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I stirred. Past wind and then blood from . It was a struggle to remove, and finally  I did, & But being the fave heroic, pain-taking, sod-em-all that I am, it was no sweat taking the agony from the Mystery-Rib-pains as I bent down.  , well  Hehe! I stopped crying anyway. There was not much wee-weeing done overnight again.
I went to the wet room on a mission of several natures: To clean up the blood from the legs, pants and jammie bottoms. Respond to the need of the Clean the teeth, have a shave, wash & medicate my delicates, front and rear… but these plans were destroyed completely by the being in charge for weeks of rear-end evacuations, . The seine caught me out big time this morning!
, he kicked off spurting and spraying the porcelain, tank floe and me with his watery gooey, stinking light brown excrement.
Embarrassed doesn’t seem a strong enough word to use for how I felt, somehow. Ashamed? Uncomfortable? No... It’s even cringeworthy writing about it. I should have left this bit out, shouldn’t I? Sorry! But it’s how things are nowadays. How my life has dwindled to a fight to do the simplest things is so disheartening. There’s always something to impede the simplest of actions, even threatening to go right.
Appointment either waited on, transport to be arranged for. Worried in case the time and dates would clash when they did arrive. Cataract repair and new Cornea at the QMC EENT Centre. They cannot do the cataract in the left eye until the right one is done and settled. Then there is Glaucoma in the left eye; and Saccade in the right eye… Tsk! I’ll never live long enough to get them done!  I was looking forward to seeing what St. Peter looks like at the gates, as well. Hehehe!
The Coppice, next visit in February. Brain Scans are to be done to find out which type of Doreen Dementia I have.
The DVT Clinic and the Warfarin anticoagulation Clinic appointments have been cancelled and may or may not be reissued.
The Audio Clinic is desperately needed with the satiate of my ears and hearing. The crap, dodgy dentists, I can’t get another NHS one with the state of things with all the strikes etc.
Going back in apparently in a fortnight, as the catheters are not clearing the bladder of urine at all.
Then the Urology nurses will be calling to check on the catheter and give me more bladder scans. Hopefully, not changing the catheters too often – that’s a damned painful process. Since the urine infections started, when I found blood in the urine and passed it from the rear end, about six weeks ago, I had a change of catheters; 3 times at the QMC A&E, Eight times; in the ward. And four times on home visits by the nurses. Although the pain might be worth it.

The Warfarin nurse will be taking blood to work out the INR level – and that’s well out of target.

The mystery pains in the ribs side and back still need sorting out. I’ve mentioned them twice to the Doctors, once at the Urology and to the Carers here. They are acute stabbing pains that come on when I stretch with the right arm or raise it too high. Oh, and if I bend down…

But one must look on the bright side of life, as Brian said. At least no one has shot me for nearly 22 years. This prompts me to tell you that the Mystery Rib pains hurt more than being shot! But does anyone show interest or concern about the old fool? No!
I got carried away there, didn’t I?

You see, one day, someone will read this blog – hopefully, a neurologist who can help me with the , or heavens above, with the guilty of giving me many a tumble … or not.

Where was I before I lost the plot? Look at the time, blimey! 15:15hrs already. Back to the Diary, methinks. I’ll have to cut this short.

The kind, caring. vampire in the flat above. launched into one of his clunk-thudding mechanical serenades.
Give him credit; he is a good musical noise maker.
Fair enough, he may be impolite, insensitive, disrespectful, snobbish, haughty, pompous, pretentious, uppity, scoffing, contumelious, smart-alecky, ineffable tit-head, but his clanging and banging are ringing out musically this morning. I was nearly sorry when he stopped so soon.

I mopped the kitchen with the speed-mop. This proved to be such a mistake. Trying to mop with a stick in one hand, mop in the other, and stupidly bending and stretching to get into the corners – kicked off the bloody mystery rib pains stagging away, as bad as they’ve ever been, and they kept on for hours and hours. And I still haven’t got around to teeth cleaning, shaving and washing yet!

Carer Kara called – medications done, chinwag for a bit, and catheter checked.

Fourth trip to the throne. Usual Trotsky Terence performance

Two bags of laundry still to do in the junk room. Can’t remember who, Carer Kara or Carer Lisa (guessing here, can’t remember who came, really). But the bags had gone later.

Took these photos in two different modes on the Lumix.
Can’t see much difference in them anyway.

Blogging away for hours… well, a say blogging away; it was more like making errors and errors and throwing in a few more for good measure.
And the were rather numerous, which cost me a lot of time.

No idea why I took this photograph of the carer’s table. I wonder if it was some inspirational idea for a sauciness for some sort of a laugh?
Suppose not.

Almost got caught out again with the new small catheter pouch.
I soon had it sorted out.

The Virgin Internet is far too slow for me and has the odd freezing moment? Not very good at all.

Did I mention the tea and porridge?

Or crap parking?

Milky wee-wee?
No, it’s Dettol, you see.

Better get some food sorted out.
Photo Lost: Due to my leaving the SD card in the computer when I took the shot.
But I also blame … and the! Well, why not?

After cleaning the pots and making a brew afterwards, the immediate urge to use the arrived, and I rushed to the wet room…
I did not make it in time. The sticky, gooey, runny evacuation started before I’d got the pants and PPs beyond the mess of the catheter paraphernalia.

I am sick of this happening. Telling the doctors brought no response from any one of them; Doctor’s Locum at the surgery, QMC A&E, or the three Doctors I told when at the .
Now, the Mystery Rib Stabbing Pains got worse than they had ever been before. It was properly painful and came on, as usual, every time the right hand pressed on something, stretched, or was raised.
I suppose the panic rushing to get to the Throne and struggle with the trews must have been too much movement, and this kicked it off?
Arrived, she tried to ring 111, but she could not get through. Which was not surprising for a Saturday night. The winos, drunks, injured gang members etc., would all be blocking up the A&E and telephone lines by now.

Returned for the final call and Night Catheter fitting.
Meanwhile, I had a wash & shave and bagged up some things that might be needed if I go to the hospital again. Then Jo-Anne  and Carer Ty called to see how I was.

I found that if I did not move, the stabbing pains in the ribs were coming less often and not so sharp. Or was I imagining this?

The physical and mental decrepitude. The obliteration of sight, hearing and logic. Combined with a lack of confidence, my ability to fret and worry over everything, and the vain attempts to understand life and people. Combined with my failure to comprehend what and why the hell am I doing here… keeps the brain active, if nothing else. If the brain was not under the control of , and the body ruled by  Ailments such as, things could be better!

TTFNski!