
Started a trial of Ezetimibe by the Doctor.
Checked for side effects on the NHS charter,
15 pages of them, I’ve got 10 of them for a starter…
Time for me to become a bequeather?
This all seemed to me to be a lot of bother,
I agreed to the trial; did I make a bloomer?
Changed Virgin Password, done by the Carer,
Tried to use it, to find that it had disappeared,
Virgin, Oligarchs & the NHS I’ve feared…
Putting the NHS in there felt weird…
But they are so busy & underfinanced,
Being admitted is a bit of a misadventure,
I’ll have to get used to this new acculture!
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The confusing call from the apothecary,
Weighed on my mind somewhat heavily,
This all changed; a calamity with the laundry!
Carer went to fetch it, returned to tell me…
It was still soaking wet, and he was sorry,
But the dryer was broken, & very sadly,
He used another one, but he can no longer stay,
So I’ll have to fetch it, unfortunately…
In forty minutes, it should be ready,
With that, to his next call, he had to flee,
With no blame, coming from Inchie,
Concrete proof of my being unlucky!
Had to get dressed, shoes on… feeling dizzy,
All that bending, head spinning, you see,
Set off with Four-wheeled-Walker-Willy,
Down to the laundry room, hastily…
But, taking out the dried laundry,
Losing-Grip-Linda visited me…
Socks, shirts, I dropped so many,
Collecting fallen items went on exacerbatingly,
Bending so often, the head went dizzy…
Back-Pain-Brenda, felt woozy and giddy…
But I got them all in the three-wheeled trolley,
Depression Darius arrived, and I got bitchy,
With the way things were going today,
This Ode was prompted by events yesterday,
To the flat, socks paired, frustratingly…
Colour blindness and Cataract Katie,
Clothes on a hanger, made a mug of tea,
Emptied the catheter of dark coloured pee,
First pain for weeks, from the fractured knee,
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Living with bamboozlement, as a boondoggler,
And frequently, a bit of of a beseecher,
Still hoping that things would get better,
Improve, maybe even to get boshter,
I thought I’d managed well with the Accifaupas…
Not at the time, but maybe later…
But I was not yet out of the wars,
As my mind began to wander…
I had a short, sharp seizure,
Fell, & trapped my arm – I am schadenfreude?
Now I’m feeling even more toeier.
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Preparing for today, to go smoothlier,
It’s about time I had a day go easier…
The catheter-valve leaked; Am I a no-hoper!
I’m tested and tried, but remain a trier.
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For some reason, I took a snap of the desktop.
I took another try at it…
Judging by the comestibles delivered, it must have been made by me. All my favourites were in there.
The scary thing is, I do not need these things. The scarier thing is, I cannot remember making the order, but judging by what arrived, I must have. The third thing that annoys and scares me is the promises of help from the Red Cross, Social Services and Neurologist when I was last in hospital. Well, the lack of anyone contacting me was, like, an insult, I think. Then again, did they actually come to the bedside and say they would provide assistance with my problems? Can I be certain? Did it happen? I genuinely think it did. But…
I am aware that sometimes, especially after a seizure, anything could happen; the aftereffect each time is sheer confusion for a while. Yet I do believe that they said these things, just after the Doctor told me I had had a heart failure. But do not remember anything about being taken from the ward to be resuscitated, as they told me I had, and it is out on my NHS record. As far as I know, I’d just had a seizure and woke up.
Help is not easy to get nowadays. I was so down about things last week, came out-of-it, and have just sunk down into the depths of complete depression & frustration, in equal parts, after writing this bit of the blog. And the realisation that I cannot concentrate on, or solve, any of my worries or stupid, seemingly uncountable or at times unaware of my own actions. It seems like any one day, I can have, or not have, three or four different personalities? Changing so often, as if the brain were stuttering… I see it like a roulette wheel, deciding how I feel next. Without any logical reason identified. Not that I’ve ever played roulette.
Having just read the above passage to spell and grammar-check it, I feel a right whimp… a moaner. I shall try not to moan anymore.
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The Carer arrived for the longer session. And set about phoning the Hospital Neurology to find the Doctor’s secretary’s email. Blown if I can recall the result, but I do not have the email on the notepad. So I assume he couldn’t get it for some reason. He did his best.
Then the big farce! Virgin Media!
The Carer arrived and took the laundry down for me. Returned and got the Virgin email opened and showed me what needed doing to change my memorable word, so we could get through to talk to them… or even a robot. That word suits Virgin.
Clever lad, this Carer. Whipped through the stages needed, completing them. It looked easy when someone in the know did it. We went through each Q&A and changed the word. Then he went down to retrieve my laundry, bless him.
While he was down there, I checked the email to see if Virgin had confirmed the new word. Nope. So, after all that work he did, I still can’t get on my Virgin site!
He made a grand effort for me. Not his fault at all. But I was getting all upset about the failures, not to mention the seizure farce.
The lad returned to tell me the clothes were still soaking wet, and the dryer wasn’t working again. He’d put them in the other dryer and told me to go down to collect them in 40 minutes. As he was at the end of his permitted time, the Carer had to rush off. Thanked him and as he left, Depression Darius really got to me, and an anger, a frustration grew within me at failing again.
I was another person, I swore, cursed, and felt like screaming. Not moaning, just saying how it was. I was moaning then, of course.
Now, I had 40 minutes to get my clothes, shirt, jumper, jacket, and shoes. Then get the three-wheeled walker from the balcony. This took up all of the 40 minutes, and the pain of getting me trews on, Humph!
No socks, of course, that is an impossibility for me to do, a step too far. If I genuflect or bend down, Dizzy Dennis and Lost-Balance-Barbara will take the opportunity to have me over.
I left my cell… no, flat, and took the lift down to the laundry room 12 floors below. No one was in the laundry room, and I started taking out the washing and untangling it. Lost-Grip-Gertrude kicked off. By the time I’d emptied the washer of clothes, nine pieces were on the floor. I wished I’d thought to take a picker-upperer with me now (Too late). Amazingly, although there were a couple of times when the giddiness hit me, I didn’t go down.
However, I did take Kodak-Tim-2 down with me. I took some photos to show you of the ground floor foyer, one of the laundry room after I’d left it first.
Early Evening Sunset
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The more one cherishes…
Sitting in the sun on your terraces,
Starmer will still raise your taxes,
Gather to resist, bring your axes,
He wants a modern-day Axis,
Trump & Keir, the wiseacres…
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❤ KEEP SAFE – TAKE CARE ❤
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