I went to the wet room on a mission of several natures: To clean up the blood from the legs, pants and jammie bottoms. Respond to the need of the
Embarrassed doesn’t seem a strong enough word to use for how I felt, somehow. Ashamed? Uncomfortable? No... It’s even cringeworthy writing about it. I should have left this bit out, shouldn’t I? Sorry! But it’s how things are nowadays. How my life has dwindled to a fight to do the simplest things is so disheartening. There’s always something to impede the simplest of actions, even threatening to go right.
The Audio Clinic is desperately needed with the satiate of my ears and hearing. The crap, dodgy dentists, I can’t get another NHS one with the state of things with all the strikes etc.
Then the Urology nurses will be calling to check on the catheter and give me more bladder scans. Hopefully, not changing the catheters too often – that’s a damned painful process. Since the urine infections started, when I found blood in the urine and passed it from the rear end, about six weeks ago, I had a change of catheters; 3 times at the QMC A&E, Eight times; in the
The Warfarin nurse will be taking blood to work out the INR level – and that’s well out of target.
The mystery pains in the ribs side and back still need sorting out. I’ve mentioned them twice to the Doctors, once at the Urology and to the Carers here. They are acute stabbing pains that come on when I stretch with the right arm or raise it too high. Oh, and if I bend down…
But one must look on the bright side of life, as Brian said. At least no one has shot me for nearly 22 years. This prompts me to tell you that the Mystery Rib pains hurt more than being shot! But does anyone show interest or concern about the old fool? No!
I got carried away there, didn’t I?
You see, one day, someone will read this blog – hopefully, a neurologist who can help me with the
Where was I before I lost the plot? Look at the time, blimey! 15:15hrs already. Back to the Diary, methinks. I’ll have to cut this short.
Give him credit; he is a good musical noise maker.
Fair enough, he may be impolite, insensitive, disrespectful, snobbish, haughty, pompous, pretentious, uppity, scoffing, contumelious, smart-alecky, ineffable tit-head, but his clanging and banging are ringing out musically this morning. I was nearly sorry when he stopped so soon.
Fourth trip to the throne. Usual Trotsky Terence performance
Two bags of laundry still to do in the junk room. Can’t remember who, Carer Kara
Took these photos in two different modes on the Lumix.
Can’t see much difference in them anyway.
Blogging away for hours… well, a say blogging away; it was more like making errors and errors and throwing in a few more for good measure.
And the
No idea why I took this photograph of the carer’s table. I wonder if it was some inspirational idea for a sauciness for some sort of a laugh?
Suppose not.
The Virgin Internet is far too slow for me and has the odd freezing moment? Not very good at all.
No, it’s Dettol, you see.
Better get some food sorted out.
Photo Lost: Due to my leaving the SD card in the computer when I took the shot.
After cleaning the pots and making a brew afterwards, the immediate urge to use the
I am sick of this happening. Telling the doctors brought no response from any one of them; Doctor’s Locum at the surgery, QMC A&E, or the three Doctors I told when at the
Now, the Mystery Rib Stabbing Pains got worse than they had ever been before. It was properly painful and came on, as usual, every time the right hand pressed on something, stretched, or was raised.
I suppose the panic rushing to get to the Throne and struggle with the trews must have been too much movement, and this kicked it off?
Meanwhile, I had a wash & shave and bagged up some things that might be needed if I go to the hospital again. Then Jo-Anne
I found that if I did not move, the stabbing pains in the ribs were coming less often and not so sharp. Or was I imagining this?
The physical and mental decrepitude. The obliteration of sight, hearing and logic. Combined with a lack of confidence, my ability to fret and worry over everything, and the vain attempts to understand life and people. Combined with my failure to comprehend what and why the hell am I doing here… keeps the brain active, if nothing else. If the brain was not under the control of
I barely remember what I ate for lunch yesterday (pasta – see there!) but I’ve been obsessing over how I might have handled a situation on the bus in Kaiserslautern, Germany in 1972, where several young black soldiers, clearly new to Germany, were arguing with the ticket guy in loud, “colorful” English (of course!) about how he cheated them when they paid with American coins.
Instead of explaining how indeed they’d been cheated, but by players on the international money market whose actions determined how diminished the dollar vis-a-vis the Deutsche mark would be that day, not the ticket guy.
In fact, the city gave Americans using coins and currency the best exchange rate other than American Express. They had no legal requirement to even accept the dang money, especially the coins!
I should have told them how to handle the situation without straining American-German friendship, barely restored one generation after we were shooting each other and leveling Germany towns like Kaiserslautern.
Instead, I turned to the ticket guy, whom I never spoke to in English and said, “Die sind nur Kinder!” and scrunched up my face in the most disapproving scrunch I could manage.
Did I mention I was in my US Army uniform, as were the black youngsters, whom I out-ranked by three grades and could have “pulled rank” on them, disciplining them in public? Or that many Germans of that time recall Goebbel’s wartime propaganda showing American blacks as savage raping, baby killing half gorillas ravaging German civilians and that they not only fear blacks, but they also had deep prejudice against them.
I saw myself as a representative of my country wherever I was in Europe, so tried to behave with respect for local customs so far as I understood them, and I still don’t understand how the US could send young men to other countries without a few days orienting them to those new customs and consequences for behavior that disrespected the host countries! Myself, I found and read a book I found after I got to Germany, “These Strange German Ways”, which weren’t strange at all, just different than those strange American ways in small ways for the most part.
Great remebering there, Doug. Years ago we can recall, what we had for breakfast today… well, not so easy, is it, mate. Hehe! I enjoyed reading that, although the prejudice is still amongst us, even here in the flats with the old folk.
Things like what to witnesses stay with us, and do agree with the lack of prepping us to go abroad. You did a good job of calming things down in the right way, too, I reckon.
Kinder werden Kinder sein!
I was (many years ago) talking to my mate Trevors family, (Deutsche) and I told them what I thought was a German joke – which got lost in my bad German… but when I said ‘Bluder Kerl’ what the policeman in the joke said… no the man said to the policeman – the whole family went into raptures of laughter – be it at my poor German (the most likely reason) or the joke, I was never sure. Hahaha!
Thanks, Doug.
Cheers.
LOL! My lousy German never reached the point of trying to tell a joke in it. “Translation of “Blöder Kerl” in English. Blöder. stupid dumb f’ing bloody silly. Kerl. guy man fellow dude fella. Die Wahrheit ist, er war ein blöder Kerl. Truth is he was a dumb prick.”
Well, that seems to agree with what Trev told me after his family had gone.
Har=Har!
The news about the catheter tangle business was disturbing. It’s hard enough getting old without that sort of indignity, and I feel bad that you are having those sorts of experiences.
Bless you, Doug. You go through so much too.
I’m phoning the doctore (Well, a Care will for me later) to try and to see her about these domned oersistent sharp stabbling pains in the right ribs. If I lift my right arm up. stretch or bend it brings them on??? Coughing, intakes of breath seem to be som much more pain bringing than ever, I’m dreading it if I have to sneeze! Tsk!
The trouble is, last time I rang for an appointment it tookl 6 weeks to wait for it. Our medical NHS has gone to pot, now they are on strike. What chance of my getting the cataract, ears, Glaucoma or DVT vein bleed sorted?
I tell the cares and they go into a trance, nod there heads ans say there a many worse off… Which is true, of course. Hahaha!
Are the kidneys in the right rib cage? I’ll look it up, if I remember to.
Cheers, mate, keep safe.
Best wishes for getting the needed care, Gerry. It sounds a bit grim for any immediate care. Over here, I’ve been fortunate to get most of the care I need, though dental is extra on healthcare plans, as is transport to the hospital. Air transport is killer – thousands and thousands of dollars! – though I subscribe to a plan that will take me and bring me back by air if circumstances require it. When you live in a big place like the USA, having that sort of coverage is almost required.
That is true that no one has shot you in 22 years. Although, you have been given lots of shots. That bag is such a pain. At least your vitals have been good. Excellent set of photos.
Hehe! True wit the shots, mate.
I looked at the scanner machine last time, and there was defiitely more urine in ther than the the time at the hospital, it show on the moniter as green. So they put a new one it to go through it all again. Two weeks left I think, until they take it out yet again. What do I do if int between all this catheter-fiascoing, the date for the cataracts, or DVT vein bleed come int on the same day? I’ve confused myself now.
Hahaha!
Thanks, Tim.
It’s a wee wee bit confusing with the catheter and all.
Well said! Tim.