Tuesday 14th January 2020

Maori: Rātapu 14 Hanuere 2020

23:25hrs: I bestirred reluctantly and was feeling terribly depressed, confused, and uncomfortably disorientated. The immediate problem was my uncertainty of whether or not I had really lost the blister-pack of medications. How had I got things so wrong as to run-out of beta-blockers, water-tablets, and Simvastatin amongst other important tablets?  A lack of self-confidence and self-hatred came through to join the worries and fears for me to stew over. I actually felt sick, not physically, but inside. No help yet either, and this after two tablet-less days!

I’ll try Warden Deana again later, she did tell me to call around 09:00hrs, so she could ring the bank with me present. She said she’d phone the chemist for me later when the shop opened. But I have heard nothing. I believe she is having to work at another block of NCH flats as cover, so she’ll be up to her neck in it.

I need to know about the prescription and take action to get some more urgently. I’m so sorry it’s a dismal start to the diary, but I’m pretty depressed about how life is at the moment. I’ll try to lighten it up from here on, no promises, mind. Hehe!

The usual summoning to the Porcelain Throne arrived, which helped me snap out of the Self-Pity-Mode. Getting my ever-more-wobbly body from the £300, second-hand c1968 recliner was of little bother. Keeping my balance on the gentle trot to the Throne, was more difficult, thanks to Dizzy Dennis’s ministrations, which stayed for during this time. The evacuation was messy, but minimal bleeding anywhere. And it seemed to be a lot less in volume.

I cleaned up and then limped to the kitchen. Put the kettle on, and searched around again, hoping tp mysteriously find a blister pack of medications, but after half-an-hour, mostly searching in places that had already been perused, I’d had no luck. Depressionalisticalness moved to Defcon Three! I reheated the kettle and made a brew, and took some of the out-of-date tablets I’d found at the bottom of the drawer. I had Warfarin in stock, though, at least.

It was a sad figure that got to the computer to start the updating of the Sunday blog. There was a mixed bag of feelings clinging to me; fear, self-loathing, resentment, sadness, self-contempt, anxiety, confusion, and probably the strongest one, was of awkward helplessness. Depressionalisticalness moved to Defcon Two & three-quarters! Hehe!

I got the blog finished off and sent it to WordPress. During this time, I only needed three wee-wees. Smug-Mode nearly adopted, but I knew better! My EQ told me not to get too expectant of anything to go right – which really cheered me up. Tsk!

Off to make another brew, Glenghettie Gold this time. The innards rumbled threateningly while I was making the mug of Britain’s finest commonly available tea. On a par with black Glenghettie and Thompsons Punjana. All have different taste qualities. The Gold is strong and tasty with it. Straight black Glengettie, viciously strong, wonderful. The Thompsons Punjani just as tasty, but a tad less strong. Compared to the Twinings… What in heavens am I doing? Advertising teas! Shows the state of my warped, disintegrating mind, dunnit?

Within a few minutes of my being back at the computer, with but a few key-presses achieved…

Dangwangles, damn and blast the duplicitous, unreliable, crap, pathetic Liberty-Global and overpaid, bully, plutomaniac, greedy-con-man Fries!

So, I had to work on CorelDraw, until the internet connection returned. Had a wee-wee, all the few of then, this was only the forth, were of the BOTTTFA (Blasting-Out-Then-Trickling-For-Ages) mode! The GPWWB (Grey-Plastic-Wee-Wee-Bucket) was about a third-full already?

I sent some photos to Pinterest and went on the WordPress Reader. Then the TFZer Facebooking session. Then making yet another mug of tea (Today’s thirst for tea, is most voracious?), I took this snap of the moon and sky; it looks like it had been painted. The only clouds in view were a few lingering just above the planet.

I had some bikkies with the Thompsons tea. McVities orange chocolate digestives, well dunked. Haha! After they were enjoyed and imbibed, it was ablutionalisationing time.

And despite the rumbling innards, it was a most decent session. The dropsies were no more than four, no shaving cuts, toe-stubbings, or banging into or knocking anything over. Why even the sock-glide battle failed to produce any blood-blisters, bruises or blood! The EQ warned me not to get too excited, though? This brought the Panic-Depression-Defcon back to Three. Hehehe!

The noise from the ‘Hum’ seemed a little lower, I thought. Then as I got in the wet room, the racket from the Marlow Fire & Security Workmen kicked off. I reckon the yare getting closer than ever now, I could hear them while I was under the noisy shower without any hearing aids in!

The pins looked pretty good, got some colour back as well. Fair enough, they are a little fluid retaining at the moment.

But that is the fault of Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Nottingham NG5 2DA. If anyone would care to visit them to tell them off for not delivering my prescription Medications and leaving me with a three-day period of not having tablets and medicines I need, for the ticker (Bisoprolol), depression (Esketamine) duodenal Donald, Arthur Itis (Codeine 30g – Phorpain Gel), etc.. Oh, and if you can give the uncaring swines a taste of your knuckles, I’d much appreciate it. Thanks!

I applied the last of the Phorpain Gel, Germaloid cream, Clobetasone cream, Corticosteroid cream, Daktacort lotion, and Clopidogrel ketoconazole. Olive-oiled the ear-holes, and had another wee-wee.

Deana was, as I expected, at another block of flats yesterday, so she could not let know. But the Chemist told her they have no one to deliver anything until Wednesday. But I can go and fetch the medications myself. That was nice of her! Wasn’t it? I decided to catch the bus down into Sherwood, try to talk to someone in the bank, then hobble into Carrington, make an appointment at the Doctors surgery, call in and moan to the crap Chemist, and pick up the prescription and visit the nearby Lidl store to get some bread. Then I got myself dressed up warmly and took the black bags to the waste chute on the way out. I’ll see ILC, Ballet-Dancer, Hauptsturmfuhreress Warden Deana, to see if she had found anything out from the Chemist or Bank from me.

Dropped off the bags and down on the elevator. This warning sign was in the wall of the lift, from the Marlowe gang and Nottingham City Homes.

It’s all go here!

I plodded through the link-corridor into Winwood Court and made my way to the ILC’s (Independent Living Coordinators) Interrogation and Body Search Office. All three gals were in there today.

I decided I had no choice if wanted the medications, but to catch the bus down into Sherwood, try to talk to someone in the bank, then hobble into Carrington, make an appointment at the Doctors surgery, call in and moan to the crap Chemist, and pick up the prescription and visit the nearby Lidl store to get some bread. This could be painful, uncomfortable, and I’ll likely get caught in the forecasted heavy rain and die of pneumonia! Humph! Still, that’ll please the Pharmacist, Doctor, and Chiropodist!

I said my farewells and made it to the bus stop. Betty was there, and we started to have a natter and nibble, during which a violent pain emanated from the lower abdomen, abdominal area. It was so bad, I immediately told Bet I wasn’t feeling well and returned back to the flat, ASAP. I feared perhaps a massive accident might take place from the rear-end quarters. But had to stop occasionally as the stabbing pains got worse. As I hurried and repeatedly stopped, back to the apartment, I wondered if the out of date medications the Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Carrington, Nottingham NG5 2DA, had forced me to take by failing to deliver the new prescriptions, had caused something to go wrong? I got to the flat and left the three-wheeler outside and fumbled my way in and to the Porcelain Throne. But nothing happened, although the pain eased-off after five minutes or so? But the pain is still with me now, just not so bad.

Then, as I got up to wash and fetch the trolley inside, a sharp fracture-like pain came from the bottom of Arthur Itis’s patellar, and that is still giving me hell, on and off. I just can’t walk or even stand on it when it’s playing up. There’s no bruising, it doesn’t hurt when I apply pressure either. And the other mystery, the innards have now turned to a rumbling ache, well that’s the best I can explain it. The pain under the knee that comes and goes is the main worry now. But of course, tomorrow I have to stay in all day, just in case the Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Carrington, Nottingham NG5 2DA decide to deliver me my medications? Pissed-off now to Defcon Two-level!

I started to update this blog, and Jenny rang me to tell me the window cleaner might call in the morning, bless her cotton socks. I’m afraid at the moment she rang, I was suffering,  with the sharp knee-stabs, so I couldn’t really have the natter I would have liked to.

I purposely got myself up to have a hobble-about with the four-pronged stick, to see how the knee reacted, this time. It didn’t seem so bad, just the occasional stab on the way to make a brew. But coming back, it returned to a full-time problem? The innards low down were rumbling and stinging at the same time.

I suppose it’s a good job that I didn’t go out then.

I decided to do a Morrison order, just in case things go ape-shit with the intestines and knee. So I did! Hehe! Made it for Thursday 06:00 > 07:00hrs.

I wonder if I can sue the chemist? A touch of guilt over my attitude to the Chemist came over me. Come think about it, I am not aware of why things have gone ape-shit over the medications. There may have been an illness, accident, or death, anything that might have contributed to their failure to deliver? I’ll humbly take back the insults and sarcasm I’ve made – until I find out what the cause was. Shame deepens!

Got the nosh cooking, but not sure if its a good idea with the innards in this state. Oh, dearie me! Fish and potatoes, peas, and mushrooms were eaten slowly. The masticationalisationing was well-done.

When I took the pots to be washed, the knee was considerably less bothersome overall, but an occasional ‘Stop-you-in-your-tracks’ twinge was there. The stomach was continually churning gently, but no signs yet of any movement being needed. If it is brewing up, I hope it doesn’t suddenly catch me out! I’m sure there will soon be an evacuation required eventually, and I am nervous of what shape and form it will come in. Haha! Hopefully not a bloodied, ‘wait-an-hour’ for the action to start, then regret that it did mode! But, all the signs are indicating it will be.

Too unwell to even think about doing the handwashing. The mess is building up in the kitchen, but the means of sorting it are not available to me at the moment. Did the washing of the pots and pans etc. then got a bottle of orange juice and settled in the recliner to watch some TV. Hoping the pains and pangs will be less bothersome. And they did ease off after I got viewing!

But I soon found I was drifting-off and waking repeatedly. Each time, wondering where I was and what time it was when I awoke! Tsk! By the time my brain had got around to trying to sort out anything, I’d nod-off again, usually waking up again within a few minutes and going through the ‘Who am I, what day is it’ routine.

I must have stayed asleep for a while, enough to have a dream anyway, and it seemed so real, too. (How long does it take to have a dream?) I woke up and was in the bedroom of 6, Brookfield Place, (c1955), and a child again. But I woke up in the cream, knowing it was not real and aware of all the disasters I had to face all over again. The unheated bedroom had ice and frost on it, and the soot-covered railway viaduct wall was visible… I floated out through the wall and flew around the back yard, the bathtub hanging on the wall, Dad’s home-made cobbling bench, the row of outside toilets and coal-houses, Christine Wright, and her mam and dad, with Rover, their dog, in deckchairs sunbathing in the snow?

Unhappily, I woke at this stage and somehow managed to scribble some notes on the pad about this dream… while the intestine pains increased, and reality returned. Sadly!

The kip and wake continued, but I could not get back to the dream.

I gave up trying to sleep and gingerly rose out of the recliner.

Ah, well!