Catheter leg pouch – Inchie Today

Inchy Today: Satur’Rotten’day 24th May 2025

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This is a sort of disclaimer.
Defending my brain’s abductor,
My cerebrum needs a new alternator,
Today, full of Whoopsiedangleploppery…
Has angered & confused me continually,
Hot tap left running twice – Good Glory!
Burnt my dinner, coughing & throaty,
Everything went more confusingly,
As I write this, it’s 16:00hrs, Sunday,
07:15, I mean on Saturday…
Has angered & confused me continually,
Hot tap left running twice – Thoughts gory!
Struggled with the Peripheral Neuropathy,
Arthritis and cartilage, bad in each knee,
Glaucoma was making things hard to see,
I cut my finger on the zester,
Porcelain Throne visits, never messier!
What people said would not register,
My catheter tap was left open, pathetically…
Slippers, socks, feet, carpet wet, you see?
Leg ulcers turned deep zaffre…
Burnt my dinner, coughing & throaty,
Everything went more confusingly,
No one had time for a chat or natter…
What bit of hope I had began to wither,
I didn’t know if I was here, there or whether…
It was pouring with rain, a change in the weather,
Dark Dank Depression Duncan dawned,
No visits from High Horis, I felt scorned,
I got confused with the dates on the calendar,
The computer has a blue screen, whatsoever,
Each caller had a different Carer,
Lost without Carer Joe, he’s on holiday,
Fought against dates, mathematically,
My thoughts sadly went argumentatively,
And I was only talking to myself, sadly,
Then, I think you may agree…
I suffered catastrophe after catastrophe,
I washed the pots and put them away,
A Carer from the ICC,
Which naturally distracted me,
She left, I discovered, agonistically,
I’d left the tap running again. Glory be!
No ablutioning today as well, I can see!
Cleaning my togs first, carefully…
Rarely for this year, it was still rainy,
Then I tackled a job most risky…
The bowl of disinfected hot water…
To the main room, I had to porter,
No Accifauxpas, with that water,
Stuck my feet in the bowl, with anti-fungal,
But I forgot to fetch the towel…
So I dried off with some kitchen towel,
Went to empty the bowl in the in the WC,
Dropping it as I poured it into the toilet bowl,
I stubbed my toe, boy, did I howl!
I wanted to throw in the towel…
Instead, I made a brew…but I couldn’t find it. Nor my mobile!
Give up, swear, curse and growl,
Depression Duncan was invincible,
High Horis was absent or invisible…
Most of this is immaterial,
Bad-luck? I’ve had jugful…
I sank into a mental jungle,
My mind was in a twisted muddle,
Too many problems to juggle,
Life seems no longer manageable,
Everyday, more mishaps & trouble,
My brain & soul are no longer mutual,
My joints & bones are no longer malleable,
Problems not hideable or mothballable,
Cognitive Impairment, sanity not recuperable,
I’ve no slippers left because I’ve pee’d in them all,
Proving that I’m ever more adorkable,
I still feel that life nowadays is not workable…
I also seem to be growing more sulkable,
My thoughts & ideas are now circumstantial,
I sense I’m becoming somewhat augural,
In High Horis’s absence, I’m apoplectical,
I was once perceptible, & palopable,
Will Horis ever return? I’m still hopeful,
Gawd, that entity made me so cheerful,
Does this read all agathokakological?
With problems neurological & physical,
Seemingly ignored by anyone medical,
What chance? Is logic salveable?
Unobtainable, unreasonable, or unworkable?
Sorry, this may sound morbid, apocryphal,
It’s just that I’ve had a belly full,
Dementia, Incogniscence… are they…
mendable, rectifiable or even explainable?
I made a meal that looked rather eatable,
Unfortunately, in the morning, at half-past two,
I’d only been in bed for a minute, too!
Off again to the Porcelain Throne, I flew,
I had another ,
The evacuation started before it was due!
Much foul language was used, I can tell you,
It was unstoppable, smelly and impromptu,
More time lost, much cleaning up to do,
Arithmetic, I nowadays misconstrue,
But, did I enjoy my meat & potato stew!.

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Just had a short visit from!
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Today felt like anything go-wrongable went wrongable. Repeatedly.
My mind took a holiday.

Scribbled notes on the pad and a few photos triggered some memories.

04:20hrs: Removed the nocturnal catheter bag.
I Put the kettle on. Then, I soaked the socks in disinfectant from the urine mishap—how many times has that happened this week? I made up three waste bags. I put them near the front door, where they remained for two days with the following added ones. Could I remember to ask the caregivers to take them to the shute? No!
I didn’t get around to doing this blog until Tuesday.
By then, I’d overwritten the pictures taken as I got them all mixed up with each other. I must have lost at least a dozen photos! Self-hatred, stupidity, and a smidge of anger with myself.

Yet again, Unbelievable!
I was emptying the day bag, and the intercom rang; it was the Carer. As it seems habitual nowadays, I did not fully close the bleed valve on the catheter pouch.
More foul, self-cursing emanated.
Another high-risk activity is carrying a bowl of disinfected water to remove the pong of urine on my feet. Mind you, I’ve done it three times (not closing the valve and carrying water from the kitchen to the front room and back). No, I’ve done it four times this week. I ran the hot water tap cold six times. And I swore (Estimated) 12,456 times this week thus far. Only one more day left to increase these figures. (Which I can you now, I did!)

All my slippers are already in the laundry bag.
And with the Carer not putting on the diabetic socks, I walked the stink all over the rooms. I was not up to mopping, but I sprayed all the carpeting with a fabric freshener and the rooms with air spray. I still can’t find the small blue towel. But give me time. I’ve only been looking for it for two weeks. Untidy is the kindest word to describe the flat.

I think this photo might be from another previous day. Cause I can’t recall any prescription medications being delivered. Mind you, later on, when I got a phone call, the lady asked me why I had not attended the meeting with the neurologist at The Ropewalk. I felt silly asking where the Ropewalk was.
After cringingly apologising and thanking her for setting up a new emergency date for the examination (August 28th), I checked my calendar. There was nothing on there. .

Not sure about this photo either.

Or when this one was taken.
What day was it taken?

I went to get the much-needed ablutions done, but I needed to use the porcelain Throne first.

Morrison order. The photos have been overwritten—all of them! No, hang on. I’ll check to see if I put them in the wrong folder. I’d be daft enough to have…
Well, after searching, I could not find them in any file. I went on CorelDraw to download Tuesday’s files and realised I’d left the photos on the CorelDraw page. So, I had to change all the names and save them again to use here. I sense big cock-ups in the offing!
I found some snaps.
I think these were the right ones.
But…
They are, I’m nearly certain.
Well…

I had better stop here if I’m getting deeper into a quagmire of confusion with three days of blog photos and notes and the wrong days of events shared between the three. I think duplicity is a possibility for these three blogs. Sorry if this is so.

Many photos in the preview are different from those in the editor. I’m sorry again; I can’t find out why. If this continues, I’ll have to give up. Anger-Making!

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Cheers!
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Incontinent Inchy: Monday 22nd July 2024

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Doesn’t yer know that today started so well that I was questioning my own insanity? What a start to this prospectively enlightening, trouble-free, and confidence-returning day! Then I climbed out of the hospital-provided bed, caught the catheter pouch tube against the metal anti-fall bars, and without any hassle or leaks occurring! Fan-bloody-tastic!
The colour of the urine was classified by Carer Richard later, as a seven on the NHS rating colour card. That was a bit of a downer for me. Yet, I found myself whistling, well, I say whistling. I was trying to whistle; it was not easy with me losing another half-tooth to the land of rot and yesterday. Still, I laughed it off; even when Little Inchy’s fungal lesion started to bleed, I kept up my pecker… Honestly!

I’m off to visit the Porcelain Throne and have a stand-up wash and shave. I must remember to ask Warden Deana about getting the shower head mended. Having failed on the Porcelain, I started to have a shave, and I gave myself a little cut.
I put the Kodak Tim in my gown pocket and tried to take a selfie shot of how little the nick was.
The steam from the water blurred it. Shame! That double chin was embarrassing as well!
I then put on the Protection Pants in record time with far less hassle and pain than I usually do. By gum, today is going so well!
Feeling a little perky, I turned to leave the wet room and involuntary shoulder-charged the edge of the door! The response was a bit of bad language and a dip in perkiness!

I took a photo of the morning view from the kitchenette window and put the kettle on to make a brew of Thompson’s Punjana tea.
Then, I emptied all of the waste bins into one and placed it near the door for the Carer to pick up for me.
As I turned to hobble back to the kitchen to make my tea, guess what? I against the towel dryer. Now, I was beginning to feel a little riled, ruffled, ratty, almost to the point of getting hacked off.

Carer Richard arrived, and I forgot to ask him yp put my diabetic socks on. Thus, I’ve been having activities from the vicious ‘s via .
I wish someone could tell me why, although I expect I may know. It’s with. Of course, I could well be wrong about that. You know, I’m becoming something of an expert in getting things wrong these last few years. No effort on my behalf is needed. I was well behind on getting this blog started. So I knuckled down while I knew there were no carers to call and did a pretty lousy job on CorelDraw, and then WordPress kept changing the font on its own accord. I spent about two hours trying to find a cure. I did some risky, easy-to-forget and lose where I was amended in the Settings and Appearance options. But although it accepted my different font in the editing sections, it did not change them on the blog editor. Sometimes, it would be on the Preview. Back to the editor and the old font was back.
Nearing losing my marbles with the frustration, I thought I’d try a different font… and the door chime rang out.
! It was a man and woman (Amelia) from Specsavers checking the eyes. It was, I suppose, perfectly understandable that I forgot they were coming.

Between , supported by it’s no surprise. They came in, barely hiding their disgust at the state of the room with the bed in it. Their superiority oozed from them as they went through the selling parts of their mission. Q & A’s. Sense of humourless. Prospective future Oligarchs, I think. Anyway, it seems I am cataract-free in both eyes. They think it must be the Glaucoma that’s causing the problems.

Arrived, full of beans. Gave her some nibbles and a drinkie for her kids. No medications were needed; I was too confused to take any after the WordPressing farce. Which is what I returned to after she rushed off on her duties.
It took another four hours of fighting to get the font I wanted to work on. I failed. Now I can’t remember what I’d done to try and get it accepted in the first place. Had enough of this. Frustration Frank visited.

Now, the persistent painful got as bad and persistent as she’s ever been. Carer Chris came, and I’m blown if I can recall much of the visit. I certainly didn’t make any notes on the pad, which indicates to me, that I possibly had some or most likely a or two.

Tired out now, but still messing about trying to sort out the changing font issue. Sod it, I made a brew of Glengettie tea and enjoyed it. Oh, I’ve just realised I’ve not had a Porcelain Evacuation all day!

If a need for food develops, then I might have an evacuation. I have more eyes and shoots to remove from the potatoes before putting them in the oven.
I took these pictures on the left earlier and forgot about them; it could happen to anyone, I say.
But the odds are it’ll be me!

Gorgeous clouds.

Then, I had another go at this blog. I’m not certain what’s happened or happening now.
But I was brought back to reality a smidge when the bloody, costly WordPress package started changing the font again. The obvious reason for this? Me! I doubt I am capable any more!
Amazingly, I grafted away without struggling to see as bad as I usually do in the evenings. I spent hours, most of the time, changing the font back and making errors. Eventually, I gave up. I had to. It’s now 01:45 in the morning. I’m drained and tired out, and I just smelt the burning potatoes in the oven! Another oven tray to throw away. More potatoes to de-scab and cook again. Which I did, smilingly, happily, contentedly… I speak LYINGLY Hehehe!
I did take these final photos. I hope to stay awake long enough to snap a photo of the potato meal. That is if I don’t get a or fall asleep and burn these potatoes. I do live well!

I forgot, Warden Deana called with my change for the foot lady and told me that poor Josie was not the woman we all know in the home she went to after her fall.

Back in the morning… well, it’s morning already, innit.
I made a meal for the third time, and I got to eat instead of burn it.
Nothing fancy, but I was hungry, so I enjoyed it.
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Cheers!

Titchy Inchy: Sunday 5th May 2024: Mental Commotion, and an Accifauxpas!

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If I say that today was an odd day, this would be an understatement, a mild euphemism, and an undeniable matter-of-fact. Morning Carer Selina arrived. She medicated me and put on the socks, and after the gal had gone, I’d lost the plot with what I was going to type. Sad, innit?
The day continued in this mould. There were a few Out-of-it moments. Either I fell asleep, had mind blanks, or had a few Non-Epilectic Seizures. Take your pick; it could be any one of them. Or perhaps a mixture. Occasionally, when I returned to imitation life, I found I’d been working on something on the computer while mentally AWOL, with no memory of doing so! On other occasions, I’d done nothing whatsoever as far as I could ascertain. Also, before Selina departed, she took photos of the wee-wee I released into the jug…
The fluffy bits of whatever were back again! But the nurse last month wasn’t worried. I’m sure it will be alright. Likely, it was bits of my prostate coming out. Cause when the Specialist Doctor put me on the Finasteride tablets for a month.
Hoping they will reduce the size of my prostate to let me manually wee again.
So the month’s course is now a year-long one, and still, they ply me with more Prostate (RIP)-killing capsules?
A touch of overkill here, methinks. This is what makes me believe it’s the residue of my prostate floating in the jug of released urine? I don’t know, really. You never know; the Finasteride may have already done for the prostate and has now moved on to another organ to murder? Hehe! Haha!
I hope it doesn’t have a go at a larger organ; that would be pure agony to try and get whatever it was through Little Inchy and the Catheter’s narrow tube. (Inchy laughs weakly) With Confusion reigning again within my poor brain.
Concentration was as bad as it’s been for months today.
I’ll have to rush now; it’s Monday (10:15hrs), and as usual, I’m miles behind with the blog. I’ll have to comment quickly on the photos if I can recall the moment I took them. I’m so frustrated! And this morning (Mon), when I did the ablutions, I turned on the fan heater, and the room was filled with Acne and Eczema bits blown from all over my chubby, belly-dominated body. I don’t know why I told you that?
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A better colour this morning.

The sun was creeping up from the rear left of the blocks of prison cells—no, no, flats! It gave this shot a specific flavour, but I forgot what word I was going to use.

It’s safe to say that the oven burn scar will soon start to crumble off of the hand. It’s not easy taking photos with one hand.

Out came the new cordless hoover with its headlights on when in use. I think I’ll name it Vacuum Victor.

Had a good long session on the crossword before I could encourage Conrad to free it.

I caught my hand on the rack as I grabbed the toilet roll, and bits of a green-looking scar dropped off. It has taken eleven days to heal. I’d better not pick at it, though.

Afternoon and evening sky snaps.
Pareidolia’s Delight.
Faces, bird heads, a human head…
A taser, a beast with an open jaw, and a bird with an open beak—it’s incredible how many things I spotted today.
This is the last of the sky shots I took. I took some later ones without the SD card being inserted into Kodak Tim. Tsk! It could happen to anyone, (he says).

16:20hrs: Carer Ali arrived as I sat down to have the meal. The feasting was resumed after he’d gone. Baked beans with BBQ seasoning were added to some tomatoes and veggie sauce, mini vegan sausages, and chips, and I had such a hard time getting grime off the oven tray. I tried cleaning it, but I gave up and threw it away! Hence, the chips were mangled, but I still enjoyed them, even if they had cooled too much. The pot of jelly was of a sour-type one. Nice & Tangy! I put the TV on until Carer Richard arrived. He suffered from leg problems and was in pain, so there was no laughter tonight; bless his cotton socks. Gave him a cold drinkie, and he soon had me sorted. Diabetic socks removed.

Even I had to laugh at the mess I got myself into getting into the hospital bed tonight. Farcical? Yes? But at the time, it was also humorous. I’d done the safety checks on the taps cooker, etc., and pulled the curtains back to get as much light in the room as possible; this was to try to avoid needing to use the torch. Turned off the lights and edged my way in the semi-darkness, along the bed, towards the operating thingy…
I trod on a power socket extension that slightly made me jump. I knocked the overbed mini-table over, followed it onto the floor, and tripped again over the walking stick that had been knocked over as well. I wish this was being recorded in something other than my memory! It was worthy of being a Brian Rix-type Farce! As I struggled with my painful knees, which took me ages and started to foolishly, unthinkingly pull myself up using the bed as a grip… What a Plonker! Of course, the loose quilt on the bed assured my falling back down onto the floor and my bum again! I did feel like a silly old fool!
and started bleeding, I was back to square one, on the floor in agony! I somehow walked on my knees to the recliner to get myself upright again. The grief from Cartilages Chloe and Carole was so bad that when I did manage to haul up my elephantine-stomached body onto my feet again, I took a Codeine, creamed the Fungal Lesion and Harold’s Haemorrhoids, and Phorpain-Gelled both knees and Back-Pain-Brenda! I rose upright to make my way to the bed again… No, there’s more to come yet!
I fought my way carefully and cautiously into the hospital bed, using the torch this time. Within seconds of finding a comfortable position, the need for me to use the Porcelain Throne arose! I was extra heedful and got to the wet room without further hindrances. The flow started as my bottom hit the plastic lid. It came and came… and came! It was a Kharki, almost liquid type of evacuation. You know, the kind that leaves an uncomfortable sensation in your innards… well, my innards!
The cleaning up afterwards took a long time. I had to clean and medicate again.
Then, a high alert mode was adopted for the trip back to the long overdue, belated sleeping on the bed.
Amazingly, all went well with the return trip!
I had a few hiccups getting into the bed, but they are not worth mentioning. I think I drifted off into the land of Sweet Morpheus Post-Haste. I woke up after a decent amount of time with a vivid memory of the farce in my mind. So, So, I scribbled down some notes to use here.

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Fare Thee All Well!