Wednesday 13th May 2020

Mongolian: 2020 оны 5-р сарын 13, Лхагва гараг

03:40hrs: I awoke, the expergefactor, not surprisingly, was wanting a wee-wee, and willingly risked life and limb, in a desperate dash, come hobble to get to the well-used-overnight, slightly ponging GPEB (Grey-Plastic-Emergency-Bucket). I made it with seconds to spare. Out-shot the HPLBSS (Hosepipe-Like-Blasting-Suddenly-Stopping) release! The only difference to yesterdays repeated visits was a change in colour. The strong orange tinge had become a saffron yellow one now. But, still no pain with it, so I wasn’t complaining, considering how viciously it blasted out!

As the brain joined me, and my balance was ensured, I took the GPEB with me to get it washed and antisepticised, and I limped with it, getting it tangled with the four-pronged walking stick and my left leg at one time, (Quiet funny, even at the time), en route to the wet room. No injuries or toppling over was involved. Smug Expression Adopted!

The Porcelain Throne was needed suddenly. A bit of a disappointing session, pain-wise I’m afraid. Back to the ‘Starting of its own accord, and sticking half-way, me doing the crossword book to take my mind off of the utter-agony, while I waited for the activity to start again’. Then, when it did start, a long time later, it was all over within seconds. The relief was blissful! Only a little bleeding as well, I expected a flood of blood, but it fooled me. Haha!

I took the few paces to the sink, and boy were the toes giving some gip! But, as I was washing and cleansing the bucket, Duodenal Donald started stabbing at me, and just didn’t give me any respite for ages. On the bright side, there’s always a bright side, if you can find it; this took my mind off of the toes and feet hurtings a bit. Like Monty Python’s genius, Eric Idle wrote, ♫ “Always look on the bright side of life. ♫

Oddly, I was in decent spirits as I made my way, trying to walk on my heels to ease the pressure on the feet and toes. Yesterday’s volunteer lady fetching me the prescriptions, Jenny helping to ease the medication getting, and the Doctor calling me, were all appreciated, and fresh in my mind, I think.

I was feeling perky (even if in pain, Haha!), and ready and up for anything at the time and decided to get the long-sleeved shirt I wore yesterday hand-washed in the kitchen sink. I didn’t take me long, it was only a thin old one, and rinsed out quickly enough.

Another sprinkling of a Smug Mode was adopted!

I got the kettle on, and made up and drank a sachet Macrogol drink, and took a Senna, along with the morning doses.

Medicationalised things in need, olive oiled the ear-holes, Saccades Sandra sprayed the eyes, Phorpain gelled the knees. Little Inchies horrendously brutal treatment can wait until I do the ablutions (Coward!) The thermometer showed up as just ‘Low’.

The sphygmomanometer, indicated on my first try, with; E. O. Now, that might have meant ‘Expired’ ‘Overdue? So, to be on the safe side, I retook the test. Hehehe!

All looked okay to me.

I got the mushrooms in the crock-pot, on the low setting. Added sea salt and some black pepper to them. I then moved yesterdays bits of hand-washing onto the airers.

I was in a mildly industrious mood, for me, anyway. I made a start on the updating on WordPress. But it didn’t last long. Back to the wet room for a wee-wee. I daren’t use the GPEB during the day, cause anyone could come in, and, the sight and smell of it would be enough to scare anyone!

I have been told by the hospital and Doctor, never to lock my door, in case of heart attack or another stroke, responders can get to me if I press the alert-alarm button. Wildly Cheering, knowing they expect me to croak-out, shortly! Haha!

Back to the computer, and got the updating of the Tuesday post all done. Emailed the links. Went on the WordPress reader section. Put some bits on Pinterest. Then spent an inordinately naughty time on Facebooking, adding to the photo albums, TFZing and went on the Winwood Heights page for a while.

But instead of pressing on with this blog, I decided to get the ablutions sorted out. I got the self-inflicting torture items needed for the cleaning and medicating of Little Inchies fungal lesion to the room in readiness. Got the long-sleeved shirt and jacket to wear afterwards (no socks of course, too painful), and got out some new razors to use. This all sounds so uncommon for me, but while the brain works, use it, I say! Worrying all the same! 

I’d got as far having a wee-wee again, doing the teeth, and was just picking up the toothbrush for the second time from the floor, and the Dusty Springfield tune ♫ I only want be with you ♫ chimed from the doorbells. I whipped the thin dressing gown on, in the name of decency, and went to investigate! No persons about, but they had delivered another box of freebie food! I really didn’t know how I felt about this. I cancelled then a week last Monday, via the internet. I followed the cancellation instruction to the letter. And was very careful and diligent about it. One the one hand, I appreciate all the work done by the volunteers to help out. But I really didn’t need or want any more handouts.

Now that Iceland has made me a priority case, it is much easier to get through for an order to be placed. This is why I cancelled the weekly box. There are many things I just do not like or eat in them anyway. Which is wasteful, and always something that has been removed from my eating by the hospital team. I could try the cancelling routine again, but may end up with me having two orders sent, cause the procedure given for cancelling, is to reregister again, ticking Yes to one of the questions. Can you get a supply of foods? Which I did. Grumbleconfusement!

Back to the ablutions, agitated, irritated, baffled and feeling a little guilty, my concentration was not what it should have been. I stubbed the foot against the sink pedestal! Brigglesnastyness and agony erupted! I regret to say, I also gave out naughty verbalisation, Tsk!

I got the shaving completed, with a mere two minuscule cuts. I decided the food box had to be sorted, so I did not have a shower, I just took a stand-up wash. Got myself sprayed with various body maskers, applied aftershave to stop the shaving cuts (Ooh, ooh, ooh!). Phorpained Arthur Itis’s knees, and got dressed. Off to the kitchen and had a few swigs of the feeble, weak Peptac medicine, in vain hopes of reducing Duodenal Donalds stabbing pains.

As I put on the jacket, I’d not worn it for months, I smelt its aroma, cor, it was mucky and a bit smelly.

So plans changed, and I got it off and hand-washed. Not an easy job, with it being so thick.  It took me a long time, and many changes of water, and much disinfectant and fabric conditioner, and effort were used as well.

Eventually, I got it hanging alongside the long sleeve shirt I washed earlier. This will need many trips to the sink to wring out the heavy shirt as the water moves downwards.

I had another swig or two of the pathetic, pitiful, pointless, purposeless, Peptac antacid medicine. I was about to put the kettle on and remembered the food box was still outside the front door! Oofta! What a draycup!

It was too heavy for me to pick-up, so I opened it and tool a few things through to the kitchen at a time. The kitchen than was already filled with freebie stuff that I didn’t like, or I was barred from eating. In today’s, there was coffee, pineapple, biscuits that are not allowed for me. And some great potatoes, apples, individual shower gel, a mini toilet roll and round if soap, a gigantic tin of baked beans, more pasta, more rice, tomato soups, frozen bread etc.

Had I been struggling to get food delivered, they would have been life-savers. The kitchen is so full, I’ve had store some things in the junk room. And, Deana told Josie that we are not allowed to give anything other tenants from the Government parcel. It’s getting farcical now. I’d asked someone to check me while I do my third reapplication for a food parcel to be cancelled, to make sure I get it right, and it gets cancelled. But, I am confident I did it as instructed to cancel the parcel. Oh, dear! Of course, no one can come in to check me anyway!

I’ve gone from feeling perky to pee’d-off. And Duodenal Donald is not easing off yet. The feet and toes are worse than ever. Knockersworthyness! Dejected

I got some of the potatoes in the big slow-cooker and added the mushrooms to them.No idea what I aim to have, but it must go with mushrooms and boiled spuds, Hahaha!

Then got the black bags, glass bin, and recycling stuff loaded on the trolley-guide.

Got the black bags to the waste chute and put down. (Oh, the feet and toes!) I’m getting near to the darkness now again, emotionally.

Down to the bins, met with Roy waiting to get on the elevator as I got off.

A quick bit of joking, and out to the bins with the glass and white bag.

Back up to the flat, and had another go at unlocking and opening the balcony door. Needless to say, but I failed again. If I was not sinking so low in outlook, I would have laughed at my attempted reverse-burglary. Hehehe! 

Off for another wee-wee, this one was turning back to orange coloured? Mmm?

I noticed as I passed, the Nottingham City Homes supplied monitor, the Humidity was a bit low. Maybe not being able to open the door might be the reason? Or, not!

I got this post updated, and it was getting late for me now, head time down approached. So I got the meal sorted out in the overfilled, messy, uneatable food-filled kitchen.

I got the nosh prepared and served up, it didn’t look too bad, left the pots soaking in the sink.

Well, things turned a little disappointing by the time I got around to settling down to gobble the tiffin, that had almost gone cold by then.

I thought I’d watch some TV (As a form of deliverance from the Thought Storming, and aid, to succumbing to sleep). But, could I find the TV remote control again? Nope!

After checking the usual places, I got down on my knees with the torch. (That also took a while to find), discovered, stuck down the cushion on the recliner.

I ended up on my knees, much to the displeasure of Arthur Itis, and after searching around on all-fours, the torch picked out something twinkling in the beam, underneath the recliner. Aha! I grabbed the picker-upper and investigated: retrieving not only the remote control but two pens, a scribbled note (reminding me of the After Stroke Physio last August), several tablets, Warfarin, Bisoprolol Fumarate, Pentoxifylline etc., and tiny broken screwdriver?

Getting back up on my damaged, ankle-ulcered, agonisingly painful, uncut toenailed feet, was the most farcical fiasco of the day! I found myself on my knees, facing the recliner, grabbing both chair-arms, and struggling uncomfortably to get back up on my pins… Half-way up, Shuddering-Shoulder Shirley attacked (Lucky or what, the first time she plays up all afternoon, and she has to time the shaking at just very moment to cause most pain!) and I fell back down again. The contact made between my left knee and the floor, thud, brought forth some terrible silently muttered curses and oaths! The torture from the toenails was hardly bearable.

I did get up eventually, using a well-versed system of; Ensure that the four-pronged walking stick is within reach. Nearly up, find the nearest firm article to roll over to get to the momentum to force my avoirdupois stomach and torso, up, and grabbing the stick in hopes of not going back down to where I came from, in this case, the floor.

Naturally, the nosh was not very warm at all by the time I got around to thinking of eating it. I tried a bit of each item on the plate. Sickening! I did eat some of the cheesy potato mash, not much of it, but still maybe too much. The lemon mousse had gone to liquid. The low-cal bar and Yo-yo were consumed. The pain of getting back up and to the kitchen to finish the washing up was bearable; but annoying.

I dished the fodder and got the cleaning up done. The thick shirt was as to be expected, still dripping, I rang it out a bit more, but it was still too wet to safely move to an airer yet.

I got down in the £300, second-hand, c1968, cringingly-beige-coloured, rickety, not working, recliner, with a pot of cashews and a bottle of made up spring water and orange cordial. Got the TV on (Humph!), but the mind was racing after the calamity, and things hurt or ached that I didn’t even know I had! Hehehe!

I think I would be accepted in the ‘Sleepless Elite Genetic Mutation’ group? For getting to kip, took me several hours, and it was well gone 01:00hrs by then. The TV did not send me off, I even watched through the commercial breaks! My hypnagogia was filled with Thought Storming.

The worst thing, early on in the night, was Colin Cramps visiting me, and giving me an unusually large share of his wrath.

I took these photos of Colin’s efforts.

I remember thinking as I looked at the clock hours later, ‘Blimey, 01:00hrs! I’d been trying to get off into the blissfulness of sleep for about seven hours or so. Normally, I can get off anything between 15:00 to 17:00hrs, telephone calls, door chime, Pillow Shaker Fire Alarm false activations, Porcelain Throne and wee-wees, permitting.

And to think, there are people out there who are bored with the lock-down?

I wonder if there is a sophrological or apanthropinisation support group I could join?

At least Duodenal Donald has eased off. (Result of Silver-Ling search)

You’ve got to laugh.