmoil. Maybe I am as phlegmatic as I make out.

This week (Paclitaxel 4) has been marginally worse, after the lovely respite I had on Tuesday. My tongue is ulcerated on the underside from so many accidental bites and scratching against my teeth as I grapple with a kind of numbness in my whole mouth. Anyone who knows me well knows a numb mouth is anathema to me. As soon as the steroid effect wore off, along came the saliva problem and away went my sense of taste. But I had a back-up plan. I would make more of my comfort food, my mum’s chicken and rice stew.

Since I’d mistakenly failed to order one of the few things I can still taste - broccoli - I drove off to the local Co-op and got what I needed. Meantime, Dennis roasted the chicken leg as I still can’t handle the smell of fat. I got home, mildly exhausted, and set everything out ready to make that stew - enough to feed me well for 4 tasty meals. Only, the food cupboard had changed. Where was the vegetable stock? I knew where I’d put it after last time.

Dennis came and had a cursory look and concluded unapologetically that it must have been one of the items he threw out while ridding the cupboard of inedibles dating back to 2010. Then I lost it. I pushed him to one side to look for myself (he wisely left me to it) and uttered a string of invective that could have made my dad blush - and that’s saying something.

                                              

I accused my poor husband of every kind of stupidity and ineptitude. I then flung the broccoli in the fridge, microwaved the most appalling mess of mashed potato and baked beans which I could barely taste, and went upstairs to sulk.

For want of a stock cube, I was reaching breaking point. I know the stock cube is unimportant. I know there was a lot of stuff needed throwing out. It was feeling thwarted when I had a positive plan to by-pass a problem that got to me. I’m still not eating enough and here was yet another obstacle. So I had my tantrum. (Later I texted Lisa to ask if she had a spare stock cube/pot and she came to my rescue - I'll make it later on).

Something tells me there’s a lot bottled up inside and I don’t have any outlets. Dennis, RUN AND HIDE.