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Another bit of fracas mentally, today. 
The split views on this computer are a smidge beyond my comprehension. If ever I get the time, I’ll look up advice on Google. Or, if the computer is in its do-as-it-likes mode, it might be Yahoo that comes up. Grrr! Hope I can understand the instructions, should I actually find any.
I foolishly, but of course, this seems standard for me nowadays. Started Monday’s blog, forgetting I’d not finished Sunday’s yet. Me, feeling a fool? Of course I do.
I’d better make a start on it. Back later or in the morning.
I’m back, as Arnie said. Getting late now, I’ll do what I can, computer obliging, and get caught up in the morning. At least I’ve got yesterday’s bog done and sent off.
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Monday, so I lose good Carers until next Saturday. I asked him to help me wash my feet. He did. I asked him to make a brew of tea, which he did. Red hot this morning, gave him an iced drink and an iced cream.
I bagged my lower back on the door handle going out of the door. Arrgh! I discovered that the nurse who moved the bed to have his last try at getting the Catheter tube back in Little Inchy yesterday had left it too near the door, and it didn’t give as much room. No problem, I just howled, swore and asked the Carer to see if I’d bruised myself. There is nothing worse than getting banged and it hurting so much, and finding no scar or bruise to show for sympathy. Haha! 😄
I think I have had a few times on the computer. Acidic taste reflux, and I was made so many mistakes, it was taking ages to reread and correct. I hope I’ve caught them all.
Then things got scary, although not as depressed as yesterday, it was still hard going. I suppose I may have fallen asleep and not had the seizures, but I will never know with no one to see me and my  exhibition.
It happened so often.
Something was amiss, cause I could read only about 10% on the scribbles on the memory notepad.
Must have missed no end of stuff off.

In the late afternoon, pain was coming from the Kidney Kid, left side, but not from the bladder or the Catheter area? But bearable this time.
The photos brought back some memories.
A Carer noted, when helping me wash my feet and take off my socks, that the bottom scab came off with the sock and bled a bit. Very light blood, not that I know what this does or doesn’t indicate. I asked him to put a plaster on it for me, which he did.

Apart from the back, Little Inchy was still sore from yesterday’s marathon attempts to get the Catheter back into poor Little Inchy’s lesioned hole.
A flipping good job that I put on the Protection Pads when I did my teeth, shaved and a stand-up wash. I’ve still not had a shower for I reckon at least three weeks now.
I was frustrated with my mistakes on the new computer, took a voluntary break, and put the last of the nurses’ nibbles and treats on the Carer’s table.
I must admit, CorelDraw, so hated, swore and yesterday, I thought I was going to give myself another stroke, was only toying with playing up today, the highlight of this Bank Holiday Monday for me!
Is this good luck? It was a very strange sensation!
In the late afternoon, I went to make up some soup for tonight’s meal. Vegetables with added canned peas and chopped boiled potatoes. Adding Teryaki sauce.
Leaving it to marinate and stirring the dish throughout the rest of the day. Slurp!
Then I took this snap of the boiling-hot sun through the kitchen window. Then this rather pretty photograph shows the front car park, the bottom field, and some of the local Sherwood residences.
Half an hour later, I returned to the kitchen to stir the marinating can of vegetable soup, a feast fit for anyone with a fading bank account, failing health, dimming hopes, no pain medication other than Paracetamol, and depression.
While in there, the sky had changed, but the sun was still getting through; as you can see, it had changed somewhat.
Checked the emails and comments, then heated the prepared meal. Email confusion straight away, need help on that… what don’t I need help with… what do I get help with…
Back in the morning, oh, no, this is yesterday’s blog. I must finish it somehow. I’ll tell you about things in the next one.
Back to Email and then comments and reader, then I must get to bed. I’ve confused myself now.
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Good Morning, Tuesday now and catching up on a few happenings to tell you of.
The evening meal brings a touch of comfort to you, doesn’t it? Usually, this one, now I’m back on canned and packaged foods. It was a can of so-called chunky vegetable soup, with some teriyaki sauce and Bovril added, along with some boiled and sliced potatoes, also from a can. I kept stirring this as it marinated in the microwave dish for a good few hours, and several times over the day. I defrosted some bread to dunk in the juices. It took a while to get the pots washed as I pondered on what score to give them taste-wise. I think I’d opted for 6.5/10, as an evacuational motion began from the rear end. I dropped the dishcloth and pot and tore off my thin dressing gown in my unsteady, disabled stampede to the Porcelain Throne.
SPLURT SPLATT, ALL DONE!
I somehow got part of the premature pebble-dashing torrent on the mat, floor, testicles (don’t ask, I don’t know how), legs, feet, on top of the floor cabinet. Even some specks on the outside of the sink! When cleaning it all up as best I could, I swear there was a greeny-brown sliver of Trotsky Terence’s activities on the wall! I know the spurt started just before I could reach the seat with my bottie… so how could all the areas possible have been affected?
Washed myself up last with Dettol in the water, and realised that the hot tap water wasn’t; it was barely warm. I realised far too late, after spending I don’t know how long trying to make things right in the wetroom, what must have happened.
I hastily hobbled to the kitchenette, to find I was right, I’d left the hot water faucet on when I departed in my semi-panic!
I can usually find the right words without repeating myself to describe any of my frequent Whoopsiedangleplops or Calamaties, but I am struggling now.
Frustration, Depression, Pathetic Self-Pity, and Angst that is bigger than my bulging belly!
Then I spotted that the Catheter was not filling!
I quickly went back to check the wetroom for anything I’d missed, grabbed a 1-litre bottle of Soda water, and added a drop of grapefruit juice as my attention dwelt on this worrying Catheter faux-pas, with fears of bladder, kidney, and Catheter pains starting again. With no decent painkillers available other than Paracetamol. A darned good job tha Jenny read about this and gave me some. 🤎 Better than Paracetamol by a mile, but not as good as the ’ones the hospital gave me for my kidney problems. I found out they had stopped them permanently. There must have been a good reason. But will they restart the Codeines now? Not according to the Carer. Baffled, and in pain! Still, the Doctor may find time now that the Bank Holiday is over to reply to my three email requests for stronger painkillers, sent last week.  
Do I believe this? You decide!

Incidentally, my end-of-life cremation is paid for. I got it through Age UK years ago. I’ve got the details, and then when I snuff it, it won’t cost the Government or anyone to burn me.
Paid Funeral. Baguley brothers.
Prepaid with Age Concern. Now, Age UK No.15511624 
It may be advisable to warn the Obergruppenfürher at the cremation oven that my kidney and bladder may possibly explode in the heat and splatter them with my kidney germs. bacteria, viruses, and parasites. My poor battered bladder’s 
bacterial Escherichia coli.

I’d also appreciate it if someone could give my once-visited Neurologist a message for me, as sarcastically as they can, please: Give him my NHS Number, and say;
Inchie felt he just had to leave his thanks and appreciation for all the help, compassion, and concern you had not shown him during the one visit he made. You remember when he got lost on the way up in the lift? No? He’s not surprised. When you told him to send him a video of him having a seizure, so you could ascertain what type it was, before prescribing any medication. He agreed. This was in November 2025. You failed to give him your email address. He had several Carers ringing the QMC to find the right address. Finally, his Carer, Ejaz, got through, and a Carer took a video of the old, unwanted git in a seizure, and he emailed it to you. November 2025. In no time at all (April 2026), he got a letter from the committee that had seen and analysed the video. Telling him it was not an Epileptic seizure, as he told you at the 7-minute meeting he had with you, do you remember?
No, of course not. A busy, efficient young man like you must be in great demand.
He’d like to remind you, from wherever he’s gone, to be a burden to someone else; Do you recall me (Inchie) saying they were not epileptic fits, cause I was in the same position as I was before going into one?
Bless your compassion, patient care and dedication.
If possible, he will return with a 24-hour pass from St Peter so he can further explain, express how he feels about his treatment, and make some more suggestions.
A druid’s curse, or glam dichenn, was an ancient Celtic malediction. Druids were historically known to stand on one foot, place one hand on their head, and close one eye while chanting vengeance. Just mentioning this.
I’d appreciate that, thanks.
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