Inchcockski – Saturday 27th June 2020: Whoopsidangleplops, Accifauxpas. Not one of my better days!

Seven TFZers in the Antique Shop

Saturday 27th June

Welsh: Dydd Sadwrn 27ain Mehefin

05:00hrs: It has been the worst night for sleep for many a month. Due to the Post-Micturition After-Dribble (PMAD), Diabetes insipidus. They warned me that this might take a grip on me! Boy, it did too last night! To make things worse, all the utilisationing of Little Inchie, caused the fungal lesion to bleed as well. I spent more time using the GPEB (Grey-Plastic-Emergency-Bucket) than sleeping!

All of the releases were of the OSSPAD (Orange-Sprinkly-Short-Painful-After-Dribble) type. I lost count of the number of times I had to scramble out of the £300. second-hand recliner, take a wee, then climb back into the chair again. But it was always only a few minutes at the most before the next one came along! Blanglebotherations!

I gave up trying to get any Sweet Morpheous around 05:00hrs, and needing yet another wee-wee, I rose for the last time, used the bucket, and took it to be emptied cleaned and sanitised, for the second time! I made sure I washed my hands and certain areas and disinfected the contact points.

I noticed the stomach in the shaving mirror, with the Enoxaparin needle marks scattered about. It looked quite artistic, I thought. Hehehe! I changed the PPs again, thanking heaven for my friend Michael who supplied me with them. Cheers mate!

I got the kettle on, as the sun tried to come out from behind the blocks of flats. The red sky that soon disappeared looked so pretty and beautiful.

I got the Health Checks things out; the blue sphygmomanometer, the old, smaller ear-hole thermometer, olive oil, Germolene, and the tablets. No need for the Enoxaparin hypodermic needles now that the INR level has risen.

What a shock! Thunderisations! The SYS was at 182? Far too high undoubtedly? DIA and the Pulse seemed alright, though? I’ll do an extra check, later on, to see if it’s dropped any. Perhaps the lack of sleep and frustration of all the wee-weeing overnight, might have affected it? Oh, dearie me! At least the body temperature came out alright, at 35.7°c.

I took a blind-snap of below, on Chestnut Walk. Two parking spaces free? Disabled ones?

I made the brew of Glengettie Gold, and off to the computer to get the updating done on the Friday blog. Within minutes the stomach ache started, and this meant an urgent hobble to the wet room to utilise the Porcelain Throne!

Gordon Bennet! The flesh of my highly desirous (to lions and tigers in the wild) body, was so alabaster, anaemic, and lacteous like. The legs seem to have gained a bit of meat, or fat as well. The ankle ulcer was trying to flourish again, methinks. But this often happens, then a day later it will have gone down yet?

The feet were no better. So corpselike. And hobbling was so painful to the soles and toes.

Still, the evacuation, although messier than ever, and was still khaki in colour, was less painful, and quicker.

I washed and went to make a brew of Thompson Punjana tea. The skies had gone darker, the sun had given up, and a little light drizzle had just started to fall. Maybe the Yellow Warning for floods and storms might have some validity?

I launched into concentrating on the post updating. It took me about four hours, but I got it done in the end. Emailed the links. Then answered a couple of comments, moving on to the WordPress Reader next. Finally, on Facebooking.

Then on CorelDrawing to get some graphics done. And this time, I must get some done! I managed a few, then went to do the health Checks again. A bit of a surprise on the first try, it seems I’m dead and didn’t know it. Hahaha!

I tried again and got these result on the right. Much better than the first test I did today.

I noticed the sausages in the tray ready to go in the oven, so turned on the stove heat to put them in later on. I decided it would be a good idea to make a brew of Glengettie Gold tea, and did so.

What-a-Mistaka-to-Maker! I decided there was not enough boiling water in the mug, turned the kettle on to bring it back to the boil, and for some silly reason I moved the mug with my right hand – Nicodemus’s neurotransmitters failed. And, I dropped the kettle as I tried to save the mug from being lost to my grip.  Ending up with them both on the floor!

I got the kettle up first as the electrics would be dangerous all wet, and managed to spill some hot water down my bulbous stomach and on the left foot!

Making an even bigger mess and getting myself more and more het-up!

Granglesknackersbuggerit! I used up four rolls of kitchen paper, clearing things up. Accompanied by various curses, oaths and almost spitting with it!

I bet my blood pressure has shot up again now! 

Making things worserer, the right-hand side nerve-end failure, meant that some things had to be done with the left hand only. A few moments of frustration turned into another sickening self-pity-period.

  To makes things even worst, I slipped on a patch of wet I’d missed as I was putting masses of towelling in the waste bin. And stubbed my toes on the cabinet door! I’d gone from an unusually semi-contented mood to one of absolute self-hatred and frustration in seconds!

I got the place cleaned as best I could. Sausages in the oven, it had taken so long to get the sorting out done, and a bit of panic began to set-in, so I imagine the cleaning will all have to be checked and done again.

For me, the day was finished. No enthusiasm left. Knowing how these things can happen with Peripheral Neuropathy, or Dizzy Dennis, Shoulder-Shaking-Shirley, Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters dying, and Neuropathic Pete’s leg dancing, still doesn’t prepare one for when a couple of the ailments kick-off together, and things like these happen. I suppose a bit of self-pity lingered about. Sorry!

I even had to force myself to make the meal. But when I came around a bit later, I was glad I did. Hahaha! I went to make some notes of exactly what had happened, but the memory-blanks were there again. But it was a good job I had these notes when it came to writing the memories of incidents.

I got the meal served up. By this time, I had resigned myself to the accident, realising that the situation is not going to improve, only get worse. Thus, I enjoyed eating up all of the fodder. Skinless sausages, new potatoes, garden peas, onions and seedless grapes. A pot of lemon yoghourt, a jam tart and some fresh orange juice. A flavour-rating of 7/10 was given.

Due to all the kerfuffle, I forgot to take the Warfarin and evening tablets! I accept my lousy luck, I’ve had years of practice after all. But this time, it was too much, and I withdrew into myself, moping, repining, lamenting, regretting and generally in a despondent mood.

I remember washing the pots and taking this photo. It seemed to show localised showers falling in the distance.

As for owt after that, nothing! Can’t recall getting back to the recliner, or anything really. 

But when I woke up in the morning, the green lid I usually put the medication into, was on the Ottoman, and empty, so I assume I did take the evening doses.

Not one of my better days!

Unglefrogwogglings!