Inchcockski – Sunday 26th April 2020

Sunday 26th April 2020

Yiddish: זונטיק דעם 26 סטן אפריל 2020

03:50hrs: I didn’t wake up – because I didn’t get to sleep. I just grumpily, cantankerously decided to reluctantly get up, mainly because I needed a wee-wee.

I quickly got out of the £300 second-hand, rickety recliner, gained my momentum, picked up the four-pronged walking stick, and made for the wet room. Within two paces I was in pain from the toe I stubbed last night! Argh! It’s not going to get any better until I can get the toenails cut somehow, but have no idea how I can get them done in the current lock-in? I’m due for a lot of slowly increasing suffering now. And have 12 weeks of enforced hibernation to get through before I can even think of getting out to the clinic. Gawd, I’m in a rotten mood, already!

A right sprinkling and spraying wee-wee it was, a bit of blood from Inchies fungal lesion joined in the drizzle. A good start this, I thought. I’m tired out, irritable. I go for a wee and find the place needed ten-minutes of cleaning up, medicating, and a lot of pain to do it, afterwards! A message of gloom from my EQ lowered what bit of confidence I had.

I needed to pull myself out of the darkness. I tried singing my favourite ‘happier-times’ related songs to myself as I went to the kitchen. But, the sharp stinging from the toe put an end to that idea! Whimper-whinge. 

I took the medications, including several swigs of the useless Peptac antacid medicine to calm Duodenal Donald down. Made a brew of Glengettie Gold tea, and got the computer going. I sent an email to Jenny, as I had not heard from her for a while. Which is not surprising, like me, she is busier than before the lockdown, helping and caring for so many people.

Then, it was back to the wet room, for the Porcelain Throne this time. I had a bit of luck though; Duodenal Donald was really giving me some stick. I’m sure this helped me feel the effects of Constipation Conrad’s hurtful evacuation, much less. Does that make sense?

On the computer, and worked through updating the Saturday post. Took me a few hours, but it was all done. Published it, then I posted (emailed) off the links. Pinterest, Comments and Facebooking were visited.

Jenny emailed, she has got some bleach for me and will get it to me later, no rush for the money. Wonderful!

Made a template and made a start on this blog. Got it finalised, and then tended to the ablution duties. It was a right mixed bag of luck, this session was!

I had another trickling wee-wee, and as I moved after the session, and got the camera to take a photo of the ankle ulcer (I never did get around to making it):

Instantly, with no warning twitches from the right knee or ankle (a rarity), a Neuropathic Schuhplattler right leg dance, kicked off! It lasted a while this one, too. But the more surprising fact. As I leant forward to the nearest solid object to grab onto, to keep my balance and not topple-over, the toilet cistern, the camera which was in the right hand, took this picture on the right as I fell forwards. Yet the photo came out great?

The dropsies were very few, probably fewer than for weeks if not longer. All I can recall, (Of course I was a little shook-up with the dance and Duodenal Donald stabbing at me) was the soap, razors (3), the towel, and the Germoloid cream tube. Smug-Mode-Adopted!

And the legs Peripheral Neuropathic, Clopidogrel legs, well, knees had changed the expressions on both patellas. Can you make out the shape that I can see in them on the left ones? I could make a competition to find the hidden object with these knees! Hahaha!

I ignored the need to wear socks again, and I threw a verbal sneer at the Sock-Glide (Haha). But, being as I was planning to leave the flat, I thought it best if I put on the PPs, a shirt and some trousers!

Jen rang the bell and dropped-off the bleach for me outside. Grand of her, and it was the lemon-scented one that I like, too! Bless her. ♥

 I went to ring her to thank her and tell her I’d drop the cash off later. ‘Clanger!’ I could not find the paper with peoples flat and phone numbers on it! I emailed her back, explaining my stupidity. Replied with her phone digits. Rang her, it was engaged. Took the bags to the waste chute and down to Jennies flat. Left bag with cash and rang the bell.

I foolishly got in the lift, and went down to the ground floor and got out before I realised what I was doing. Waited to get back in, only one in a lift nowadays. When the elevator came, Cyndy got out, greetings exchanged. I think only about ten words were used between us. But it was nice to talk to someone real.

Back to the flat and got Josie’s nosh done. A little earlier than usual, but I took it to her door and pressed the bells. No answer. Oh, dear! I nipped back in the flat and covered the plate with foil to hopefully keep it warm for a while, and put the Limoncello back in the fridge to keep that cold.

More sorting in the kitchen produced another black bag for the chute. So I took it and called at Josie’s on the way back. No answer.

Updated this diary a while, and then took the now cold meal to Josie’s, for the third time. Aha! A response! She’d been in the shower. We had a natter, and I explained why the meal maybe a little cold. My fault for going too early. She should like the potatoes this time, I’d got some Leicester cheese to use, and thanks to Jenny, some butter to add to them.

Then I got back to the computer and remembered I’d forgotten to take out the Limoncello from the fridge! Back to Josie, and explained. I got a rum look, and she mentioned that I had already given her a pot of orange jelly. IU told her that will keep for any time, I know how much she loves her Limoncello.

I did a quick check of the latest Coronavirus figures. My first thought was, good, only 20 new cases confirmed yesterday. But on seeing the local deaths, it shook me a bit.

And these figures are not including anyone who dies anywhere other than in a hospital.

We’ve a long way to go yet. Confidence in a solution being found is limited

I then prepared my own meal.

I was a tad disappointed in how the cheesy mashed potatoes turned out. I’ll leave out the butter on the next lot I try making, I reckon. All that Leicester cheese I used, and still not much of a flavour to it. The caramelised onion pate will not be tried again if I can get any, it will be the pork & mushrooms ones in future. The overall taste rating was 5/10. But it looked lovely! Hahaha!

I got the pots washed, cleaned a bit of the kitchen floor, but stopped when Duodenal Donald complained.

I made up a bottle of spring water and lemon cordial mix.

Spotting these families out in the sunshine on the bottom field, I got the Nikon to record the view. It didn’t particularly cheer me up as it usually would have done. Cause a bit of jealousy came to the fore. How I wish I could still be able to take a walk through the Tree Copse! But, my new disabilities since the stroke, and now the enforced twelve-week imprisonment in the flat, guaranteed my days of ambling, smelling the petrichor and falling over in the Copse, are finished. Tsk!

I got down in the no-longer working, broken by my xyrophobia-suffering Brother-in-law Pete, rickety recliner.

A first here, no nod-offs came at all, even with the TV on! No thought-storming! Just a sort of vagueness, and mind wandering without aim or resolution.

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Hosris Sapit