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Scarily deep colours in the night pouch?

Woke a little light-headed and pondered the time (04:05hrs)… ! Then I felt the wet, warm blood trickling down through the Protection Pants; they had never let me down before. Assuming that the tube on the catheter bag must be leaking, I rose from the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop bought, second-hand, wincingly grotty, beige coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy & dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, Catheter-tube-trapping, recliner, and placed my hand on the wet area… only to find out it was blood!
I went to the wet room and adopted my Sherlock Holmesian mode to discover the problem was down there… I soon found the blood flowing close to the tube’s entry point.
The PPs were removed, and new Depends were readied to use. I then tried to stop the flow of blood. The Fungal lesion on the little chap appeared to have increased to four now! Argh! No doubt due to the presence of the deadly catheter that has been inserted for over a year now! I did take a photograph of the area… well, the blood on the pants, but decided not to show it, as it looked pretty gruesome. But at least I can show it to the nurses who are due today. But not on the web. Cleaned myself up and daubed masses of the Sudocrem cream on the lower regions of little . A mite too much, mayhap… I almost slid right off it when I had to get seated on the Throne. Hahaha! That was another Trotsky Terence-controlled evacuation – what a smelly mess!
Off to the kitchen to make a brew of tea. I was having more trouble this morning from my leg.
I took a fetching photo of the car park below the kitchen window. Eerie or not? What do you think?

Added another bag of sorted rubbish to the one not taken last night.

Oh, heck, back to the yet again. It’s been a hectic day up to now. I anticipate it will get worse… my EQ has just given me the nod to expect ructions, unexpected disappointment, or of that nature? He’s never been wrong in his tips, yet. I’m afraid. The evacuation was another Trotsky in-charge affair, but the content came out differently this time. It’s a sort of sludgy with flaky bits around the edges; I’ve had this type once before, a few months ago. I think!
I went off to the kitchenette again, only to find I’d left the damned kitchen hot water tap (faucet) running yet again! I keep blaming all these faux pas on , as I used to do with the now apparently absconded … there is something within that is crushing, obliterating my plans, thoughts and abilities to pieces lately. In particular, she loves toying with my short-term memory. I’ve thought about it a lot recently. It erks me!

Later today, I realised that the most cock-ups come when I’m trying to concentrate on something, and a simple thing like a phone call coming in a Carer or Nurse coming in will leave me open to forgetfulness. Even with talking, if someone changes the topic, alters a question… I’m lost! Not only to the new subject but what I was doing before the chinwag started. I’m amazed that I can still do the odes? But everything is error-ridden and takes far too long to get written as I originally meant it to…
I often lose the plot in mid-typing!

The blood papules on the left leg had increased a bit. I’ll mention it to the nurse when she arrives later on. He says with an air of fallacious, blind confidence.
An odd hue in the flat this morning. Some of my photos seem tinted with a bizarre shade, looking almost as if they are old? But not to fret. Too much!
I took another shot straight away. And that came out a different shade altogether?
All a part of the mysteries of Woodthorpe Court, with the ghosts, wraiths, spectres, cacodaemons, apparitions, and other grotesqueries that haunt the hallways and lobbies, searching for Inchy to curse with lousy luck, create ambiguities, abstrucities, perplexities, misfortunes and botherations, to scare. Worry and confuse me! Hehe!

Aha, the Iceland order has arrived. So, I left the computer so I could forget where I was up to and what my next move would be. I admitted the driver via the intercom box and opened the door for his arrival. The kind young man carried the box and bags to the kitchenette for me. I had to almost insist he took a can of his choice from the visitor’s drinkies and nibbles shelves.
I thanked him much for his help and set about checking the items sent and dates that I could read, anyway. Here on the left is the first bag emptied out.
Then, the tasty bagful was sorted. The new cookies from McVities were tried later, and I had high hopes of them being tasty… They were not!
The LU bikkies and soft bakes are delicious! The lemon puffs are for Jenny’s other half, Frank. Nice chap, and lovely Lady, they are. He does love them Lemon bikkies so. I hope the nurses finish the leg so I can deliver them later to the lad. But my hopes are low after EQ’s earlier warning.
The last carrier had cleaning things in it. Putting these away in the drawer, I proceeded to give myself a tear-prompting against the server-trolley wheel. Naturally, me being a brave, almost heroic, man of courage, grit and gamely pain-tolerant, there was no groaning, moaning or Arghs!
The intercom lit up, and I went to investigate. It was two of the District Nurses, who were soon up and in the flat, checking the legs first. They took photographs of the new blood leaks to show the Doctor when they returned to base at the Community Centre. Then, one of the Angels got her computer out and started asking many questions about my medical history, who and where each one was diagnosed when the various ailments first, what treatment I had, and when started. Well, that did not go too well! Instead, I feared she’d ask me for my date of birth because, cause for the love of me, I couldn’t recall it…  It came back to me later; she didn’t ask for it. 
One nurse was training the other. And the young nurse (they were both socially minded and laughed at my ailments, all having been given names)
They explained what they were about to do. Take off the old bandage & patch. It was a shock to me when it hurt so much, especially in my right leg, which seems semi-immune to pain at times when the are off-line to the brain. Unfortunately, they were getting through at the time the patch was taken off. Hahaha!
The nurse said, “This is my first time putting a diabetic wrap on a leg!”
They then had a look at the catheter scabs. Naturally, I forgot all about mentioning . !
As they departed, I insisted they take their choice of drinkies and or nibbles, and I thanked them. One said they would be back on Friday to check out the state of
. But this has been said so often, and no one turns up, that a pinch of salt was tasted. Har-har!
They did warn me that it would be more painful than the last dressing, as the diabetic wrap is tighter, to keep the fluid higher up in the leg to give poor a chance for the wound to heal. Also, if my toes go blue, I’ve to call them ASAP and for me to take off the dressing straight away. Bless em!

My precious nurse Hristina phoned to let me know she would call in the morning, between 9> and 10:00hrs, to take blood for the anticoagulation DVT department ♥

Unbe-rotten-believable!
Not the right, known as , is the one that can give me problems, but the left one (she’ll need naming now); Gave way, and down I went in the kitchen onto my left knee – which, as you know, is the one currently having attached to it! The pain from the fall was of little bother; I was more concerned that the bag may have burst. I checked and thought; well, that was a bit of luck! I thought it an opportune time to make the second brew of Glengettie tea of the day in celebration…
Cleaning up milk from the dropped milk carton took me ages and a lot of pain. However, I did so and finally got on with this blog. Talking of lasting, I didn’t get to kip until well-gone 02:00hrs; I just had to get some blogging done after the kerfuffle with the medical things and cleaning up the floor in the kitchen, then the bits of fluff and bandage on the carpet near the £300, second-hand, most uncomfortable, decrepit, Haemorrhoid Harold-testing, micro-organism-microbe-bugged, easily-fallout able-from, unfit-for-use, not working, recliner, that I sat in, for the treatment from the nurses.

I’m addicted, you know!

So I Did!
I was so hungry.
Sitting there in the £300, second-hand, musty, Haemorrhoid Harold Testing, cringingly beige, crumb-covered, not-working, rickety recliner, I slowly peeled back the outer skin, and my mouth was watering at the thought of munching into it…

As the top part of the flesh broke off and slid down my overly proportioned belly, via Little Inchy and over the , and as I tried to catch it and missed, I trod on it as I lost my balance, and I squelched over the carpet…

The darkness began to fall. And I had a spell at the kitchen window. With…
Just caught the end of the sun setting.
Zoomed in a little…
Moments later, she’s gone!
Nightie, night!

Then, I industriously set about preparing the simple evening meal. Just potatoes baked, emptied out, causing a few burns on the fingers. Then, even more, I scooped out the flesh and mashed it with No-Butter, butter, Leicester cheese and sea salt in the mixing bowl. Ran a fork over the top of each skin to create ridges so as to crisp up the finished product, and back into the oven,
arrived as I was putting the nosh back in the range to crisp up.
Medications were given. We managed a little nattering session and laugh.

After the lad had left, I checked on the cheesy spud’s progress, cooking-wise. They needed a little longer. So, I put the TV on to see if anything worthwhile was showing. Not half! Two episodes of ‘Cracker’ with Robbie Coltrane started at ten o’clock (22:00hrs). I knew, of course, it would be the same as last week, and I’d fall asleep when the adverts came on and most likely wake up wide awake as the credits were rolling at the end of the programmes.

I was right!

The last three nights’ differences were phenomenal, unique, and welcome.
I slept for over seven hours! Great!.

TTFN