Inchock’s 4th Escape from the lockdown – to town! Pictorially presented!

Inchock’s 4th Escape from the lockdown – to town!

This woz rote by Inchy’s alter ego – Hehehe!

The following, pictorials and odes, were created in support of the Depressed Nottinghamian At-Risk High-Rise Flat-Dwelling Prisoners Support Group. Donations gladly accepted.

Having made his escape bid plans again. He clandestinely crept to the lifts, falling over his three-wheeked walker-Guide, waited for the regulation Winwood Heights twenty minutes for a lift, and got down in time to miss the bus.

He waited patiently, for the next bus, but this proved something of a benefit for the old git. Not many folks about, but he still managed to corner one poor chap, and hastened to bore him to death verbally! The man wisely moved away.

And Inchcock, being instantly bored himself now, went into one his Sherlock Holmesian modes. Someone had been blowing their nose in the bus shelter, and stuffing the tissue under the seating?

He caught the bus and got out his crossword puzzles, but the driver, obviously a stock-car racing fan, nearly had Inchy out if his seat a few times en route to Nottingham City centre. Trying to hold onto his three wheeler, took some effort.

The old chap went itn the Pondland shop on Lower Parliament Street, and despite his painful and feet, enjoyed his hobble around the store, coming out with many items he didn’t need or want, Tsk!

He got to the checkout, and got himself in a right pickle and state of embarrassment at the self-serve checkout! The lady monitoring the tills, was greatly unimpressed with his continual dropping of things and farting about trying to retrieve them.

But did not offer to help, although she shared some sneerings, of hate, derision, scornfulness and causticness with him. He came out redfaced and £20 lighter. And took these three shots of the Milton Street junction.

Where he went into the Bargain Shop. A terrible experience! No one talking, empty shelves etc. But, he still spent over £21, mostly on Christmas treats for his family of friend in Woodthorpe Court.

He was struggling now, the three-wheeler trolley-bag full, and three carrier bags hanging on the handles, would make progress awkward for him. At least he remembered to but sone of the dar clothing cleaner. He set off on a limp towards the Slab Square.

On his hobble along Milton Street to Upper Parliament Street, he noticed the Nottionghamian pedestrians crossing the road against the lights again, but this is a usual, regular occurrence. He adjusted thos spectacles.

Which was a mistake, as he turned onto Upper Parliament Street, the old fart of a fool unthinkingly took the spectacles off to clean them.

They got caught in the facemask!

He crossed over the road, and down King Street. Near the bus stops, a chap dressed like the Beatles used to, with plaited hair hanging below his shoulders, stopped him and asked for ‘a couple of quid for a coffee’. As he eyed up the bags!

Inchy just said, ‘No!’ and carried in hobbling down the hill, turning to keep an aye on the youth as he did, to make sure he wasn’t following. Getting to the Slab Square, Inchy gor out his camera for a snapping away session.

He saw the little crowd and paparazzi outside the Council House steps, he went back into Sherlock Holmesian mode, and took a close up[ phot of whoever was on the steps. This person came by. Inchy got a decent shot of his/her head.

Inch repositioned himelf a bit closer, and waited for the right moment to get a view of what was going on. Nice zoomed-in photo for once. Asssumed to be the Sheriffess or Mayoress of Nottingham? Again, not single Policeman in sight today.

The tatterdemalion, dour, malagrugrous, weary, tellurian, dangerous populace of Nottingham, were showing a bit of itnerest, at least. Not many of them had face-masks on, but it isn’t law yet to wear them outsdoors yet, methinks.

The lad poddled his way wit hdifficulty up Queen Street to get to his bus stop, and caught a number 40 back home, to his never-restfull, beloved, always something to worry about, four years being upgraded and not finished yet, Winwood Heights.

He was the only passenger when the bus moved off from the terminus. Pondering on should he get out the crossword or not; one look at the mass of bags on the trolley, and the book being at the bottom, he decided against it!

The first passenger to get on the bus, was Face-Maskless.

The second one, had his mask under his chin.

A lady got on, and she had no mask on!

As the chin-mask wearing man got up tp get off, he gave Inchy a cautionary scowl, that was a bit threatening. As the bus progressed along St Anns Well Road, it passed the Health Centre where Inchy has to go for his bladder-scan.

This is St. Anns Valley Centre, 2 Livingstone Road, Nottingham NG3 3GG.

Events over his last two visits there, do not proffer the least bit of encouragement or confidence in Inchy.

The record, as Inchy explains:

  • February: Went to get the feet done, and they said come back later, we’ll have to lool at your health record.
  • March: They refused to do my feet, cause the Warfarin level was too high..
  • July: They refused to tend to my feet, because I’d just had the stroke.
  • August: Refused again, cause of my having been diagnosed with diabetes.
  • September: The did cut my nails, but said they will not be able to so in future. I have to go private in future.

Poor old sod!

He arrived back at his Woodthorpe Court, along with the mysterious wonders of, the Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Boll-Weevils, Aliens, Gremlins, Karakia-cursing entities, Hallucinations and Kehuas. Materialisations, Poltergeist, Lemures, Wairuas, Manifestations that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum. Usually, without rupture or displacement within the building. To cause havoc, fear and frustration, as they dislodge time itself, in their aspirations and skulduggery, to complete their given by Satan mission; ‘To annoy and scare the bejesus out of, and the pants off of the old energumenist, Inchcock’.

Thank you.

A simple bus ride to fetch my Spectacles – Not on your life, talk about things going wrong. Humph!

A simple bus ride to fetch my Spectacles

Not on your life, talk about things going wrong!

The things you will read on this so-called true-funny blog of mine,

Really are true, and challenge my sanity  and mind,

Please persist reading, and you will find,

Why I have logicality, hopelessness and despondencies entwined!

Off to Sherwood to collect my glasses,

I’ll call on Jenny and Doris, such lovely lasses,

I’ll leave them a treat, containing molasses,

Might get a chinwag with whoever passes?

 ———————————————

Caught the lift down with no problem at all,

Left the bag, hope they have a ball,

Returned to lift lobby hall,

Catching the elevator, not easy at all,

I was so frustrated and appalled,

25 minutes later, the lift responded to my call!

 ———————————————

Rushing out to Chestnut Walk, slipped and broke my shoe,

Clouted it on the walker’s wheel, surely there is some good luck due?

But what made me saddest, was the bus had departed, early too!

So, all het-up now, I legged-it, passed-wind, and feared wanting a poo!

 ———————————————

On Winchester Street, The walker ran away from me,

I chased it, and is facticity,

I wedged it against a box for electricity,

To take this phot, but not with enough adequacy,

I stopped it again but with inefficacity,

No doubt about it, this was going to be a trip of paucity!

———————————————

I got down the hill, energy’s what I did lack,

I must get the bus up the hill going back,

I called on two shops to get cleaner and a snack,

Off to the optician’s, the one drawback,

I was wearing a sort of anorak,

I was so hot, but didn’t hold back,

Got in the shop, and took the receptionist flak,

I was late, it seems was her crack!

———————————————

I had a long wait to be seen,

Not that I was all that keen,

£300 to pay, never again to be seen,

Crosswording while I waited,

The receptionist called me to be seen,

The lady dealt with me, glasses were fitted,

I got quite jolly-fully contented and witted,

Until it came time to pay, the nI was fritted!

I’d forgotten my pin number again,

I think the lady thought of me; “What a Pain!”

From crying out loud, I did refrain,

She got the money through, this seemed diaphane,

How I don’t know, so I asked her, it felt germane,

I didn’t understand her, and felt a right dumb-brain,

Thanked her, pretending to understand, I did mislain,

Still, she didn’t moan or complain!

Then out and up the hill, to catch the bus again!

———————————————

I had to doge another Pavement Cyclist, he gave me a fright, 

I was too tired to comment or get into a fight,

I’d run out of the Kryptonite! 

Would I make the walk home up the fearsome hill? I might! 

Down to the traffic light corner,

And the bus passed by, I was too late!

I checked the next ones time and date, 

40 minutes, too long to stand and wait,

So I set off, limping, with an unsteady gait!

The hill looked a fearsome sight, 

The prospect of climbing it, made me feel uptight,

Sorry that I didn’t wait for the bus, I felt contrite!

Anyone seeing me struggle up the road must have seen a sickening sight,

I was sure the gradient was gaining height?

The hobble home seemed infinite

At the top of Winchester, the parkers made things tight,

For breakfast, I should have had some Marmite,

The time went by slowly, and things went quite,

Somehow, up the last part of the hill, I did expedite, 

To see a harrowing sight,

The 40 bus arriving, some tenants did alight,

 My energy was drained completely now, flat!

Didn’t have the energy for eating my cervelat,

Must not fall asleep, I’ll have to do summat,

I got back to the apartment, Zzzz; that was that!


After this abysmal, Whoopsiedangle-ridden trip, the poor old twit, did have fleeting thoughts of a suicidal nature. but he did not act on them – He fell asleep! Haha!

Inchcock Reveals His Current Fears! – In Rhyme (Of sorts)

Believe it or not, Inchcock created this depiction of his Sock-Glide from memories of a nightmare, that the poor old fart suffered two nights ago. It’s so sad!

Inchcock Reveals His Current Fears!

Reading further may cause harm to your sanity!

Yes, he was young once… he still is, mentally!

Born, and got myself double-pneumonia,
Thrown in the canal, I nearly drowned in 1954,
I got rescued, only scared, wet and sore,
The medics said the boss is going to warn yer,
The Doctor said “You’ll never get brawnier”,
Next, I got shot, then the Duodenal Ulcer,
Top of the charts was ♫24hrs from Tulsa♫,
Then the hernia, and bladder cancer.
Had to have the ticker transplanted, years ago,
It doesn’t bother me now, though, 
Then I went and got shot again,
I knew my bad luck had to end, but when?
I stopped working in the Security industry, then!
I came off my motor-bike in the fog,
Out of hospital, had some police dialogue,
They fined me £20, speeding, I was agog!
Got a job driving a delivery van,
And became quite a Casanovan,
Got made redundant three times, lucky man!
Retired, well it was enforced of course,
But I had little remorse,
Got a part-time job, selling pickles and sauce,
When I reached 70, we had a discourse,
Then the Peripheral Neuropathy was diagnosed,
Got the tablets mixed-up, and overdosed,
They said stay indoor, well, I wasn’t opposed!

Then along came the stroke, of the ischaemic type,
Saccades, as well, of dear, this medical hype,
But I wasn’t one to moan and gripe,
I recovered, but physically, I’m a load of tripe,
They discovered I had diabetes,
Life became full of abstrusities,
My ailments seem to grow complexities.

Next, I’m using a walking stick,
Unbalanced, falling-over, it made me sick,
No choices then, at home I have to stick,
I fell, and gave my neck a crick,
I’m no longer the witty, clever-dick,
But I somehow cope, and that was fantastic.

Then along came to visit us,
The Corona Virus,
Isolation, no going out walking or on a bus,
Every day new instructions, what a fuss,
But at least I got rid of furuncle’s puss!
Until disabilities meant I couldn’t bend down,
And the worst, that really gets me down…
It’s bad enough doing your own syringes,
Is the bloody Sock-Glide, frame,
I gave it a go, I was really game,
But it keeps taking lumps out of my fingers,
And I don’t like these whinges,
Using the Sock-Glide means many cringes,
It’s not just the pain – mentally you’ll find it unhinges!

This claptrap was rit rote, written by Inchcock, with dedication and stupidity in support of the Peterborough & District Failed Philharmonic Orchestra Players, collection fund for the Bankers & Investors Roadkill Hospice Advocacy Society.

The tale in bad rhyme, of Inchies Escape from isolation, to Nottingham City Centre!

Monday, 7th September 2020, Inchcock escapes from captivity and cunningly flees his Woodthorpe Court. To investigate the Coronavirus affects in the City Centre, buy stuff he doesn’t need, cripple his poor feet, and a failed search for a chinwag!

Plans were laid,

For his escapade,

The Escape bid was made,

He was feeling fraught and afraid!

Arriving on Upper Parliament Street,

Alighted the bus, hobbles to Poundland,

Already pains from Relux Roger and his feet,

He spent on superfluous stuff, like crabmeat,

Then to the Bargain shop, wishing he could find a seat!

He bought three things, none of them needed,

His enthusiasm for his escape, now, receeded,

Little Inchies fungal lesion bleeding, succeeded,

His finances, he had further bleeded!

He hobbled along Milton Street then,

Down Clumber Street, he was saddened, when,

He saw the closed shop, there were over ten,

Including his camera shop, he nearly cried then!

Sadly, he made his way to the end,

Feeling lonely and down a bit,

What Coronavirus has created, can we mend?

Oh, dear, a penny he needed to spend!

The urge he had to suspend!

To the corner of Long Row, he did wend!

A photo of Pelham Street he did take,

Then one a shot backwards up Clinton he did make,

Long Row, too, where he took some more,

Off towards his bus stop in the Slab Square,

Paramedics, Security Guards, were there,

The people looked so full of despair!

The rain came down, he took shelter from it,

Under the shop eaves, but it didn’t last long,

He took this photo, he quite liked the resulting effect,

His bladder was full, to the bus stop direct!

En route, Slab Square was photographed,

He tripped on the wheeled trolley walker,

He even managed a little laughter,

When he passed wind and hiccoughed! 

He caught the bus back, a painful drive home,

Got off on Chestnut Walk, glad he finished his roam,

Damn it, he’d forgot to get his shaving foam!

He sheltered from the sudden rain,

Under the cover, and gloom was falling again,

He belched, it smelt like aminomethane,

He hobbled toward home; it was a strain!

He got in his flat,

He untangled his hearing aids from his mask,

It was a fiddley, difficult task!

Made himself a meal that,

Was too big, but not too much fat,

He fell asleep, and that was that!

Not a very good ode this time, uncertainty and confusion were visiting me. Sorry.

Inchcockski – Thursday 3rd September 2020: A chinwag, natter and food delivered. Who could ask for more!

TFZers, in the Cool-It-Cabin?

 Thursday 3rd September 2020

Estonian: Neljapäev, 3 September 2020

03:35hrs: I stirred late in the day for me. But late getting to kip, but I got almost five hours sleep in! So, that was nice! 

As I began to edge my elephantinely-stomached body from the c1968 recliner, the regular call for a wee-wee arrived. I got my balance and utilised the OGPEB (Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Emergency-Bucket), it was another SWAT (Sprinkly-Weak-Apricot-Tinged) configurated wee-wee.

I got the bucket, and it’s not easy carrying it while using Metal Mickey (four-pronged-walking stick), to the wet room and cleaned and sanitised the tub. I had a Wobbling-Willie-turn, but no injuries this time. The right hand assumed a Mr Spock salute afterwards. Hahaha!

I took a good swig of the anandrious, weak, not-very-effective Peptac medicine, in hopes of avoiding bother again from Duodenal Donald later on in the day.

I used the stick thermometer and was pleased to see that it was almost the same as yesterday, at 34.6°c. Slightly higher than it has been, but it is nearer to the recommended temperature for an old going senile, chap wot-like-I-am. Haha!

The BP sphygmomanometer gave forth satisfactory readings for the first time in months! Sys was well down. But, I anticipate things will go back up again tomorrow. Ah, well!

I had to make an imitation dash back to the wet room, in response to the sudden tummy ache. And rumblings from within the innards!

Things started as they have been like for several days now. I got down on the raised plastic seat, and the evacuation started at its own pace and then stopped part-way. Out came the crossword book, I winced and grimaced with the pain, and waited for yonks for the action to restart. (Actually, I had one of my most successful Throne-Crosswording sessions-ever) Smug-Mode-Class-3-Adopted! When things reactivated, it was a case of ‘Ooh, argh, yikes’—Khaki-coloured, difficult, foul-smelling, and so messy. But no bleeding from either Phuvana Furuncle, or Harold’s Haemorrhoids. Smug-Mode-Upgraded to Class 2!

Poddled off to the kitchenette, taking this shot of the morning view. I got some new spuds in the crock-pot on low heat.

Then I made a brew of Glengettie tea and got onto the computer. As I sat on the swivel chair, PAP (Psoriatic Arthritis Paul), presented me with some sharp, persistent pains. However, only in the right knee? With the odd failings on Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, the occasional SSS shakes, and the knee, it was not an easy job updating the Wednesday blog. Especially with many trips to the wet room for the SWAT (Sprinkly-Weak-Apricot-Tinged) configurated wee-wees.

But, with my being a super-fit, robust, educated, and full of vim and enthusiastic young person, I stuck at the task. Ahem! Got it finished and posted off to WordPress. Sent the Email links, went on Pinterest, WP reader, and finally on to Facebooking.

Disappointingly, Facebook would not allow me to update my photo albums? So, I didn’t! (Tried again twice later, but no go!) Grumph!

Went to get the ablutions sorted out. A stand-up Job, cause the window cleaner might be calling early later-on, don’t want to miss him. It was yet another, unexpectedly, grand, Fantastic-Ablutionalisationing-Session! Toothache Terence a little annoyed, just the one dropsy. No, I say NO, dropsies doing the shaving! Fantastic!

The medicationalisationing was the opposite of the washing, though. Nine dropsies, part-cleared the floor cabinet of medications, lost balance getting the PPs on, clouted the back of my right hand on the door handle as I went over! Ah, well, you can’t win ’em all!

Drilling noises from above, I assume it was the floor fitters, doing the lift lobby on the 13th floor. Made up a couple of small black bags and took them to the waste chute.

Back to the flat, at the computer, when a message came through on my latest model of the mobile phone, what I’ve got. I rang night-club dancer, and ILC Warden Deana to ask for guidance. She said she would call later on in the day to have a look and do the yearly Q&A routine. I thanked her muchly.

The sky suddenly went all dark, so much so, I got the camera and took a shot of it through the balcony windows from the computer swivel chair. I checked on Facebook to see if it would allow me to add some photos to the albums, of course, it wouldn’t!

I did some updating of this blog, but it was hard work, and the Neuropathy affected shoulder was beginning to ache dreadfully, now.

The door chimes rang out, it was the window cleaner chap. He soon got on with sorting the job out, and we had a bit of a natter as he did so. I paid-up, and he booked me in for 1st November for the next call. Off he trotted to the next flat in need of his services.

Half an hour later, Deana arrived. She helped me out a lot today. After investigating the message on the phone for me, she found it was for Fire Alarm testing? Which has been done a fortnight ago, then by the firemen who attended the false alarm the following week? She explained that I had a medical appointment on Saturday morning. They rearranged the test for Wednesday 16th, twixt 0800>1300hrs.

Deana then checked the balcony door that will not lock at all. Deciding it wanted levelling. She rang the Nottingham City Homes maintenance back and got an appointment for them to look at the balcony door, on Wednesday 30th, twixt 0800>1300hrs.

Then went through my personal details as needed. I signed the tablet, and Deana trotted off, to do more examining. As usual, I felt a little cared for after this yearly visitation. ♥

I got some fresh peas podded, and cooking in the saucepan. Then checked the slow-cooker potatoes.

The weariness and fatigue arrived and hit me hard today.

Got the medications taken, and served up the nosh. As part of my abysmal efforts at dieting, I had another fish fodder food dinner. Bootiful!

Smoked mackerel, Royale surimi sticks, new potatoes, tomatoes, Irish Farls, and some terribly undercooked garden peas. Fish vinegar on the fish and potatoes, butter on the farls, and sea salt on the tomatoes. A selection of seedless grapes on the side. 7.5/10!

Then the importantist part of the day, a search for Sweet Morpheus! I was too tired to do any logical thinking, and even the Thought-Storms were not bothering me. IKt still took me ages to nod off. I had to keep waking up and utilising the OGPEB (Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Emergency-Bucket), every one of the annoyingly aggravating STS (Slow-To-Start) mode. All with PMAD (Post-Micturition After Dribbling).

Although often broken, I did get about four hours kip in, so nae worries.

Taketh care out their,

Although, to be fair,

When I had hair,

Not a lot there,

It disappeared somewhere,

Just like the sanity, I share,

It’s only fair and square,

To say, raising smiles everywhere,

Is for what I really care!

Wrote in support of the Outer Peruvian Pregnant Kangaroo Appreciation Society

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

Bear with me; these are hard to find…

At birth, I lived through Mother’s fag ash dropping on me,

I had Double-Pneumonia at the age of three,

Sister Jane was almost adopted, to Italy, she did flee,

Brother Pete, escaped, good for him, went in the army,

Mother running away, the police wanted her, you see,

Which left just poor old Dad and me,

Doing the cleaning, shopping, and two paper-rounds, that was Inchy!

I survived being thrown in the Nottingham Canal,

Clinging to a barge rope, without much hope,

I was rescued by Brain, a neighbour, and a real pal,

Hauled out, was taken home, full of hope,

Got a belting off of Dad, and scrubbed with carbolic soap!

GC Young

Jane away in Italy still,

Life was for us both, a bitter pill,

We’d both had our sad times, but still,

I started work, bought a bike that would go uphill!

Duodenal ulcer, Anne Gyna I acquired easily enough,

Got shot at work, and a new heart fitted,

Fron flat to flat, I flitted,

Got made redundant, Cancer zapped, not fritted,

Job searching failed, hopes, attritted,

My desires, faith, and plans buffetted!

GC stick

Then along came Peripheral Neuropathy ailment,

 Jane, back from Australia, accompanied me,

To and from the hospital, she was heaven sent!

Then the stroke, I was a broken bloke,

Months in care, after the stroke,

Slowly, recovery began to cloak,

Bits of the old Inchcock, showed, bespoke,

And I knew something more would wroke!

Then the diabetes was found,

And things got worserer, all around,

When Saccades-Sandra, was also found!

But, my hopes and aspirations remain,

Although I am no longer sane,

I’m ready for the challenges again…

I just wish there was a little less pain!

I fang you!

 

Inchies Ode to Inchcock

The effervescent, bubbly, good-natured Nottinghamian, 25-year-old, super-fit, Educator, Mountaineer, Professor of Neurotransmitterisational failure, and lover of oven-baked Leicester cheese potatoes; presents his latest dollop of poetical rubbish, for you!

Here we go…

I may be getting on for eighty,
But I retain some childish juvenility,
It’s one thing, in which I have the ability,
I don’t need any guilt or justifiability,
I’ve no confidence left, just vulnerability!

My ailments give me pain and irascibility,
I’ve long lost interest in egocentricity,
My body’s lost strength and elasticity,
The legs have lost their endurability,
The brain’s, now devoid of logicality!

Possibly, perhaps, partly old age, you see,
Could be lack of fun, loneliness and frivolity,
That’s made me somewhat grumpity,
The Porcelain Throne? It’s solid or liquidity,
No chance now, of any multi-functionality!

My once sharp mind, now full of banality,
I catch the wrong bus into the City,
I stutter now, so it’s hard to be witty,
I feel I’ve become a nugacity, a nonentity,
For falling asleep, I have a propensity!

No fighting spirit, and no ignitability
I’m morose, sad, no shockability,
For black periods, I’ve a susceptibility,
Life no longer offers me any tangibility,
But a big flabby-stomach, and gibbosity!

One thing that’s grown, is my gullibility,
And my stomach, that’s an undeniability
My hopes have gone, died, ostensibility,
Now life has very little enjoyability,
I sometimes wallow in self-pity,
That’s when I’ll write, a silly ditty!

Donations please: To me ASAP. Thank you.

Coping with Old Age – Inchcock Style

Coping with Old Age – Inchcock Style

Wrote in SuPport of the fethaurus Users league

Like Corona Virus and wee-weeing, it comes to us all,

Like dizziness, madness and having many a fall,

You can’t prevent it, like a rainy squall,

It’ll come, Summer, Winter, Spring or Fall,

You might be having rumpy-pumpy, or playing beachball?

Football, tennis, baseball, trying to throw a curveball,

Or you could be summoned to the guildhall,

Nowt will stop ageing, for eternity, you may trawl,

But as I say, it doesn’t matter at all,

Ailments, disabilities, agony to recall,

Life is just a struggle and a brawl,

Unfairness, those who seem to have it all,

Money, good looks, who lives are a ball,

Even for them, live will stall,

Death is perfectly natural,

Mind you, them who live at Balmoral,

Though, lacking in some moral,

Live longer, that’s connatural,

It’s us commoner’s, with no collateral,

Who was accepting our being visceral,

But death, well, it’s gone viral,

For the underprivileged, hopes, are not transferable,

Though, commitment is not endurable,

Life is not so cheery, easy, or affable,

Things can get so bad, death is advisable,

But still, you must admit, it can be laughable!

I wish that humour was bequeathable,

And seeing the future was browsable,

Wouldn’t it nice, if death was cancellable!

Just a thought! – I had one in 1958 as well!

Advice on Hospitalisationing, for my Xyrophobia suffering, over amour propred Brother-in-law Pete. Hehehe!

Pondering over the experiences of my Hospitalisations

With the hopes of giving my Bother-in-law Pete, a lift and laugh, while he’s in the Cty Nottingham Hospital, being spoilt by the specialists and pretty nurses!

My Medical Memories recalled and relived:

At the age of five, I got my thumb end chopped off and was taken by ambulance to the Nottingham Children’s Hospital. Put on a trolley, and got told-off for falling off of it! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I got shot (Working in Security in those days), they left me on a trolley in a passage and forgot about me for four-hours! General Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I had my ulcer done, they forgot to give me the chrystals, and I spent six hours on the Throne when I got home, in agony! City Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I got the hernia and was rushed into the QMC, Jane helped out my bringing things for me. Then, while repairing the hernia (Genuine bit of good luck here!), they found cancer in the bladder! Fortunately, they already had the laser and camera down my penis to deal with the rupture, so they set to and lasered the prostate cancer, at the same time! Serendipitous indeed! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

On a new-years Eve, I collapsed with high or low BP, can’t remember which now. Paramedics took me in, I fell off of the gurney going in, and lay there on the concrete floor for several minutes. QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I was told I could not be sent home with my BP so high or low, and the Warfarin level so low. I was placed in a corridor, with many other patients on trolleys, to await a bed coming free! QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Where, three hours later, I was told there is no chance of a bed, and I will have to go home! This being 00:30hrs on New Year’s day, so no buses! QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I had to walk, well hobble, all the way home in the early hours of the morning. No money for a bus or taxi, not that it mattered, I saw neither on my marathon walk back to the flats. QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I was having the angiogram, before the heart operation, they said it would be a three-day job. Then, a day later in the morning at about 04:00hrs, they woke me to tell me the bed was needed urgently, and I will have to go home! City Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Mind you; it was Pete who saved the day, at this ungodly hour, they rang Pete, who had to come and collect me! City Hospital. As we were leaving, they handed Pete a leaflet on what happens during an angiogram, which I’d had days ago? Has this ever happen to Pete? No! 

In the Morris Ward for the aorta valve replacement. A seven-day job with recovery they said (Huh!) By the fourth day, they were calling Brother-in-Law Pete to collect me again! City Hospital. Saved the day again!

Peripheral Neuropathy diagnosed. I was summoned to the hospital. A struggle in getting there, but I made it in time. I waited for three hours after the appointment time, then got in to see the Specialist. Who said, “There is nothing we can do, your neurotransmitters are dying on your right side. We cannot repair nerve ends.” Then gave me four-A4 sheets that listed the problems I could expect. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Then the most embarrassing event of my life, the Stroke. Everything in the body and I do mean everything that could leak, leaked, and I crumpled to the floor, puzzled, confused, and expecting the end had come. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Pressed the Alert Alarm, no idea what the lady said at the Nottingham City Control Room, or what I said to her. Or if I was speaking or thinking? While waiting for help, she rang back, insisting I unlock the front door to allow the Paramedics to gain entry. I had to crawl on all fours, no chance of me standing up, even while crawling, I kept falling over to my right side. There I was, in a right smelly mess, covered in front and rear releases, tears flowing, the nose running, the right ear bleeding and blood pouring from the fungal lesion, the Paramedics were shouting something through the door, and eventually I got to open the door, then collapsed again! These details were told me later. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

To the QMC Hospital, parked on the trolley in a dark room for hours. (Or so it seemed to me anyway). Up to a treatment room. I lay on the trolley in a bay for hours and started to come round a bit. A chap came to me later, told me I’d had a stroke, and said they would be transferring me to the Stroke Ward at the City Hospital. QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

An hour or so later, I was collected and taken to the City Hospital. The journey was exciting, as I learned a lot about the two ambulance women who were taking me and other patients crammed in the ambulance. Their eating habits, one preferred Morrison’s the other Tesco. About their child birthing experiences. Coronation Street, and Neighbours were spoken of, and one of them was having Chilli-con-carne for dinner. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Got into the Newall Stroke Ward. Jane and Pete visited a few days later. I got a window bed, but no camera to use. So Pete took this photo on his visit a few days later. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I was in for fourteen days, started the therapy three times a day. Then it happened again! I was told they needed the bed for an urgent admission, and I would be moved to a Residential Home (The Acorn)! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

The ambulance ladies who collected me left much of my possessions behind and took some that belonged to the patient in the next bed! I learned on the journey, gruesome details of one of the ambulance lady’s Cesarian operation, and that the other was going in for a breast reduction that months end! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

During my weeks there, I had my eyes opened. I had to make a police witness report and went for two days without being given an evening meal. But I loved it there. Has this ever happen to Pete? No! But he did take this photo when he visited me to check on my finances.

The photo shows a bottle of pop and a book that had yet to be returned to the rightful owner, taken there by the ambulance drivers in their rush to get me out of the hospital. They also failed to take my underwear, socks and Crossword books! Has this ever happen to Pete? No! 

Then, the room was needed urgently, so for the third time, I was moved. Again they called on Jane & Pete to lift me home. Has this ever happen to Pete? No! Hehehe! I’d have been lost without him and Jane, though! They listed and took all of my valuables while I was away for safe-keeping, Bless him. I’ll get them back one day!

Sister Jane came to sort out my medications that were in a right state after months away. A good job too! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I was given a carer to help me dress and put on the ankle strap, which was greatly appreciated I can tell yers!

But they were cancelled as the head-honcho woman, decided I could do it myself. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

The After-Stroke nurses came regularly, and again were very much a boon to me! They stopped coming when they arranged months of one a week two-hour physio training for me. It nearly crippled me! Haha!

Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

The now dreaded Sock-Gide was delivered, and the blood-blisters and bruised flourished. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Now, I cannot put any bamboo or other type of socks on at all, because of the uncut toenails and failure to bleed the ankle ulcer. It’s too painful to use the deadly vicious Sock-Glide at all! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I’m waiting for the medical departments etc. to reopen again after the appalling Coronavirus interlude. I will need, the Dentist (badly), the podiatrist (Desperately), The audio clinic for hearing aid batteries, and Opticians to get some glasses I can see through! Also, the delayed appointment with the cardiac team, to have a check on the metal ticker! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Now I’ve been diagnosed as diabetic! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Pete knows the reason for this post.

To keep his spirits up with a laugh!

All the best, mate! 

I hope Jane’s coping too!

Cheers!

Rainbow inspired photographicalised ode

1Mon04

5Fri05

On the computer, picking at my cold sore,
I drew the curtains, above is what I saw,
For beauty, one couldn’t ask for more,
I was gobsmacked, as I looked in awe!
Life wasn’t so complicated or obscure,
There was hope yet, I was sure,
I forgot all about my credit score!

5Fri007c

My zoochosis meant nothing, against this delight,
Magnificent colours and bending light,
Some pale, transparent, others being superbright,
I took in the gorgeousness, as well I might,
I forgot the hassle of Monday and yesternight.
I wanted to steal this inspiration, get the copyright!

5Fri12

How did the phenomenon occur, I lacked the insight,
It even beats the heavenly blue moonlight,
A plane flew by, lucky devils on that flight!
Not that I don’t love the days twilight,
What an incomparable, wonderful sight,
It’s even more desirable than toasted Marmite!

5Fri11

Rainbow, that’s an excellent euonym,
My self-control wandered, I felt grim,
Mind facts were substituted with skrim,
Dizzy Dennis was afoot, a thought-storm brewed!
For moments the brain froze, and logic stewed,
My head cleared, after a prayer and a hymn.

5Fri019

I no longer drink, or use tobacco,
Don’t play any instrument, no piano,
I do overeat and love a fresh tomato,
Eventually, semi logic I did re-bestow,
Thus ended this thought-storm fiasco!

5Fri03

No peace, no rest, from the unbalanced mind,
Sometimes from life’s hassle, I wish I could resign,
Oh, to find an existence that is gentle and kind,
Peacefulness, tranquillity, are so hard to find,
Even around here, with its lanes, tree-lined,
Why is life, so complicatedly designed?
Have I any right, to moan and whine?
The body and brain are both on the decline,
Red Dwarf’s on the box later, so never mind!

1Mon04a