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But the new spectacles are not up to scratch – Mind you, I have already scratched the lens on them. Cognitive Impairment Iris, the water geyser on the right leg has had to be bandaged… by me, what a mess I made of it. Little Inchie is giving nearly as much pain as Back-Pain-Brenda is! Plus, Concentration Konrad is along with all of these, making it hard work! Can’t hear very well either. Humph!
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Such a bad day for me. Worst in a long time. Confused, even more forgetful. Back-Pain-Brenda, Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley, Little Inchie bleeding, as were indeed poor Harold’s Haemorrhoids and the teeth. Then as I was about to get my head down in the early hours of this morning (Saturday), one of the right lymphatic leg leakage gysers burst open! Anyway, I must at least try to keep to at least an imitation of the events’ chronological order. (Which it is already tp late to do, innit?) But the chances of that are best minimal –  in fact, I can guarantee they and the grammar will leave you as confused as I am! Tons of things have been missed off this record. Due to my impressively effective habit of losing things – like the notepad I wrote all my notes on… the hearing aids, which I got out to show Kara two days ago, and have not got the foggiest where I put them! Oh, and the new reading glasses have absconded as well. I’m not sure whether to blame Dementia Doreen or Cognitive Impairment Iris. Maybe the constant pain I’m in is sending me a smidge more doolally than it normally does?

Great colour in the nocturnal catheter night bag.

Ten hours later, with little in the way of memory, and realising the notebook had done a runner. Liberty-Global Virgin Media had gone down at least…

Back-Pain-Brenda had forced me to take extra forbidden by the District Nurse, painkillers. Then, poor Little Inchie started bleeding as I bent down to retrieve biscuit barrel, and hit my head on the edge of the cabinet. The left Cataract eye, felt like it had glass in it, and assisted Confusion Conrad in making this a terrible day for me.

Off to the Porcelain Throne…
This procedure was repeated five or six times over the day. With the same result! Zilch!

The toes remain in a two-tone shade.

Sorted the evening bags out.

I do recall Carer Chis coming n the last call of the day.
He cheered me up a smidgeon. I took his photo as he was preparing to give me the Maxitrol Eye Drops. Note how he keeps the light bulb covered as he puts them in for me?
Feeling a little perked up now, I took his Bloof Pressure etc. and put it in the NHS thingamajig. After the lad had gone, I inputted it, with excellent results coming back. Insisted he takes a drinkie & nibbles in thanks for his kindness.

Got the Wednesday blog finished at long last, and posted it of just before midnight. Realising as I did, that the potatoes on the crockpot had been cooking now for about 18 hours!
I went to investigate the condition of them… Haha! They were fine! Just right, but they had been in a low-heat setting.
I put the cheese & onion pasty in the microwave and went to attempt a wet room evacuation on the ? Porcelain Throne…
No, nothing moved. I might have my stomach blow up if I don’t get a clearout before long.

Got the meal served up, and washed the pots & pans. Nothing exciting I know, but I enjoyed it all the same. So tired out now, still with pains and aches, especially so with Back-Pain-Brenda and Little Inchies sufferings. Flavour-Rating: 7.6/10!

As I was just putting the dish and cutlery in the bowl of water to wash them… slipped and I nearly went over, clouted my knuckles on the corner of the sink, and at the same time felt wet dripping on my right foot. My immediate thought was that the retaining clip on the catheter must have opened… Then it dawned on me, the was now on my left leg?
Oh, ‘ecky thump!.
One of the Lymphorrhea Leslie water geysers had burst open, and the fluid coming out was spreading from between my toes, all over the kitchenette floor. That’s why the stick slipped I think? No panic, though! Oh, no… just the most humungous pissed-off session of my life! Which turned into a self-pitying bout of depression at my rotten, ever-worsening state of health medically and mentally.
I was so looking forward to getting some sleep after being up for so long and suffering a horrendous day… well, much more than 24 hours. Now, I struggle to find the tapes, bandages and pads, which I have never applied on my own before. I found the equipment quickly, as the flow of Lymph fluid dwindled to just a slow seeping-out stage.

Let’s face it, there couldn’t be much left in my body to come out after the imitation Niagra Falls event! Hehehe!  It felt like I was wading through water as I got into the other room with the assorted medical stuff.
Uncertain about how to go with applying the coverings, I pressed on and hoped for the best. (Hoped for the best? Me? Hehehe!) I seem to recall several worries at this stage. This is not unusual as Tom Jones sang. I’ve to clean the mess up in the kitchen yet. What if I can’t stop the flow?
I recognised now what the bits of white on the kitchen floor were; I think they were skin.
Dizzy Dennis & Back-Pain-Brenda visited me, due to my breaking my strict instructions for the Falls Lady Sarah. As KI had no choice but to bend down to reach the lesion. It felt okay, and I was sure the flow had stopped within minutes of putting on my Heath Robinson medications.
Then noticed a new bruise on my other leg. Due mayhap, to my banging it on the cabinet as I stopped myself tumbling?

The agony never stops for muggings here. By the time I’d cleaned up the kitchen floor and mess, I found myself apologising to Back-Pain-Brenda… as if that was going to stop her hurting? Tsk!.
Inchy’s Ode to Getting Old

A picture I’d taken and forgot to put on earlier,
Today has been worthy of a two-finger gesture!
The hurt, confusion, and mental conjecture,
I miss nattering, a good blathering or clishmaclaver,
Old age brings ills, lurgies and conjecture…
Fears, and worries, one can’t disencumber.
I used to ruminate, contemplate, consider,
My brain’s now an expert at ecdemomania,
I was considered a flibbertigibbeter,
I often wonder over life, whysoever?
Philosophy is hard when one’s not clever,
Although, I used to be a willing forgiver…
Oh, forgive me, I’m starting to yatter…
Although, does this really matter?
I’m also known as a prognosticator,
An empath, clairvoyant, or prophesier,
Closer to the grave, I’m more of a toeier,
Now the brains getting slower, foggier…
Just to think, I was a half-decent squash player,
Ageing, deciding, opting? No, I’m now a procrastinator…
With physical and mental pains… it’s a bugger!
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A FEW OLD ODES

TTFN