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Teeth, physical and mental decay…
Tea for me, not spirits or Chardonnay,
An unnatural interest in doomsday…
Armageddon, & Heavens Gateway,
Not now and then, but every day!
And the seizures, causing mind disarray,
I spoke of these things earlier today…
To the Doctor, who showed no dismay,
She’ll send the Matron to see me one day,
A mid whirling away with quixotry,
I may be a visionary, but eccentrically,
Veering at times to idealistically, romantically,
I talk to myself morosely & querimoniously,
Questioningly, enquiry, feedback? Uncertainty,
How does my mind work? Well, wontedly!
Options & choices made unintentionally,
This realisation can bring on despondency,
I’m more interested in the pain from my weenie,
I’ve awaited the catheter bag job since Friday,
Carer ‘Joe’ did it yesterday, all nice and tidy,
I can now be called a Pfropfschizophrenie,
If this classification is given to me,
10 days wait, affected Little Inchie hurtfully,
And rear-end furuncle hurts excruciatingly,
Well, not really, there’s been no lachrymosity,
But unexpected signs of lugubriosity.
Mild depression and a hint of melancholy,
Depression Duncan & High Horis are legendary,
They rule my emotions alternatively,
Duncan’s visits seem to last an eternity…
High Horis’s calls are more synoptically…
Which is another thing that’s a pity,
Things to do hygienically, well, hyperbolically,
Just the furuncle to be doctored, ointmentedly,
Oh, I must not forget to medicate Little Inchie,
And give Gladys Glaucoma’s eyes a spray,
Then, empty my pouch of pee,
Then I might do a spot of gymnosophy,
Make food to satiate my gulosity…
Hello… Two visitors from the constabulary!
If not arrested, I’ll tell the story on Tuesday!
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MY MENTAL CHANGES!

Pre-morbid cognitive Impairment: Refers to cognitive deficits present before the onset of a particular illness or disorder, such as a psychotic disorder or dementia. It’s essentially an estimate of a person’s cognitive functioning before any known or suspected brain damage or dysfunction. Measuring pre-morbid functioning is crucial for accurately assessing the impact of a disorder on cognitive abilities, as it provides a baseline for comparing and evaluating the disorder’s effects. Regarding my mental assessments, I’ve had a few; here is a list for your reference.
2015: Vascular Dementia
2017: Diabetic Dementia
2019: Mixed Dementia.
2022: Posterior Cortical Atrophy 
2023: Cognitive Impairment
And now…
2025: Pre-Morbid Cognitive Impairment
I assume the nurse coming to ‘Do an assessment test’ may just be related to the latest Pre-Morbid version?
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Gone 17:00hrs Already.
Quickie from here on.
I got carried away with the Ode again! Of course, the Whoopsie & first aiding slowed me down.
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In short…
Graded later by Carer Ejaz.

A sit-down visit first
It only took me 20 minutes this morning.
ROCK SOLID!

ABLUTIONINGS
WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 1:
Carer Ejaz did not mention the blood on my dressing gown and down my face and legs when he arrived. But midday Carer ‘Joe’ did five hours later. He wiped what he could and asked me how I managed to cut myself nine times. I had no answer. But we did have a bit of a laugh.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 2:
Moving the catheter pouch to clean it, I let it slip, and the weight of the urine caused… what can I call it? Well, agony as it tugged on Little Inchie! The blood flowed. The applying and rubbing in was painful. Then again, it always is.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 3:
I was pressing on with the teeth, then shaving, and almost finished when the blood dripped onto my man breasts! Tried the Brut aftershave to stem the flow. It was a smidge futile.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 4:
After finishing the cleaning and addressing various areas that needed medicating, I started applying the fresh PPS. I got the shakes as I was using the picker-upperer to raise them, Clanger! As I grabbed the stick, the wobble began. The prongs went straight through the material, hitting poor little Inchie right on the end and the fungal lesion. Agony did not cover the situation this time.
More medication, more hurt, and more frustration.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 5:
Then the pains started from Harold’s Haemorrhoids as well as the base furuncle!
I considered sobbing a little but didn’t bother.

As I came out of the wet room, I realised I’d been in there for an hour And a half as Carer Ejaz arrived.
He did not notice the bleeding head, neck or blood down my leg. And I’d forgot all about it too. Haha!..
I nipped into the wet room again to wipe some blood off. Of course, it came back on later.
Ejaz put the short diabetic socks on my legs. Then, he issued the prescription medications.

Photos taken, not many.
The end car park shot, just as yesterday, proved that we required rain… PPPlease!
I took this one through the kitchenette window. The shadows on the house were from the block of flats. The sun coming from behind.
Well, there was no blood when I checked on the legs now, so the furuncle and fugal lesions must have stopped. Carer ‘Joe’ did the midday call. He wiped the semi-dried blood from… wait for it… the top of my head! I don’t shave the head; no need to. He also noticed that I had cut a facial mole on my cheek and an earlobe.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 6:
I’d been on the computer toying with the Ode to try and get it something like I was hoping for. I took this photo of the calendar clock. I made a mug of Co-op 99 tea, I pressed on for another hour or more to finish it, but I wasn’t too happy with the result. I wished I’d left it as it was now. Made a mug of Glengettie tea
Getting back to the computer, I noticed the time on the clock was 07:35hrs? I can’t have been. I was in the wet room, crippling myself at that time. Then, being the youthful, educated, logical, keen, alert, conscientious person that I am… I checked the clock, and it was still showing the same time. Quick as lightning, I realised that the battery must have run out. Nae, problemo! I knew I got some… somewhere in the flat. The drawer that I knew I’d put them in was in the kitchen. I rummaged through it. No luck!
I went through all the drawers and cupboards in the kitchenette. No luck! They had to be in the main computer, bed, junk room then! To my joy, I espied a box of batteries on the top shelf. They’ll do for me, I said to myself, a broad enveloped my face.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 7:
As I reached up to grab the pack at full stretch, it gave way. I ended up in a little ruffled heap, landing on the crisp and nibbles box. Learning later that, I’d burst open three bags of crisps and a pack of cheese biscuits and bent the umbrella which was nearby. On the bright side, I used the umbrella to get me to the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, Catheter-tube-trapping recliner, and use it get back up on my feet. I sat there a few moments, stemming the blood trickling down from my must been hit in the accifauxpas nose and into my mouth. What next?

Aargh!

A Seizure-Ridden afternoon.
Although the evening got rid of them altogether.
I don’t know why or what the reason is for this.

I added a Milk Roll sliced loaf to tomorrow’s order from Sainsbury’s. You never know; they might have some in stock.

Carer ‘Joe’ made calls, and Carer Ejaz did one too.

Early Evening shots
Both were taken through the kitchen window.

Concentration Conrad was not interested in anything I did. This short Ode was done in the morning, and he was still playing me up.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 8:
As I was removing the hanging window dressing gown to block out the sun during the afternoon, I dropped the hanger.
It fell partly into the large jug of water I keep handy on the ledge. I grabbed it too quickly and knocked the jug of water off the ledge; down it went, watering my dressing gown that I was wearing, my socks, slippers and spread over the kitchen floor!
I believe that I may have cursed and swore!
Yes! I’m pretty sure!

After the last Carer’s call into bed, I did crawl.
WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 9:
I forgot to put the nocturnal catheter bag on.
Did I mention Concentration Konrad?
After the struggle to get out of bed and the nocturnal pouch attached to the day bag, it dawned on me that I’d taken the dressing gowns and put them in the laundry bag… but had not cleaned the mess in the kitchen up yet!
WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP 10:
I didn’t particularly fancy doing the mopping up with the four-pronged walking stick and the mop and bucket in tow. However, if I removed the nocturnal bag to do the mopping, I would have to reconnect the tube afterwards. And the night pouches are famous in Inchy’s world for leaking if one connects, takes them off, and then puts them back on again. So, I got the four-pronged walking stick and the mop and bucket in tow and got the cleaning up done. I felt well-drained after that, and for a moment on the £300 second-hand shop-bought, c1966, moth-eaten, bedraggled, grotty, cringingly beige-coloured, much-dilapidated, crumb-containing from my nocturnal nibblings, bug-ridden, itch-inspiring, not-working recliner, I sat.
Zzzz!
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Morning, All!
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