
Got an ice cream from the freezer, settled into 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. My aim was to eat the ice cream cone while watching some recorded episodes of ‘Heartbeat’. This didn’t work out, fancy that!
I put down the ice cream cone to investigate why the TV was informing me there was No Internet Link, or something like that.
Another of the mysteries of Woodthorpe Court, with the hobgoblins, spectres, gnomai, phantasms, ghosts, the grotesque succubae, extraterrestrials, ectoplasms, and spirits. Receptive Aphasia Phyllis, Paroxysmal dyskinesia, Episodic ataxia, Ménière’s disease, Dark, Deep, Depressing Darius, Peripheral Neuropathy Pete. The Catheter threatening to block, causing a mega-painful flowback, Nicodemus Neurotransmitters Dying, Glaucoma Gladys, Stuttering Stephany, Lymphorrhea Leslie, Premorbid Cognitive Impairment Inchie, the damned seizures, or the Fata Morganas that have been sent to taunt, irritate and terminate my already limited saneness of mind. My faith, sanity, and logicality were already on the wane. I searched the room; it had to be in here somewhere! Surely to Heaven? Not in the chair. Not on the floor. Not underneath the chair, cupboard bed or on the Carers’ table? No. I looked in the wet room? No. The kitchenette? No. But it was a good thing I checked in there. I’d left the hot tap (faucet) running. Cleaned up the mess. Then I even looked in the hallway for the remote control. No!
Back to the front room, and saw it straight away!
It was on the cabinet with the TV on it!
My spirits were sinking, but I was so glad I found it. But it proved of little help in my getting the damned thing to work. I got the computer back on, and that was working okay. Fiddled with plugs and sockets to make sure they were all connected. Tried turning the box off then back on again. I’d not yet got the night Catheter on, and the day one was getting full, so I emptied it. Recorded the colour and amount, emptied it in the toilet, returned and gave up with the TV. I plopped down on the recliner to take the slippers off… squashing the now melted ice cream with my bum as I did so. I swore a fair bit, then got the cloths to dry things up. I gave up the search. I climbed into the hospital bed, still swearing and cursing at my lousy luck!
I was amazed when, within a minute at most, sweet Morpheus welcomed me.
Story to be finalised later.
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SUNDAY 26th JULY 2026
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0620hrs; I stirred back into imitation-life, almost falling, getting myself out of bed, to hasten to the wet room and Porcelain Throne. Another Constipation Conrad affair.
Cleaned things up, and medicated the rear end. Then thought I heard voices?
I checked the front door in case someone wanted entry; nobody there, but still I could hear voices nearby?
I soon realised they were from the front room, and thought the Carer may have arrived early, walked into the room, and
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Well, it did, but the screen flickers a bit and I still can’t get on to watch any prerecorded stuff that I’ve saved to watch. Tut!
The computer farce, £850 plus fitting. British Gas, increased payment to nearly £300 a month. The Bank demands that I’ve got to go see them, and that would cost me dosh for a Carer to go with me. They must know my financial situation… Then again, I can’t get on their site; they have the wrong telephone number and the wrong email address. But they use the right one with the statement totals? I could lose it altogether.
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Someone, not a Carer for Heaven’s sake, to go with me to the Bank. Advise me on how to cancel standing orders I know nothing about.
Finish with the Carers; I’m simply running out of money. And it’s not working at all; now they have taken Ejaz and Mirza off me. I hope to get a cleaner to replace them, to do the laundry, and not have any Carers call at all.
I’ll need help with the dosages and medications, of course, before they are got rid of.
That way, hopefully I’ll be paying a lot less for the cleaner, and I should be able to survive financially.
Need help to sort things out, of course.
A home seems a great idea, but I don’t think it is on the cards now. Haven’t heard anything about it.
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Gawd, I’m
The BP readings are depressing as well.
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The Carer arrived, ‘Leave-it-Stewart’ this time.
I can’t help this sinking sensation and feeling. Worried.
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I searched for some nocturnal Catheter pouches as we only had a few left under the Carers’ table now. I found a bag after a lengthy deep search. As you can see in the photo above, another thing to worry about. Can you see how much narrower the new tube on the top is compared to the usual one? And the sealing around the release valve looks likely to come apart before the urine flows in. Carer Ahram offered to ring them about it on Wednesday.
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I’d left that sink’s tap running this time. So, shaving & washing are off the menu.
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TTFN