– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – 05:55hrs: I woke up and took a few moments to figure out who I was, where I was, and why I had woken up. No joking! I think it must be possible to have a while one is asleep. This could possibly explain my bafflement when I stirred. It didn’t help much when joined in the confusing morning equation. As confused as I was, I wasn’t in a depression until the thought storming started, but I was then. Steve harped on and on; The computer problems, the TV Licensing Prosecution, the damned stupid and painful Catheter Contraption fitted, electric shocks shooting up my leg, the guilt of being so inadequate in even needing help to get dressed! Many other things were thrown at me at almost the same time. Things from 70+ years ago, mistakes, bad choices, stupid options that were taken… then, as I was trying to get out of bed, I stubbed my ingrowing toenail toe on the bed support bar. This was followed by a sharp-jarring pain from the catheter tube on Little Inchy, which took my mind off of the earlier depression and replaced it with a sickening ‘Sorry for myself’ moment. Lacking clarity or precision might be nearer to the optimum delineation. The nocturnal pouch was later checked and saved for colour classification by a carer. I’d regained a modicum of logicality by the time I’d made a brew of Glengettie and drank it.
The usual start, with the throne duties first. And what a change there! It was all over in seconds, but a ‘cunning plan’ from Trotsky caught me. I’d cleaned myself and WC up and was getting the shaving tackle ready… luckily I was only a hobble and a half away from the Porcelain Throne when a second wave arrived. I made it in time, but it was a close call. Had I needed to remove my PP’s, I’d have messed myself up. Luckily, if that’s the word, I’d taken the PPs off when in bed cause they and the catheter were causing me such pain. I did my teeth and then carried out the various medicationings, got some fresh PPs on, and forgot all about having a shave. I put the tackle away, thinking that I’d had one. Is there any hope?
I took an earlyish morning snap of the view from the kitchenette window. It was a bit nippy out. Brr! I closed the window, and I started updating yesterday’s blog. But, as usual, I got an idea for today’s Ode and spent ages on it, then almost forgot about yesterday’s not being done. Onto CorelDraw and Carer Chris arrived. Chris got the diabetic socks on for me. Medications were issued, and he mentioned that the catheter conglomeration looked rather painful. He was on the button there! Hehehe! He took the laundry down for me. I hope it returns today; the smaller socks were both in it.
I had a couple of minor seizures, I think, so I gave the computer a rest. And started to sort the waste bins out. As I emptied one, I
burst into life and dropped on the bins. Crumbs were scattered over the carpet. So I unplugged Vaccumm- Vincent to clean them up. I made a decent job of it, and as I turned (a little too quickly) with Vincent to replug him, visited, , just enough for me to kick the bin over that I’d just emptied Vincent’s contents into!
The day started badly… it’s still not getting any better!
came in to do a battery check. We had a little natter. Well, I told her of the day’s disasters. Hehehe! I love to laugh, but I get minimal opportunities nowadays. They are so precious to me!
Minutes after Deana had departed, the door chime chimed. I’ve noticed that it does that occasionally. The Postlady delivered three letters. One a bill. The other two from the TLA (Television Licensing Authority) informed me that an Enforcement Officer visit has been granted the right to call on me to collect payment. A £1000 fine may be applied if the licence fee is not paid on this visit on September 15th. Nice! Keir Starmer starts by stating that he means to go on with the liquidation of the older generation. Starmer’s total travel bill for his time in charge of the CPS stood at £236,485, which included first-class flights. It states in the letter that anyone over 76 years of age does not need to buy a licence? I phoned Deana, who gave me a reference number to give to the bully boy or girl when he or she arrives. The day started badly… it’s still not getting any better!
I made a food order from Ocado for next week. I can starve until then. At least that would please Starmer! Haha!
Getting depressed again. I got the Kodak and took this shot on the left of the flat’s Chestnut Way car parking. Not a soul in sight! Then I took this one on the right. To the left of the apartments. (It sounds much posher than flats, dunnit?) Haha!)
Next, off into the balcony. To take a shot of the dead-end car park. I felt the weight of the mini-sized catheter pulling down at the same time as Little Inchie felt the pain. Arghhh! I hobbled back into the flat and emptied the pouch, and all but went over again, as nearly had me over as I bent down to my foot to retrieve the bag. Fed up! I limped cautiously back onto the balcony to take a final photo. The rain had started. We need it, though; we’ve not had much this summertime.
The day started badly… it’s still not getting any better!.
I’ll investigate what food to have for nosh later on. No, I won’t. I’ll go on the WP Reader. Some great photography and poetry were posted for my pleasure by other bloggers!
BEEF IN STOUT GRAVY With a baked potato, halved and salted. Wholemeal bread rolls to soak up the gravy and get stains on my humungous, horrifically hefty, hanging-down stomach! A couple of squirts of BBQ-flavoured ketchup on the spuds. Naughty, but so lovely! I got the pots washed with one hand. The other was carrying the nocturnal catheter bag in hand. Then I put the bag on the floor and took this snap on the right. It looked ominous, yer peaceful at the same time.
Got down in the itch-creating, bruise-giving, catheter-tube-tugging, crumb-decorated from my nocturnal nibbling, God-awfully uncomfortable, cringingly grotty, no longer working, dirty beige, anti-sleep designed, c1966, second-hand bought for £300 ten years ago from the charity shop, recliner. Intending to watch some recorded episodes of ‘Heartbeat’. I kept falling asleep and playing back the recording to catch up on what I’d missed. The chilly-cold body tingles, along with the , assured that I didn’t stay asleep for long each time.
When I got onto the bed, the same two ailments then joined in with to give me a horrible night’s rest! One of the worst nights for months. Tsk!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Another day of frustration, torment, mistakes, Accifauxpas, Whoopsiedangleplops, agony from the bladder, wee-wee not flowing correctly. Urine’s colour regularly changed from almost clear to a deep brown and back again, Little Inchie in agony, the Catheter Contraption tugging away at him, Constipation Conrad showing no signs of easing, and… Never mind, a typical day here up in the clouds in the imprisoning flat, with increasing rent, power to go up 20% at the Labour’s first budget in October, and the yearly Power Costs Support Money has been cancelled by the Labour Party. That’s the one that Keir Starmer told us at the election was safe in our hands! I hope I never meet him; I’ll be nervous expecting him to pick my pocket! Or worse! The Founder of the National Health Service and my top Hero, Anyeui (Nye) Bevan, must be turning in his grave! Keir Starmer is a liar, cheat, wealthy, and power-motivated creature who seems too clever for his own good. Did he not know his deceit and underhanded lies by omission would not be revealed? It’s only the suicidal Conservative Party’s own ineptness and patheticness that got him into power! Well, fair enough. Keir’s blatant lies helped. One of his first sleight-of-hand moves was taking away the pensioner’s Winter Warmth cash: an easy target for him, and he knew it. The personal protection of the prime minister and former prime ministers is the responsibility of the Protection Command within the Metropolitan Police Service. The fleet of Prime Ministerial Cars provides the prime minister with a number of security features and transport. The Labour leader racked up an extraordinary expenses bill – an average of nearly £50,000 a year – while senior public prosecutor, including a chauffeur-driven car alongside first and business-class flights worldwide.
Starmer billed over £180,000 for chauffeur-driven cars in London despite living four miles from the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) office.
He took first-class flights to four continents. As head of CPS, he took an 85-minute flight to Belfast, which cost us £443.
Starmer spent nearly £20,000 on four flights to Washington, D.C., then claimed £7.24 for a taxi in the US capital. His successor, A Saunders, served the same 5-year term but had travel expenses less than a third of the size of Starmer’s. And we have to grit our teeth, he says, at the budget? Starmer took home £1m over five years in charge of CPS and accrued £336,000 in pension benefits.
Long-time watchers of Keir Starmer, who have questions about his murky rise to leadership of the Labour Party, will have noted the investigation by Gabriel Pogrund and Harry Yorke in last weekend’s Sunday Times with interest. Based in part on materials from investigative journalist Paul Holden, whose forthcoming book The Fraud: Keir Starmer, Labour Together, and the Crisis of British Democracy is due out early next year, the Sunday Times article reveals the slush fund of undeclared, unregulated, and unlawful dark money – more than £730,000 of it – that financed the reconquest and reclamation of the Labour party by its far-rightwing using Keir Starmer as a figurehead. Still, I mustn’t let the pug-faced, tergiversation, lying, duplicitous, untrustworthy, clever double entente master, and obnoxious Oligarch git get to me! Keir Starmer is at the peak of his dishonesty! Or should that be at the birth of unlimited new opportunities?
I got a little carried away there… didn’t I?
I woke late, at 0600 hrs, but I felt a smidge perky, so I decided to get up and do my ablutions. I looked down from the bed to see that the nocturnal catheter pouch had barely any wee-wee in it. But the gigantic, thick, overly-long tube was backed up with much darker urine that was not going into the bag. So, I applied the usual morning task of throwing the bag around like a football rattle, then threw it back on the floor. Sure enough, the urine flowed. Still too dark, but still. Can’t win them all. I popped into the kitchen before the wetroom to check that I’d not left the taps on, fridge or freezer doors open or cooker on. They all looked good to me.
The photo of the Bottom field and City Hospital in the distance was taken. They’re not bad either, well, alright.
First thing, a sit on the Porcelain Throne, pain, effort, and Oh, so slow coming out. Constipation Conrad is still in full charge. I took another Laxido sachet in warm water later). There were only a few specs of blood on the toilet roll, and there was no mess to clean up! After cleaning my teeth, I had a shave. The aftershave dribbled onto the flesh cuts. Tsk! A body scrub, and ont to the medicationalisationings. Olive oiled the earholes; Earache Erasmus was no bother today. Put the eye drops in. Then, I got the barrier cream under the man’s breasts and belly bulge.
Germoloided Harold Haemmoroids and antiseptic cream were on the top of the legs, where the catheter straps had cut into the skin a bit. Acne cream under the arms, around the neck, and to the forehead. Then Phorpain gelled the knees for Arthur Itis. I could not reach down to do the ankle ulcer; I’ll ask a carer later. But, of course, I forgot to! The last mendicant, as usual, was the ointmentating of Little Inchies Fungal Lesion. Gawd, doing this hurts! I cleaned the glasses and cut my fingernails. I was in the middle of the usual battle to get the fresh PPs on when the door chime rang out. I finished as quickly as possible, but whoever it was had gone by the time I got to the door. Hobbled back to check the wet room, but could I find my hearing aids? No! It’s still a mystery to me, like so many things nowadays.
As I put on the gown, I noticed the thick, long catheter tube was in backflow mode again. And even deeper red now! I’d also obtained a new cruise on the left leg. It might have been caused by the top strap trapping the skin. Or not. I didn’t know what I was thinking at that moment. A seizure was on the way, and I knew it. Although how I knew it, I don’t know. But it did come, as Carer Shaquille arrived. I think I was waffling a lot. I know Shaq got the diabetic socks on for me.
I made a brew and got onto the computer belatedly. I have no idea what I got carried away with, but hours later, I’d still not started updating the blog. It seems I got some work done on CorelDraw, but not successfully. Spit!
Carer Kimberley arrived to provide financial help, but of course, she couldn’t. I pointed out that until Kara told her what to do and how to do it, including changing the name of my Prime Helper with the bank, they would not talk to her. She had a look at the mail but does not know, nor do I, where or which folder has to go in where. Kara used to do it so well and efficiently for me. She will see if Kara can show her and change her name.
I took this snap of the clouds while making a mug of tea. I’ve already drank three days’ worth of my allowance, which is six mugs, which should be two daily. A twinge of guilt was soon cast into the abyss of the ‘I’m-not-bothered-anymore’ section of the brain. A Dark, Dank Depression fell that instant!
I could not seem to break out of this downer. It appears that I also snapped a picture of a beetroot jar, but I cannot recall the reason why. But finding it on the SD, I thought I’d post it with a warning and advice for chefs worldwide who may use pickled beetroot from the UK. “Warning: This beetroot is as hard as concrete!” “It can bend knives used to cut it”, and “Break teeth”. But, think of the poor producers, who are like everyone else, who have struggled with the Conservative’s ineptitude and now face Tax rises, Price Rises, and cut-backs from expense-fiddler Herr Keir. Just thought I’d get another dig-in at HMG.
The miniature catheter pouch emptying went on and on. And it was not a good colour at all. That is until about 19:00hrs after Carer Israel made a quick visit. After a few minutes, the weight of the mini-pouch tugged on Little Inchie, so I emptied the bag again, as it was so light a colour? This is baffling me.
I decided I was too tired to carry on. So, I went to the WP reader and viewed any messengers. But I needed to rush, as my hunger was growing, and I needed to eat before I fell asleep.
I was serving up the nosh when Carer Israel arrived. I forgot to photograph it. Israel took the diabetic socks off my legs and attached the nocturnal bag to what may be my most painful catheter contraption. It has a tiny bag that needs emptying far too often and a long, thick upper tube that is giving Little Inchy more pain than ever before. (Written in hopes of the Doctor reading this blog)
I took these shots of the near sunset earlier and forgot about them until I found them on the SD card in the morning (Now).
It’s not too bad an effort, even if I say so myself. Smug-Mode-Assumed! Got settled to watch some TV, & although I was seated with my legs up, Dizzy Dennis visited me for a couple of hours. I was on the verge of pressing the wristlet alarm, and as he dissipated.
Thanks to Electric Shocking Sherida, I slept on and off, from the ankle up the leg. The nocturnal pouch was again only partly filled, and the tube held almost brown urine stuck in it—the blowback discomfort was not a good experience. I got the pouch and went through the same routine as yesterday. Throwing the bag around and shaking the ultra-thick tube until the flow restarted and the blowback pains eased. The nocturnal pouch filled very quickly. Once I’d got the night bag off, the farting diddy day bag filled up straight away. I had to keep emptying it all day. The bending down so often upset Dizzy Dennis. But as of now, 17:05hrs, just the one tumble, but I didn’t go down on the floor; I fell in 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. I sensed the blood coming from Harold’s Haemorrhoids and made for the wet room to clean and medicate things. Pain and blood, but no evacuations of anything else. I gave up and started to do my other ablutionary duties. Teggies, nasal clearing, earhole olive-oiling, then got shaving. A few nicks here and there, but I’ve had far worse. A good body scrubbing, no areas missed off. Hehe! Then, it was Harold’s Germoloiding time. The Catheter scars on the leg were Germolened, as were the under-tummy flab area and the man’s breasts with a barrier cream. I left the painful one till last. Dang, dang, dang, Dang! The Nerisone ointmentating of poor Little Inchies fungal lesion. Now how can I describe the pain when I rub it in? Dire, agonising, grinding, yes, they’ll do! Agonising was left for Constipation Conrad’s visits to the. Well, the first two produced nothing but pain. The third attempt, while Carer Chloe was present, was classed as Super-Agonising as the brick-like content slowly crept out. Amazingly, there was very little bleeding, just a few specs in the evacuated product. Sorry, this tale of woe is out of sync. I can’t find my earlier reminder pages. Perhaps I threw away the wrong sheet. I know. It’s hard for anyone who knows my lucid, alert character to think I may have forgotten something.
The list was lingering this morning. turned up and looked after me; it was grand. She rang the Doctors for me, making an appointment for Saturday, October 6th, for the Respiratory Syncytial Virus (RSV) vaccination. Chloe looked at the catheter mess and rang the District Nurses for me. Someone will come out today to check it over. Iceland delivery arrived while she was here. She helped bring the bags in and assisted me in putting some of them away. Bless her. She took the waste bags with her as she left. Thank you, Chloe.
I put the rest of the stuff away; there wasn’t much. Three annoying substitutes: They always substitute bread they have none of with the same loaf, which tastes like paper. It was flavourless and broke up if you dunked it or tried to spread No-Nutter Butter on it! They did have a new fresh meal in a bag, 3 for £10, which I tried. I opened one of the boxes, and it can be cooked; the meat and gravy in the bag, not the box, Hehehe! In five minutes. There was more fat than meat, but I’m a fair man, so I’ll hold any more judgement until I see how it tastes later. I must be unprejudiced, even against a company that takes off the delivery charge if you spend £40, then adds a Bags, Picking & Packing charge. But at least with them, you know something will be out of stock, and crap substitutes will be sent; as for the crushing of the fresh food… We had a smattering of rain laterer a lot, mind you. I had a stroke of good luck as I closed the balcony window. The camera fell, and I caught the shoulder strap, so I saved any damage!
The District Nurse arrived and said she would order some short-leg-tubed catheters for me. I’ll have many limbs and parts shorter than they should be. Naturally, the almost brown urine that had been stuck in the tube and the fresh wee were much lighter now that she had arrived. Humph!
Two hours later, as I hope you can see in this photo, I’m glad Carer Sham saw it to prove I was not crying wolf. Sham told me the urine in the day bag was equal to a seven on the NHS chart. The tube was again blocked with brown urine, and the flow-back sensation in the bladder was uncomfortable; I put that mildly, mind you.
The drizzle drop stopped, and I got the Kodak to take this shot from the kitchenette window. Then Carer Christopher came. His first shift back at work. Medications were given, and we had a quick chinwag-waffling session. Then, off Chris trotted.
Two sunset photos were taken as I went to check that I’d not left the oven on high and the hot water tap running, too. Tsk! Nitwit! I assembled the needs to cook the beef in gravy and make oven-cube roast potatoes. I’d accrued a bit of enthusiasm for this meal-making Everything is in place; I got the oven warming up for the potatoes. Carer Chris arrived. His last call of the day. I told him of my losing the thousands of photos from the computer. And that I was struggling to get some more taken to replace them. Chris took some snaps of me on the computer without me realising while he was making up the medications. I found them on the camera after he’d gone. Bless him. Here’s one of them. I must have been in mid-moan status as I appeared to be grumbling over something on the computer screen. Another cock-up?
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – The cook-in-the-bag beef and gravy that looked so fatty would be cooked in the microwave oven. It takes five minutes, but I found the nouse to use the necklace timer as I put the potatoes in the preheated oven. I knew that they would take around 40 minutes, so I set the timer on my neck for 30 minutes, and then I got the meat in the microwave. The chunks of fat in the bag merged with the gravy, and it tasted okay to yours truly!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – I woke up, not that I was too interested in doing so. Late around 06:00hrs. I went into an instant seizure and sat there on the bed for an hour or so. I don’t know what I was thinking, which is probably a good thing. Felt well enough… well, physically, to climb out of the bed. The night pouch had over 900ml of urine in it. I emptied it, sealed the bags for disposal and washed my hands. It was as if I’d blinked. I found myself in the kitchen, cleaning the sink. I must get someone to phone the Doctors for me – and get some help getting ready for and going there. I’m back into another seizure and found I’ve made a brew of Glengettie. Things are getting daft. That’s not the word.
Carer Richard arrived and sorted out the medications. I sense that I moaned about things and listened to his replies, but I’m unsure. His legs are bad again; Richard returned in the heavy-duty leggings this morning.
As Richard departed, I had a Dizzy Dennis visit. A bad one this time. I just climbed back on top of the bed to rest a bit. I say a bit; I didn’t wake up until nearly midday! Sod, all done, tons to get done. Starting with the Porcelain Throne visit. It hurt more than yesterday’s. The farting little day punch filled up while I washing, and the weight took the tube down the leg. Little Inchie took the brunt of it. I was fed up already! Mind you, it was late. It’s afternoon already now! And all the extra work to be done on the computer. When am I going to get the shower and shave? I found these photos when I got on the computer.
I must have taken them during my first reluctant rise before Richard arrived, although I don’t know anything for sure in my current state.
I could not make much headway with the blog. I had to keep making things to replace the thousands of graphics I had created and lost yesterday. Or was it on Sunday? Obviously, the concentration was not good, and things were getting worse. As the seizures eased and the catheter had been emptied for about the eighth time, Carer Chloe arrived. She took this photo of the stupid, harmful, annoying, frustrating, miniscule day pouch fitted. I apologised for boring her with my moaning and thanked her as she departed.
I went out onto the balcony and took a couple of shots of the cloudy sky. They held a beauty to me, however low I was feeling. I’m getting sick to the teeth listening to myself gripe about my bad luck, but I have to say, I’m having a lot of it.
It seemed to get misty again.
When I got back on the computer, I was more baffled than ever about what I was doing and what I needed to do. I had to sidetrack to get things I’d have normally used from the CD file, and then I started doing something else instead. I was well peed off with things. That is putting it mildly.
I used the new Kodak on these shots of the mist.
Carer Precious arrived. With me getting up so late, I thought it was about 13:00 hrs… it was 17:35 hrs! The lad issued the evening medications and gave me a bit of help on the computer. I was struggling with having to make a new spreadsheet for the health checks after deleting four years’ worth. It’s many years since I’ve had to make one, but the new methods and layout in XL had me beat. He sorted it in three minutes. Thanks, mate! 👍🏼
To the wet room. The scab had come off the knee injury from when I took another tumble. The bottom of the leg had gone down a lot, but not the knee area
Constipation Conrad must have taken a vacation yesterday cause he’s back again. Arghh!
Got the computer on. And was doing nicely, I thought. Which for an hour or so, I was… Then… When I tried to save the work done on CorelDraw, messages told me there was not enough memory to save the file. Try saving in a different location or with a different name.
I tried doing this several times but had no luck. I bet you are not surprised by that! Then, the message on the screen changed. I can’t recall exactly, but it said something like, “You are using memory while it is not there.” Remove as many unwanted files as you can, then try again. What a cock-up I made of this!
At one point, I stopped swearing, spitting, and howling and cried instead. But anger replaced the frustration. I tried all the earlier options again and deleted as much as possible. I found an NHS folder and opened it; there was nothing in there, so I deleted it. Then, a file I could not recognise was empty as well. Gobblediclonk! I turned of and restarted the computer, not expecting that the CorelDraw would have saved the working file, but it had, well, most of it. I tried saving it to another name in a different folder, and wallah, it saved. I was over the moon!
I TRIED TO UPLOAD FROM THE CORELDRAW FILES! THEY HAD ALL DISAPPEARED! I’d earlier updated the Labels file with one for each day of September and the WordPress Templates for the same period. Finding they had disappeared is when the tears flowed! I also lost all of my photographs, puzzles, labels, WP items, and others I can’t recall. I keep realising when I go to open the non-existent items to use. There are no health check listings or appointment dates and times. I’ll find more later, I know it. I now have to start them all from scratch again. Grrr! Boy was, am I miffed! What a pillock!
I then rang a computer repair place, well emailed them asking if they do home visits and roughly described my problems with the computer, and there are plenty of them. Then, I tried a different one: The Computer Man. After using their website to email them, I discovered they are an amalgamation of computer engineers. They will contact me when they can. I might have been better off not using them. Ah, well, it’s too late now. Whoever answers first, I suppose. Computing took me at least five times more time as I had to recreate lost items constantly. It was irritating.
I can’t get around to messages, comments, or WP Reader. And with my short-term memory, I keep forgetting the new locations of what bits I have started to recreate and need to use.
Just look at this later catheter bag emptying colour. It seems more like the colour of weak tea! The problems mount up. I wish some help would.
I’ve spent endless hours trying to get going again, but it’s so slow, and I’m getting knackered now. 23:00hrs.
I did get a bit of excitement.
I saw the smoke on the horison and took the above shots.
I’m tired out, hungry, dirty from not showering & shaving, depressed, frustrated and plain fed-up!
I’m confused as well. I’ll see if I can stay awake enough to go on the WP Reader and comments. I did, but I didn’t really enjoy having to rush things. It limits the pleasure. There is some fine poetry and photography today.
Took a decent shot of the early evening sky.
This is the window I forgot to close and hit my head on when I was prepping a meal.
Then, I took this terrible shot later while checking how the cooking was progressing.
.
A liver, bacon and mash ready-made meal. Bacon and some instant mash were added.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – I didn’t, but I got two of them – Hehe! – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Yet another frustrating day. I’ve had enough, I have to say, Lost files, more time will be lost, thrown away, Computer, health problems, depressionally, More battles physically & mentally, Mind you, the scabs fell off of my knee! The one thing in which I was lucky.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – I’d like, just once again, to see the sea,
After the heart op, when things were dodgy…
I went with Brother-in-law, Petey,
Years later, with a resident’s party…
We got there, and they all abandoned me,
Well, they had their family with them, you see,
Walked for 6-hours, feeling a midge lonely,
I’d sooner have a mental & physical amnesty,
But that’s impossible, as you see,
Early this morning, l meandered amiably,
Shelled the peas, losing about twenty!
But I did recover two or three,
Then things sank, suddenly miserably,
Depression uncloaked, unavoidably,
Off went my limited mental agility,
Back came my situational acceptancy,
Started this ode hoping & believingly,
To fight off the depression, incredulously,
I coped with Peripheral Neuropathy…
Cartilage and Catheter pains, agony,
Earache Erasmus & Toothache Tiffany,
Sandra’s Seizures, Diabetic Polyneuropathy.
Dracula Depressions got the better of me! Life is just a Whigmaleerie!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I stirred into an unwanted imitation existence around 05:00 hrs. It was not the usual bursting awake this time. It was more of a gradual, reluctant acceptance of whatever the day ahead held for me, but not with any hopes or expectancy for anything I would really like or want. That was a bad start, emotionally.
The nocturnal and the day bag pouch it attached to were almost empty. Jiggling the large night bag and spinning it around before throwing it away from me onto the carpet did the trick. A deluge of wee-wee came through from the bladder, through the day and into the night bag. But there was not a lot of it. With flowing so quickly, I thought it would be much fuller. I also thought I could sense some flow-back. But of course, what do I know.
I pottered about, unhurriedly getting out of bed and in a semi-upright position. Off to the kitchen to check that the taps and cooker had not been left on
Then, I took this snap of the morning view without my usual enthusiasm. I think my EQ was trying to tell me something. I was not in a depressed state, just a little low, perhaps. Had lost his total control. Yet the pain was still there throughout the evacuational activity. Also, it was a mess to clean up on me and the porcelain bowl. This took me some time. I was not bothered; my interest in anything was slowly evaporating. I just wasn’t concerned, and that’s not me. I thought I was moving onto a new level, degree or platform in life, the next stage. Moments after this, I was doing the ablutions, having a stand-up wash and shave… and singing away to myself? Frank Ifields, ‘She Taught Me to Yodel’ I put my feet in a bowl of water with some Dettol and stood in it while I brushed my teeth and shaved. Only one was unseen; it was cut in the neck hole at the back. I dropped the shaving foam, which landed in the bowl and hit the ingrowing toenail on my right foot. I laughed it off, honestly! I freshened up the wet room before leaving.
I removed the reserve camera, with which I took most of today’s shots, from the new extension thingamabob in the hallway. It worked a treat. Also, I could use the clothes airer at the same time now to dry my towels. I felt around the plastic to see if anything had heated up overnight, but they all seemed cool.
There was an almost cheery period, then for an hour or so, during which I reverted to worrying about things but ignored any signs of depression. I think it was lurking, ready for a comeback, but I would not let it do so then! I got a large waste bag made up from the other three bins and popped it near the front door.
Carer Precious arrived. I showed him the scars from Cathy Catheters’ Contraption, with the small bag and extra-large hose that meant the release valve now hangs down to my right foot! Humph! I asked him if he would take a photo of the affected area of the catheter. He took an unintended photo of his own foot first. Hehehe!
I’m growing two eyes, a nose and a mouth on my catheter-injured leg.
Pareidoliaing, again. Haha!
I took a terrible photo halfway through shelling the last of the gorgeous fresh garden peas. I managed to drop no end, but I got three escapees back. Gulp-Swallow!
I put the peas into a basin ready to cook later. While I was doing these, there were no signs of Dark Dank Depression Duncan.
I forgot to ask Carer Precious to take the waste bag with him. I added a small one with some clothes no longer needed, I can’t get into them nowadays, to the other near the front door. Well, I’ve not got a back door in the flat. Har-har!
did the midday call. No meds were needed.
I did some work on this blog, and I feel better now. (Why do I say things like that? (It’s tempting fate!) After a laugh and someone to talk to.
Dizzy Dennis attacked as I got down to empty the tiny, so long, low-day pouch. Down I went. As tumbles go, it was not too bad a one. But foolish me, though, even after banging the knees and upsetting Arthur Itis and Cartilage Carole, that I could get up again easily enough. HUH!
Oh, no, not me. I saw the accumulated mess underneath the c1962 counter. I thought it would be a good idea while I was down there on the floor to clear some out. So, I grabbed the bigger picker-upperer. I started to try to remove some of the detritus hidden from normal view. What a Mistaker to Maker!
As I stretched underneath, my already bruised right knee was scratched and bruised by an old tablet bottle that shattered with the weight of my leg. I’m not surprised by the size of the leg that was blown up in this photo. The patella has merged with the surrounding flash and can hardly be identified. Haha! So, after trying a few times, you can see why I could not get back up after all!
I pressed the wristlet alarm to ask for help getting on my feet. However, it took a while to get an answer, and by then, I was just in the last stage of getting over the pure agony of getting on my feet.
The legs and feet continued to be painful for ages, but nothing compared to testing the knees in getting up. The size of the right leg was astronomical! That would be either Peripheral Neuropathy or Diabetic Neuropathy. Either way, it still hurts. Sympathy Seeking Again!
After getting a brew of Gleangettie,I wondered why old people often think a mug of tea is going to help. But it might have anyway. Twenty minutes later, the swelling of the leg stopped, and I could almost hear gurgling as it went down as quick as it went up. That reminds me of a Grizelda quote. It got better. Thirty minutes later, the leg had blown up again!
I went to put the meat in the oven, make another mug of tea, and take this snap of the front car park. called, and I grabbed the nearest thing to keep my balance. Unfortunately, it was the near-boiling kettle! So, in a flash, I used my right hand on the hot oven door. This week, a selection of finger, knuckle and hand burns has been collated and collected.
I’m unsure which kneecap hurts most; it’s a close call. Oh, yes! Advantage Left Knee. Putting up with the crippling mini-bagged Catheter, the thick extra-long tube, and the flesh-cutting straps. A mention in despatches for Little Inchie.
Time to check on the meal’s progress.
The meal was a fine one. Photographed conscientiously, twice, to get a better one than the first. Eaten with great relish. creating such a satisfying feast cannot be imagined,
When it came time to put the photo on the SD card, there wasn’t one in the camera; I’d left it on the computer.
It’s not been a particularly good day at all.
Carer Ahyu arrived, medications were given, and I showed him my injured legs and knee.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – It was back on the computer after making another brew of Gengettie to go cold. The first severe bout of occurred.
It lasted about half an hour.
Not much blogging got done.
I’m going to get to bed now. Well, when Carer Ayhu has been.
I may have another nibble… oh, have I had a meal? Blow it, I have a snack. I got the oven on to warm up and make some chips. The Carer arrived, and I went into a mini-seizure as he came. Ayou, I think it was. No idea what took place.
Then, within seconds of his leaving, I banged my already battered knee against the cooker door. There’s a sub-storyline to this. I’d visited the kitchen to check on the oven’s heat and realised I had not even turned the oven on! In my bout of self-disgust, the door dropped and hit the poor knee from the fall. But it did knock of the scab, so that was good.
If I ever find that scab is open to discussion. It’ll be somewhere, probably snuggling up to the by now, dried solid dropped peas over the last few days… Hehe! Oh, and maybe one may have bounced into the disappeared bottle cap? I turned on the oven to the maximum to heat it up quickly. I returned to the computer, intending to save all the work on CorelDraw, MS Word, Excel and WordPress and turn it off.
It’s not been a particularly good day at all.
I heard a clattering noise from, I assumed, the kitchenette. Hobbled back hastily, in a Sherlock Holmesian mode, to investigate. Oh, dearie,
the stack of washing from the main meal had fallen from the draining board rack onto and all over the floor! All the bending to retrieve them was too painful, so I fetched the long picker-upperer to use.
At last, I came across the missing bottle cap and two more dried-like ball bearings peas.
Then I rewashed the fallen basin, plate, and cutlery.
It’s been a long, trying day.
The chips were undercooked, and the beetroot was harder than the ball-bearing peas on the kitchen floor. The eggs and yoghourt were okay.
Once again, I washed up. I’m fed up with this, Hehe! It’s a little harder now that the carer has attached the nocturnal catheter bag. One tends to carry the night bag on its elongated tube and put it down when two hands are needed, as when washing and drying the pots. Then you walk to do something else, forgetting the 5-foot tubing and bag of your urine that you are dragging along the floor behind you. Inevitably:
The bag catches against something, and you carry on hobbling… until the pain from poor Little gets sent to your brain. You feel .
You usually curse a little as you get some kitchen towelling to stem the flow of the red stuff. Then, make your way as hastily as possible to the wet room before the Protection Pants overflow. This is what I did! But things were worse this time.
The bleed was a smidge stronger than expected. So, after cleaning up my lower regions, I checked that the tube had not come out or worked loose of Little Inchy. It’s all okay!
Then you see that some blood had run all down your leg and partly covered the daddy urine bag, which by now was resting on top of your left foot! I used a whole kitchen roll and the picker-upperer to clean things. I was too tired to even think of using the shower, and it was far too early in the morning to disturb the other residents with the noise of the shower. I cleaned up as best I could under the circumstances.
Having to bend down so often scared me a bit after what happened with Dizzy Dennis earlier with the tumble.
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I managed 4hrs kip on the trot. But by then, it was time to get up
Which I, Oh, so reluctantly did.
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TODAY HAS BEEN THE WORST EVER FOR DEPRESSION
I’m sorry, but things are getting gradually worse.
The insurance company has cancelled my policy for some reason. Carer Kara told me not to worry weeks ago when they sent a letter telling me I had not paid. Kara had sent the month through the bank, as she is my official representative.
Now it seems I have a different Carer, who can’t talk to the bank, and muggings here can’t get through because I’ve forgotten how to do it. The new catheter is a night and day, mare.
Concentration is taken over by worrying.
I have had the odd moment of feeling easier, but that only comes when I give up and think silly things.
Not in good shape at the moment.
I’ve not done many photos.
The electric shocks have lessened after yesterday.
Carer Precious. Carer Maryham. She helped me get dressed after checking the body for marks and ointmentating the chest and ‘other’ areas. She helped me put on the Yaohuole gown, put the old one in the laundry bag, and took it down for me as she left. Bless her.
I was not feeling down at all; in fact, I was high.
Later, Carer Joanne called with a training Carer. She was Carer Šelin. Nice gal. Listened to Joanne’s instructions.
I was then even higher, singing.
Then, later, Carer Chris arrived. A letter from the insurance company had been delivered. This is terrible news for me. How the hell can I sort it out now?
I’ll do my best. I’m struggling.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Not a lot, but clear.
First view.
Guess where I went… Not that I was too bothered; I’d sank a little.
Second photo.
While up, I got the pander peas podded. I shelled them and put them in the pan with some demerara sugar, and this time, I used ordinary salt.
Lack of concentration.
Fed up. I wrote a terribly sour ode, but I am unsure if I should publish it on tomorrow’s blog. It is a cry for help, I think.
See how things go the morrow.
I was sorely tempted to start on the booze again.
I’m sure I will soon. That’s how bad the depression is getting to me today. Bad!
When the seizures started, I couldn’t have cared less. Dark thoughts milled around.
Self-pity and loathing at the same time.
I’ve no idea why I put this on? I took it weeks ago.
No memory of taking these four, but it looks like I did them all at the same time; it may have been before I got the spuds in the oven on a low heat for later. Beautiful!
And stayed in there for about three hours! I may have to have instant mash later. Tsk!
Tried to catch up with the blogging. I’d spent so much time being depressed, coping with seizures or emptying this ridiculously tiny day catheter pouch.
If I recall correctly, I was going to check on the state of the spuds and got distracted by the changing sky. The spuds were left for another hour and a half before I remembered about them!
Went to salvage what I could.
A slight altercation getting the spuds out of the oven. The meal didn’t look attractive. A vegetarian one this time. But it tasted good to me.
After Carer Chris had departed, I washed the things, put them away, and took these sun-setting shots. Looked a little like a water painting job.
0:45hrs: Pretty yellow wee-wee. Not much, mind you.
Morning views. From the kitchen.
I got some clothes that no longer fit me and made two more bags. I don’t know how I can get them to the charity shop. I’m not putting the old stuff in it; they went in the waste bags.
I got the computer booted and made a brew of Glengettie. The following two did as well.
This tiny catheter pouch is more than a nuisance. It has to be emptied to soften, and the cup-of-water-sized bag makes it painful. I get dizzy when I have to bend down to reach the release valve, which still rests on my left foot. The mega-thick tube they put on is far too long. Hey-Ho!
I finished and sent off yesterday’s blog. Then, they started a new word list for the ode and got carried away. I don’t know why the pouch didn’t burst.
The Morrison order arrived.
I think my feeling as depressed as I am may be worse than the frustration of not being able to pull out of it?
I’d treated myself to luxury foodstuffs: a big pot of Lemon Curd and four tiny pots of Lemon and lime yoghourt.
Orange and yellow tomatoes and some giant red spring onions. Nice!
But the best bit of it all was being told they had no fresh garden peas available. Knowing the season was ending, but, they sent three 500gr bags for me! So, everything else was backlighted.
I was tempted to put my torque on. Hehe!
As I scattered so many peas all over the kitchen, there must have been… well, I’d guestimate about twenty peas over the whole session, which pinged off in different directions during the shelling session. I only managed to retrieve three of them.
It’s a little like socks that disappear when put into the washer or spin dryer, never to be seen again.
It took a long time to complete them, and I kept popping some in my mouth as I went along. Haha!
Then, I put them in a mini saucepan to marinate with the demerara sugar and sea salt I’d added.
I thought I’d watch the TV while continuing the blogging.
But I didn’t. It seems that some Whoopsiedangleplop had affected Virgin TV. Again!
I decided to get the ablutions tackled. And although something had to go wrong, it was chicken feed compared to my usual disasters.
The teeth-cleaning saw no blood leaks! The nasal clearing saw none either. Then the shaving was tackled… Believe it or not, but once again, no cuts – Zero! Had I not been already depressed so much, this would have cheered me up more.
The first obstacle that hindered (hurt) me so much was getting my diabetic socks off! Then offing the straps from the pathetic new catheter contraption. Painfully, I
finally got them off, and it had left me feeling a smidge dizzy from all the bending down.
But a man of my calibre, courage, determination, and grit, this was no trouble.
I had a slow, long shower, which was spoilt a tiny bit by having to use the handrails all the time while coping with the showerhead due to my unsteadiness. However, no stubbles, falls, or banging into anything were suffered! .
I realised I had not put the bath towel in the bag yesterday! I don’t like using one too often. But I lost one when someone nicked my laundry and bag a few weeks ago, and I keep forgetting (as is to be expected) to buy a new one. I recall thinking to myself, “I must order one today,” as I left the wet room to get dressed.
Even the medicating was almost pain-free! Amazing! , who has not visited me for days now, took her opportunity at the optimum time to issue the maximum pain. As I was carrying the stick, towels, Alarm bracelet, and flannels to go in the laundry bag before I got dressed, she kicked off, and in the process, she shoulder-charged the bloody door frame! Still, apart from this, I’d done well! As I emptied the pouch for the fifteenth time today, I saw how good the legs looked. Even the ankle ulcers seemed to be calmer. And incidentally, I’ve hardly had any of the expected lighting strikes from , either. Puzzling.
Took this snap of the clouds as I started getting the food prepared. Closing WP and the computer now. Hunger has returned to torment me. Haha!
I was happy with the result of the food prepping. It was the battle in podding the peas. I do love them peas. It may have been a higher rating, but the potatoes weren’t cooked enough; everything else was a treat. Adding the slices of red spring onion to it did the trick and tanged it all up. After gorging myself, I fell asleep with the tray balancing on my super-floppy ginormous belly. Work later with it in the same position, and not spread all over me and the floor. The ablutions going so well, too. Is my luck changing for the better? What am I saying… Tsk! – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Please Have a Great Day!
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– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Something’s gone wrong with Cathy Cathere’s Contraption. A great colour, but so little urine in there? It was a terrible night’s sleep. I’d estimate I managed a maximum of around two hours. One or two minutes at a time, then bursting awake with either a tug at or pushing in of poor Little Inchie from the too-thick and too-long catheter tube. Or in unison, belting up the legs. Each time, the shadow of depression waiting to piss me off even more than getting little sleep did!
It was another down-in-the-dumps start to the day.
However, I was absolutely exasperated with and sick of hearing myself moan, feeling so melancholy, dejected, useless, and at the lowest point in my life. I made a concerted effort to spring myself out of this feeling of self-hatred and despondency, although I had no idea how to do that. I thought I’d try to take a decent shot of the morning’s view. Ha!
I didn’t do a good job of that either. Humph!
I got the computer on and then started updating yesterday’s blog. . I went into a few separate but carried on. Thinking things were okay.
I even stopped a few times over an hour or two to photograph the late-morning views.
When I returned to the computer, I found that I had made a mess of many things.
A time gap between starting and thinking I’d amended everything felt like it should have been another hour at most. But when Carer Shaq arrived, three hours had passed.
Still, these photos were a little better quality. As you can see by their shape, they were taken with a spare camera of a different size.
I can’t recall taking this one on the left, but obviously, I did. I must have.
Carer Marie arrived to do the domestics, but I was in no condition for the usual laugh and natter. My mood had sunken as soon as the Dark Dank Determined to Dampen my Spirits Depression came on. I hate it when this happens. This was a long one.
Carer Kimberley came to do the financials, but once again, she could do nothing to help. Carer Kara is the only person registered with the bank, so as I was paying her, we chatted. She showed an interest in today’s second blog I was writing but had not completed, and I added her name, which rhymed with the ode, and a few others into it at the end. Hehehe! Not that the ode was a particularly funny one. It was about the depression I was suddenly getting every day now. But gave it an amusing ending.
I sorted out what to have for my nosh. I decided on a sweet and sour vegetable ready-made meal. I added half a jar of sauce, with a can of peas thrown into the saucepan to add when the Chinese are cooked. Fingers crossed.
Nipped out on the balcony to take more shots of the views on offer. Can you see what this young, youthful, pareidoliaing addict can do in the snap on the left in the clouds? A double-headed creature of some sort? Also, some cat’s heads?
I came across this one on the right in the morning while updating.
Two Fingers to the Word? No recollection of taking it. I must have been depressed or in a seizure again. Ah, I can recall with one with some pleasure. First, I’d put some chips in the oven. Later, I warmed up the sweet and sour vegetable ready-made meal in the microwave and added a tin of peas. I bundled it all in a dish and feasted away. Got the dishes washed and tried but failed on the Porcelain Throne.
I took these sky photos as I made my way to the itch-creating, bruise-giving, catheter-tube-tugging, crumb-decorated from my nocturnal nibbling, God-awfully uncomfortable, cringingly grotty, no longer working, dirty beige, anti-sleep designed, c1966, second-hand bought for £300 ten years ago from the charity shop, recliner.
I settled down to watch two episodes of ‘Heartbeat’.
Carer Israel arrived. I remembered telling him the Warfarin dosages had changed. As soon as the lad departed, I went into a deep but dream-filled sleep, with the usual wakening ups from . I was a little miffed at all the waking-ups but even more unsettled for not recalling any details of the dreams. Suddenly, Carer Israel was back on his last visit. And I was in the same position as I was when he arrived for his previous visit… he told me. Hehehe!
Of course, I’d missed the ‘Heartbeats’.
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Could I get back to sleep this time? No!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – TTFNski Inchy.
Regrettably, my depression lingers on. If things do not improve by tomorrow, my birthday (I was born in 1959… oh, no, that’s when I left school). I will ring the Doctor and then work out how I will get bathed and trousers on, medicated. Then, how to manage to get to the surgery, with the cartilage troubles and this new fandangled, made for someone with 10ft legs Catheter Contraption). I think it is important enough to struggle to get there, though. I’ve never felt so low for so long.
As for today, you tell me. Hahaha!
A few photos were taken to give me prompts.
I must beg her, if necessary, to get me back to the Highbury Hospital about these blanks, seizures, etc., occurring.
I fear, knowing me, my determination, that I think is strong as I write this… Will wain. I’ve done it before. No doubt I need some help. The mess with the changed catcher mess is painful and limits my movement. Stops me from dressing should I need to. The insert plug falling out did my confidence no good. No offers of any help with getting it back in. Then again, maybe someone did offer, and it went off into the ether… this is all worrying stuff about my sanity. I know that a carer helped me with emptying the bag earlier and tried to raise the tapes for me. But, of course, that assists me in getting down to the valve for emptying. But the pee will pee when it wants to nowadays.
Each time I have to reach down so far, either Dizzy Dennis or Balance Loss Brenda appears, and the filthy, incredibly long tube pokes or pulls Little Inchie, according to how full the bag is, and more bleeding starts.
Sorry to be so low, but I can usually control it to a degree. But many things suddenly need attention. From a medical professional, such as a body and/or mind doctor. Now I think about it again, it’s likely frustration more than depression? Huh, now Peripheral Neuropathy Pete’s right leg has started shaking and dancing.
I think I was not so low when I got up this morning. The Warfarin-DVT nurse came, and I was pretty with it. Talking to her, and I am pretty sure we had a laugh or two, and I enjoyed that.
But she soon sank down again after she had gone, and then Carer Chloe had left the flat. I’m struggling here. Then I have to tackle emptying the minuscule day-wee-wee pouch and elongating over-thick long tubing to empty it.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Usual dark wee-wee.
Nice dark morning.
Bright lights.
Computer on.
Off to the Porcelain Throne… He’s only just weakening!
Lighting up.
The Nurse from the… I love this title for a department…
DVT, CCG (DOAC) Anticoagulation Warfarin Clinic rang me. She asked if she could call today, I thanked her and said, ‘Please, please, please, do!’
She did about an hour later. She was amazed when she looked at the catheter contraption, which had the top strap in my crutch and the bottom release valve snuggling on my left slipper. Getting down to release the urine is tantamount to squashing out the six-inch-long black centre of a carbuncle!
“What an absolute mess; no wonder it’s painful. I then mentioned the top-end tube insertion falling out and my weeing myself. That got a laugh! Hahaha!
I selected another ready meal to have later.
A ‘Hearty’ Shepherds Pie. I put the oven chips in on a low light.
ONE MAMMOTH SEIZURE!
One minute, I said cheerio to Carer Chloe. Started on the blog.
Three hours later, it was as if someone had turned the lights back on. Yet, I was cleaning the kitchen sink. How the heck can that be? I found a photo that I can’t recall taking, and when I got back to the computer, what a mess I’d made. I uploaded the wrong day’s graphics and photos; I had to delete and rearrange them. Only to find I’d made the same error again!
Time to call for help tomorrow.
Took this photo later. Eerie clouds, I liked it.
Carer Chris arrived, and I think he may have made the call before. Or someone else did.
Blobble, Gobble, but I’m not sure.
Forgot to take a photo of the meal until I was ¾ of the way through eating it. Not bad.
This last photo looked similar to the one this morning?
