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At 03:30 hrs, an electric shock woke me. I did notice as I lay there thinking of getting up, or at least the possibility of this, that the nocturnal catheter back had next to nothing in it. Then nodded off again. I stirred again back into mock-life around 05:00 hrs and was glad I did. The memory box had sent me a message that ‘we’ must get the ablutions done before anyone arrives. Not that I needed this thought prompt; the moment I whiffed my BO was enough to trigger me into frantic action.  
I rolled off the bed, stood leaning on the bed bar, wobbling for a few seconds, and then carried out the catching-my-balance routine. Which took at least three minutes of strenuous exercise. Hehe!
I considered doing a few press-ups, toes and a bit of shadow boxing, but the protection pants had come down and were hanging on the compression bandaging, and that caused me to forget about the physical jerks. It was true about the pants, though. Tsk!
I got a dressing gown on, and the innards instructed me to go to the Porcelain Throne. So, I did. The evacuation was a half & half-style. It took a lot of effort to get anything moving. And not a little pain. I was convinced that Constipation Conrad was back in charge of the action. Thinking that this would take some time, I got the crossword book and started having a go at it. I was doing well, as well. Then came the rapid splurge of liquid evacuating; it was all over in seconds. Unfortunately, the mess it sprayed all over took me ages to clean up. There’s always summat goes wrong! And I’d only been up for 10 or thereabouts minutes! Then the morning ablutioning and medications were started.

I got the too-large PPs off and cleaned my lower regions first. Medicated poor old , and Germoloided the piles. Washed my torso; it’s not easy for me, you know! All that blubber around the middle and the getting gigantic man breasts, a hell of a painful job getting to things. Applied the barrier cream around my goolies, under my man breasts and armpits. Cleaned what few teeth I could find left in the mouth. And started shaving. Astoundingly… I thought I’d not have a single nick shaving. , but I should have known better than getting cocky. As I applied the Brut aftershave to my face and body and sprayed the gargantuan mass around my bones and belly, I caught my , knocking it over. I hit my head as I bent down on the sink and simultaneously stubbed my toe as I began to get up from lifting Mickey.
Of course, this didn’t bother me in the slightest.

I got on the computer and am new to this site. Carer Evelyn arrived. She issued the prescription medications, and Evelyn swapped the diabetic socks for me. I asked her to take the laundry down for me. Nice gal. But after she’d gone, the laundry bag was still there. Not to fret, she said she was doing the next call as well, as long as I remember to ask her again.

Onto yesterday’s blog catching-up. It was slow-going as the eyes began to play up with the double and treble visions again. It looks like the sun may come out later.

Carer Kara came to do the financials for me. She went through my emails and opened the letters I could not read. Things seemed okayish. She then kindly told me that the doctor’s surgery had rang her back about the problems with my eyes. I have to have my eyes tested first with an optician. Then, get a report on them from the surgery. Then, the doctor might refer me to the EENT for another operation on the Cataract and Glaucoma… or at least get me on the list for them. I waited 2 years for the last operation that didn’t work. My eyes are worse than they were before the procedure. Humph! 
Kara then called an optician who does home calls. The lady she spoke to said the home eye test would cost me £90. 
They will call Kara back after giving us a temporary date without a time of day for the visit and determining whether they can fill it. Kara put the date on the Google calendar for me. July 2nd. Carer Kara is as good as gold. 
I’m not chuffed with it, but it has got to be done.

Carer Evelyn, the washing has still not been taken. At the bin bag, oh, Carer took that, I think.

But make a meal, I’m really not feeling good.
TTFN!
Morning, I’m back.
The Caregiver called but still did not know where to take my laundry; the bag remains awaiting collection. I was in the right state when she arrived, so tired and exhausted.
I sorted out and ate the meal and settled in to watch the England Euro game. I fell asleep and missed most of it. Huh!

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Food Rating: 9/10!

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Ode From Fellow Blogger & Poet Paul.

Down Nottingham, there’s an odist called Gerald.
Whose smithing of words keeps us levelled.
He’s housebound but not gagged.
By his words bad leaders are scragged.
All of these make him our prophet and herald.

Paul wrote this in a comment. Nice!
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TTFNski, each!