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An even more terrible day.
Amongst the, oh, so many things that harassed me, and those that piffed me off so much, especially those I was understanding, digesting and interpreting wrongly.
Making me feel a far greater… as Del might have called me: Plonker, than I was… he’d have been right.
The damaged brain box was not compatible with common sense, at all. I don’t know why I bothered saying that: It’s been like this and getting worse every day for weeks, but at a more rapid rate. Going to the Nuthouse Hospital on Friday to finish the assessment we started last Wednesday. The Carer ran out of time, and the kind lady set up another one. This time it is going to prove a more costly visit. The Easy Link & L9 buses have stopped trading altogether. I anticipate that, instead of the £3 charge each way, the taxis will likely cost me £40.
Bit of a tip for the whippersnappers here:
Sort your pension out (if you are working) and underestimate how much you will need. If you are a non-worker, don’t worry. You’ll be looked after. Better of than someone who has worked all his life and is on the breadline. Free transport, free Carer costs, rent, no Council tax, etc. On and on, all sorts of help.
Cause I am currently spending nearly £1,721 a week on needed Carers. Been told I need one every time I go out, due to my having a seizure and walking in front of a bus on Mansfield Road. Our wonderful NHS has told me that in future, if I have any trouble with Catheter blockages, I have to get a Taxi (last time it cost me £24.50) to the hospital A&E because it is a medical emergency and will be quicker than waiting for an ambulance.
No one saw me medically for four hours, well, 5 hours, adding the time getting there and waiting to be seen for my medical emergency. and the pressure from the bladder forced urine out through my penile fungal lesions, and I was soaked through. If you happen to have a Catheter fitted and are forced to do the same, take a few rolls of kitchen towels and some bog roll with you, cause they had neither in the toilets. You may lose your place in the queue too. I did when I hobbled to the toilet to clean myself up, and even then I was dribbling urine on the floor when I went back to be told, “Your name’s been called; you missed it; you’ll have to take a seat and wait again.” Yes, you’ll feel embarrassed, frustrated, uncared for, humiliated, angry and ready to give up.
So, best to have some uppers with you. Benzodiazepines, cannabis or opioids. If you are lucky enough to have crippling arthritis, or a blocked Catheter, get your quack to give you some Oxycodone; keep a stock for when you go to hospital in your late years, when you’re about 80. They work for me when I remember to take them with me, which has yet to happen since the one time I did, and when a keen-eyed Doctor took them off me.
(Only joking about that). Hehehe! I think. Failing that, if you take a tube of glue with you, it’s cheaper than fags and real drugs.
If you have mental and/or physical problems and no pension, fret not. We workers, now suffering for doing so, are being refused help because of the private work pensions we paid for over 59 years. Wearing down our mental and physical health, can supply part of our taxes paid to make sure you want for nothing.
Forget what I said!
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Well, another thing that got to me in the morning.
Further proof, if needed, of my abilities and memories 
getting increasingly worse…
I’m not sure how I managed this, but since I got such a late start on this blog this morning, I thought I’d start by getting the photos on file.
I started getting Thursday’s snaps on the file… and stupidly thought I’d already used Wednesday’s, and happily deleted them all!
Finding out when I got around to updating this one;
I could have dried,
Self-hatred intensified,
My few teeth gnarled,
My brain had glitched,
Calmness was not applied,
I even self-bepitied,
My self-respect box emptied,
Guilt, self-loathing emanated
Self-castigated, chastised,
I could have gladly died,
My little pride, attenuated!
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Not that this hasn’t happened before. It can happen when my memory stutters. I lose grip and drop things. I think of TSB Bank, British Gas, Virgin Media, FIFA, Putin, Trump, or any other Oligarch… fiddler, mugger, flimflammer, mountebank, chiseller, illywhacker, or terrorist.
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Waking up, I felt a bit better, if not my best,
Cooler today
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Potatoes boiled with Soy sauce.
Rating: 8.2/10
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A 2015 photo of when I could, & did, get out.
from High Horis, a short, but gloriously ‘Sod-em-all’ worry-free half-hour or so, of bliss.
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I lay in my high-class oligarch’s bed for ages after recovering from the horrible night’s sleep. Or rather, lack of sleep. My mind was stewing over so many worries and tasks that I had to get done today & tomorrow. The fear of certain carers being due, and missing Ejaz and Mirza, accompanied by 
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body to test, feeling out which ailment would be master over me today, I was amazed when I moved and caught sight of the nocturnal Catheter pouch on the floor. (It’s got a very long tube – it was Anne Gyna, by the way) I was more surprised than the other morning. How the 
pouch hadn’t split, I don’t know. 18,500ml! This helped me break the deep depressive thoughts I had.
elbow! I hit my chin and kneecap. The second Carer, the nice one, took this snap of it for me. It looked far worse than it was. On the plus side, at least I’d cleaned up the mess from Trotsky’s follow-through before I plunged my arm into the pan. Haha!
Pleased to report that now the toenails have had £35 worth of cropping, I’ve been walking much less painfuller. I’ve clouted my chin and bruised the right knee, though. I mustn’t complain. I’m not sure why.
I found a source of solace in working on the computer today. Fair enough; it was a day of mistakes and faults, and a memory-mangling day, too. Without much doubt, I did have my thinking cap on. I thought that if I delved deeply into the record-keeping, blog, etc. I would not start panicking about the trip to the Titx TSB bank tomorrow. I’m sure it worked for a few hours. But it all came flooding back. Then I could not concentrate when I started updating the blog.
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= =Last nights sunset==
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Condiment shelf
Morning shots
Carers organised desk
Evening snap
Blue cheese sarnies,
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Toenails clipped at last, for only £35, for a five-minute job. Taking this snap of my feet, I noticed that my legs were still so far reduced in swelling that they looked seriously skinny; the left one. Some new blotches were appearing on both legs, and the feet were down enough for me to get the slippers on, with help.
Late night before I got the day’s meal prepped & on the tray. Stilton cheese, pickled onions, the last of the pickle-topped pies, gherkins and sliced potatoes.
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look at that and my bum. Said the coccyx was really sore-looking, and she applied some barrier cream to it. Leaving a note on the packet for the Carers to see, who, in the morning, didn’t even notice the writing on the outer box of barrier cream. 
I started to update the well-behind blog from the day before. But fatigue took hold, and I decided to get the meal of the day done. 
Amongst the dropped items that had to be retrieved, thrown away and/or cleaned were: The cock-pot, a spoon, a spreading knife, and a sharp knife and the fork
tray, I had to clean the floor so I didn’t slip on it; the nosh was all cold and messy; the urge & hunger for it left me. 
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of the oddest visits I’ve ever had. I was so lucky, yes, lucky, that I was only 3 feet away from the Throne, and got down just in time. A sluggy wet mega-squirt or two, and it was all over… I thought. Seconds later, every blocked. The second coming came so slowly and needed so much input to force it out. And there was a lot of it. A little bleeding from my haemorrhoids, but not as much as yesterday. I remember thinking, ‘Thank heavens that’s done and dusted. I opted to do ablutions in a different pattern this morning. I cleaned where I could reach below the stomach, dried it off, and applied Barrier cream to the lower regions. I went to fetch a pair of PPs. Struggled a while to get them on, then did my teeth, and washed where I could reach,h bodywise. I 
View of the mobile aids storage area. Formerly known as the balcony. Walking frame, walking sticks, wheelchair, square walker, and old 3-wheeled one.
More…
A slight mistake or a few were committed in making this meal. I baked the potatoes for too long, and they were too hard for my terribly truncated, rotting, breaking, falling-out teeth to cope with. RIP to another tooth, which kindly left a little bit of itself in the gum, just to make eating that smidge more painful (as the overcooked, leathery potato skin removed it from attendance in my mouth and sent it down into my gullet for disposal. I’m not looking forward to that exiting on my next Porcelain Throne evacuation! 
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Up unwillingly just before six. After an even more regularly jumping-awake-all-night session was enjoyed. When I did eventually give up trying to get any worthwhile sleep
the oddly well-filled Catheter night pouch, the need for the Porcelain Throne developed.
So many to choose from this morning; Arthrits in the neck and right shoulder was noticed first. Then, th
nailed toe, the big one! I realised that my stomach, just emptied, was swelling up almost visibly! Naturally this pain and cock-uppery was taken with a smile. Ahem!
Then I cleaned up, and limped into the kitchen, to make up a 2-litre spring water bottle to keep the Catheter happy.
Carer, but can’t afford to. My shoes are simply too painful to wear; no wonder the toe-stubbs hurt so much. And both legs have gone really thin again? Chicken legs!
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