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Inchies Hospital Day Blog
Wednesday 22nd July 2026
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Might be short, timewise, medical limitations, and the cost of the bloody taxis might bankrupt me. “Tsk!”
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Another broken sleep pattern. I rose, jumped out of the bed, did a double somersault over the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, catheter-tube-trapping recliner. Popped out onto the balcony and sang a good morning yodel to the local neighbours, and did 200 naked press-ups…
All right, I know, I know. I’ll start again then.
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I woke at 05:15hrs, and stayed there, dejected, morose, and stayed in the same position, physically, but under the strain of mental turmoil and depression, for an hour or so. Thus, a normal awakening.
Again, I’d not put the night pouch on last night. It was so blown up I expected it to burst, but it didn’t. Was my luck changing? Hahaha! What a daft thought!
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I measured the jug of urine, and guessed the colour, and hastened, albeit it more of a hobbled-swift-limp, to the Porcelain Throne. This evacuation was in much more of a Constipation Conrad style, a rarity of late. Much to the displeasure of my haemorrhoids. Little cleaning up was needed, & no escpages. Which was a nice change
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Of to check if I’d left anything on the cooker, left the fridge or freezer doors open, or taps left running. Then took the potatoes from the pan, ran cold water on them and threw them away. Krangleturds! Then washed last night’s pots I’d left soaking in the sink.
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My mind semi-engaged, as I remembered this was the hospital day, and faux-planned what needed doing in preparation. Which, as usual, I abandoned and started doing something else. This time I strayed off the plot, and did the Health checks. And was pleasantly surprised to see (both of the day were) figures in just High.
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I got the computer on, and realised I’d not made the list of things to do and take with me to the hospital. But got 
sidetracked in my mission, as Carer Akram arrived.
He noticed a fresh bruise on mt forehead. He took a snap of it with my camera. I could not see a bruise. Akram is a good listener and remembers things that I ask him to do, 
and started without any asking or prompting. He Phorpained my back, neck, and shoulders after using the remover spray.
Issued the medications. I forgot to ask him to have the Catheter bag changed.
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I spent a while making a list of things to do in preparation of the hospital visit, what to take with me. Mizra reminded me to take the paperwork last night, and put it into the waker-trolley for me in a hard envelope, bless him. The camera was too big to carry. A Kodak, and an old Kodak, so it is rather bulky and heavy.
Hearing aid in the tab-holes with new batteries, and both of my prescription glasses. Added the bus pass if needed, and enough money for the taxi each way.
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When the next Carer arrived, he thought that there would be no Escort coming. Then I got an email saying the Easy-Link lift to go to the QMC EENT had been cancelled due to the bus breaking down.
This brought on anger, as my bad luck gets more frequent every day! A deep depression, and fear about not having enough cash to pay both ways for taxis!
With a chance of no Escort as well, I was ready to call it a day. But I think a Carer said it was arranged, but it won’t be me… I clung to the hope.
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I turned off the computer, and pressed on with a stand-up wash, shave and teggie-cleaning in the wet room.
With a most disturbing uncertainty.
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As I washed and shaved, the telephone chirped into life.
I got to the landline, and it was the Doctor’s surgery receptionist, giving me the INR test results.
I returned to the wet room to find I’d left the hot tap running and now, potentially had the cleanest wet room floor than ever before. I’d just put soap powder and bleach in the sink to soak the flannels, then the water spilt over onto the deck!
As I was mopping it up, I knocked a full kitchen roll into the flood. Without thinking, my mind at this point was engaged with self-pity… I bent down to retrieve it, and hit my head on the edge of the sink. Then the intercom
chimed up. No video on the screen, just black. I pressed the open door button, and returned to the wet room and hastily got some more water to go down the drain hole.
Whoever it was on the intercom had not arrived yet.
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PREPARING, TRAVELLING TO,
TREATMENT AND RETURNING
What a wonderful pleasure; it was Carer Ejaz who arrived to be mt escort to the hospital! I could not help myself and hugged him as he entered the room. Bad news about having to get taxis both ways, but he was such a help in getting me ready, and a comfort. He went through the list and made sure I’d got everything needed for the trip. Ordered a taxi and got me dressed; I gave Ejaz all the cash I had to sort paying the drivers with. And down to the main foyer in plenty of time to meet the cabbie. Helped me into the car, but the trolley walker collapsed in the boot, and we were off on our way to the hospital.
The driver got us there in plenty of time. But by the time he’d struggled to get somewhere to park and drop us off, things were a little tight. £8.90, not bad that. I went in; no one was on the reception desk. Ejaz asked someone where we should be, and we were sent to the lifts. Once we got there, I recognised the layout from my last visit. We signed in and sat down waiting to be called in.
A few minutes later, a lady came and called out my name, and we followed her to a treatment room. I thought she looked like the lady who was treating me when I had the seizure. When we got in the room, I recognised her as the same lady. She was so understanding and patient with things and me, Bless Her.🌸🪷
A long session of eye-testing and Q&As followed. She was understanding of my struggle to get into position on the viewer, with pain from arthritis in my neck and shoulder. Never showing any sign of frustration. Nine different tests were done on each eye. Then the wall chart readings through different holed cards, and with various other patterns, were done. At this stage, she kindly explained the result so far. This was prompted by my Ejaz saying I thought I’d got Cataract in the left (far worse vision than the right one), and Glaucoma in the left eye.
I was wrong. I’d got Cataract in both eyes. The floaters had increased greatly in the left eye, and were starting in the right one. Then she explained how serious it was, much worse than they were in her tests months ago when I had the seizure. That stopped the proceedings as she thought I was having a heart attack, and she called the CAT team, and I was kept in cardiac overnight.
I did mention that when I’d been home for a few days, I was not sure if I’d been fully assessed or not. I called the hospital and asked if I needed to come in again, or await further tests. I was told, “They do know what they are doing”, and the phone died. She seemed concerned about this, and it prompted an apology for it taking them so long- months- to get in touch with me.
Then a lady said I need further tests in the scan room, for further examinations to clarify her own findings. She led us back to the waiting area, where I found a slightly higher chair to sit on as we waited.
I can’t recall the name of these scans, but they were better than a kaleidoscope, and much brighter.
On both eyes, she took several different scans. I was struggling to keep perfectly still, and she had to do a few again. But she was patient with me, and talked throughout, explaining what she was testing and what she was testing. But even with the hearing aids, I didn’t realise this; Ejaz told me afterwards.
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Then all done, the first lady collected us, and we went back to the first treatment room. One more test on both, for clarification with scans.
Then, some eye drops were 
put in. I was given two double-sided A4 print-outs, with tips and procedures to be followed, and follow-up guidance. The print was so tiny, minuscule! She recommended that I get someone to read it to me. Had she noticed the hearing aids I was wearing?
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I was hoping to get the tram & bus back home was we left for the exit; both free with my passes. But no, Ejaz (not his fault) ordered a taxi, as he had to get me home quickly, as he had his regular client to visit. My immediate thought was, why am I no longer a regular with Ejaz? I sense some ulterior motive for this. Thus my £39 in the morning dwindled to £3.45 by the time we got back to the flat.
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Well, gone midnight now, I’m so weary. I’ll try to make a meal up, and myself get to bed. Not that I anticipate getting much sleep. So many nights of broken sleep, with the mind always rattling away reminding me of my multitude of unresolved problems,
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TASTE RATING: 7.1/10
Knocked ice off of individual clunks of out-of-date chips from the oven. They were not as good-tasting as anticipated. But the no-butter buttered bread rolls, and last of the Roquefort cheese? Delicious!
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🌹🌺🌷TTFN🌷🌺🌹
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QMC Hospital visit
Inchie Today: Tuesday December 2025
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I think this may be impossible,
Even, mayhap, unbelievable…
I was sleeping, all peaceably,
A dream began, and sillily…
Although seemingly unlikely…
I knew I was having a seizure, really!
As I flew in the sky, inconceivable,
A pterodactylus sent by the Devil,
Attacked me, I was in trouble…
Then an eagle too, what a kerfuffle,
I’d lost an arm and a leg, pitiful!
I yodelled for help, desperately,
That was when the nurse woke me.
I took your photo, she said laugingly,
Pointing out that I looked pale & ghostly!
The after-seizure reflux rose, all acidity,
But I have two arms and legs, thankfully,
Hydrocephalus, or Peripheral Neuropathy?
Doreen Dementia, or plain insanity?
Was it neurological? Or nonsensical?
Maybe psychosis, anxiety or neurosal?
What caused this wasn’t perceptible,
That dream was certainly original,
Was it symbolic, or metaphorical?
The nurse indeed found it comical!
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I hope to do a better job of tomorrow’s blog.
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Not a good day.
Keep Well Each
I Fang You!
Inchie: Saturday A.M. in Hospital/Sunday P.M. back to jail… I mean home
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My grasp of the ungraspable,
Seems no longer available,
My mind is no longer terrestrial,
Friday was mentally tumultable,
Definitely it was seriocomical,
A.M. was great, afternoon, sepulchral,
Morning fine, the P.M. was Seizural,
Early, I felt fine, then a schlemiel,
Whoopsiedangleplops, feeling celestial,
At first sybaritical, then self-critical,
Why ever did High-Horis skedaddle?
Spent most of the day sort of phantasmal,
Seizures rampant, leaving me quixotical,
Had thoughts that were ragmatical,
Concentration was bad, indeed risible,
Seems my good luck comes sesquicentennial,
Help, obviously needed, but not available,
Seizures, Dementia leave me in mental trouble,
Glaucoma, Cartilages, Catheter, endurable…
Arthur Itis, Duodenal Donald always painfully,
Peripheral Neuropathy, I respond nervously,
My heart’s aorta, still working mechanically,
But it’s the seizures I find inexplicably…
Going into one, I feel it coming sensorily…
Not every time, one out of four, or three, maybe,
The shorter ones can come on instantly,
Coming out of them, aggravatingly…
It’s the part that most bothers Inchie,
I’m confused, have insufficient balance, and feel dizzy,
That’s when a Carer or nurse calls, usually,
For a while, I’m speaking incoherently…
Yet it sounds to me, as I’m talking clearly,
Sometimes things might clarify swiftly…
I feel embarrassed, mumbling inaudibly,
Troubles with problems mentally & physically,
I don’t claim I manage admirably,
Like yesterday, I felt self-pity,
I’d love to get help from someone in authority,
I’ve not seen anyone about the seizures or Neuropathy,
Premorbid Cognitive Impairment, you see…
I have just looked it up …
Cognitive impairment: a decline of mental ability,
Pre-onset of a mental illness, psychologically,
Yet still I can make up this silly ditty?
So why am I feeling self-pity?
Now I feel all guilty…
I await the next thing, cataclysm, I’ll probably drop my mug of tea!
Fall over and break my knee…
Or burst the catheter full of pee,
Break another tooth, pay for dentistry,
Do a Google search for camaraderie…
I hope I’m not writing sarcastically?
Am I going from comically to cynically?
No question about it, I’m going doolally!
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I was up and about (feeling deeply vague) when I realised that it was 03:55hrs. I recall what I was doing and what I was thinking at the time. Oh, yes, I was sitting on the 
Porcelain Throne, painfully forcing some movement from the evacuating monster torpedo! Through sheer willpower and determination, I’d freed myself of that 15-inch torpedo within 15 minutes 
!
During this period, to take my mind of off the pain, I mused over what lay ahead for me today. What disasters, failures, Whoosiedangleplops, Accifauxpas, cock-ups, bloomers & bloopers, oversights, foul-ups, oversight, glitches would be launched at me today?
They started after Carer Mirza had called.
Well, here they are:
Approx. 09:00hrs, I emptied the catheter and started working on this blog. About half an hour later, I felt the urine soaking onto my leg, pouch bag, my sock and my slipper! Oh, dear, another urine leak! The carpet was soaked under the leg. I struggled to get the socks off, so I decided to wash them straight away and hang them to dry, along with the pouch.
I closed the pouch, put the slippers in the laundry bag, and hobbled carefully, with just the kargoul on and the socks, which were diabetic ones that had to 
be hand-washed and hung to dry. So, I hung them up on a coat hanger above the sink. (The nurse who came later was kind enough to take this photo and email it to me. I found it on my return from the hospital on Sunday morning.) This is when I stood back from reaching up to the bar and took the tumble.
The catheter pouch had still been leaking, even in the closed position. I went down on one knee, banging my head on the metal serving trolley. There was a lot of pee! I went on all fours to the recliner and somehow managed to get myself up. Then I returned to the kitchenette to clean up the mess. Initially, use kitchen towels. But the pouch was still leaking. On closer inspection, I saw that the plastic covering the exit tubing had come away from the tube. I stopped cleaning up and depressed my alarm wristlet alert button. I think I’ve got the following in the correct order; I told the NCC Controller of the tumble and the faulty day catheter bag.
Asked him if he could advise the Community Nurses and ICC (Carers) for advice, as the scuff mark on my head was getting more painful as I spoke, turning into an increasingly throbbing pain.
He said he would and will get back to me.
I restarted the kitchen clean-up, and the chap rang back on the alarm box.
A nurse would be coming, and he would leave the line open in case I had a turn for the worse. Kind of him!
He spoke again in a few minutes; He’d talked with the District Nurses Matron, Jackie, and said she’d rang for an ambulance. A nurse should arrive first to assess the problem, but I must go with the ambulance after the nurse has left. This may be a little mistaken, as I did take a turn for the worse; the throbbing was getting near my pain level.
The controller kept asking if I was alright and checking on me.
I sat down quietly. The throbbing did die down shortly after.
The nurse arrived and put on a new catheter bag. It was a different type, with the better, more reliable stiffet release valves. So that was one confidence booster I was pleased with.
The ambulancemen arrived. I got into a semi-panic thinking of what I would need to take with me. I should have done this beforehand, but naturally, being me, I didn’t.
The men spoke, telling me they would bring up their wheelchair and take me to the hospital in it. Nice chaps. They did a Q&A session, then got the equipment out. Pulse, temperature, BP, Lung checks, breathing checks, and a heart check thingamagig. I think it’s called an electrocardiogram (ECG) machine.
I got on another Kagoule to go in. (A mistake, I know that now!) The lads gave each other looks as they read the first heartprintout. Then did another, and spoke about that one, and did a third one.
At this stage, they said, “It’s best if we get you there swiftly”. I mentioned that I had to do safety checks in the wet room and kitchen, and I thought I had done them while the wheelchair was being brought up.
I felt sure I’d checked the stove, taps and fridge in the kitchen, and faucets in the wet room. I was sure I had. Then the lads got me seated in their wheelchair, with a seat belt fitted. I’d made sure I’d got the mobile phone, crossword book & pen, bus pass, the prison…no, no, I mean flat keys, and some cash.
Despite the injury, I was so glad to be getting out of the flat, even if it was only to the hospital. Hahaha!
The trip to the QMC was, for some odd reason, vaguely remembered. Other than the bumpy ride.
ARRIVAL AT THE QMC
(Old photo reused).
The ambulancemen wheeled me out of the ambulance and into and through the A&E wing.
Well, what a sight. Corridors with patients and relatives were so crowded that they barely had enough room to navigate the wheelchair through them, with many short waits for someone to move a trollied patient out of the way to let us through. Gawd Blimey… they were so busy. We got into a lift and found the same thing on the ‘D’ floor. Trolleys of patients all over the place. I had no idea where I was, not that I was bothered at the time; wherever it was, I was not in my cell! I mean flat.
I was then transferred into a cubicle and was then moved onto a trolley. In which I resided, unmedicated (pain-killer or prescription), no drink, no food, for the next 20¾ hours of misery. But, I had sneaked some crisps into a bag and took them, flipping good job I had taken them with me, with my precious crossword book. (Cunning, or what?)
Twenty minutes later, I was collected and taken to the QMC Emergency Department surgical unit, in the Outpatients Department, in the blue zone, N4 area, and given a whole brain CT scan. I think they found one. Haha! These photos were taken from the web.
Then back to the Emergency CT ward. I was locked up, never to move again, until I was freed. And some 20 hours of misery awaited me. This photo of the ward must have been taken when it was new. So different today. Packed solid with patients, and fed-up staff.
The trolley I was on was so painful to lie on. The first Carer to visit me, for BP checks, I asked if the head of the trolley could be moved higher and forward, please. Explaining my inability to lie flat causes me dizziness and back pain. Eventually, she answered me, saying, Yes, it can be moved… and disappeared, saying she’d be back, a little like Arni spoke those lines in the film. Hehe! I never saw her again.
The cubicle was so cold. One nurse brought me a small throw, bless her cotton socks.
Then, a lady arrived for blood extraction. He left a plastered contraption on my arm, saying someone will take my blood for testing every fifteen minutes from now on. Don’t knock this tube off! Oh, I didn’t.
Then a mini CT test. Leads stuck on my chest, back, and arms. Saying someone will be doing this every 20 minutes. By the time four CTs were done, my kaghoule was split so much, and right up beyond my bum, others were laughing. Air enough, so was I.
I looked like… well, I don’t know. Each time they got me out of bed to access the points for putting the clips on, a bit more of a tear or two would grow.
When they finally told me I could go home, many hours later on Sunday, and gave me a list of things not to do, and to do. As I stood up, I could hear the laughter harder than ever. What have they been doing to you – did they rape you?” And “God, you look like you’ve been beaten up!” As I got in the wheelchair, I was displaying my bottom, hips, and Little Inchie and his accoutrements. The comments I got varied from pointing at my lower regions, accompanied by “Hahaha!” To, “Ah, how dinky! r cute, or quaint!” I could hear them because I took my newly battery-powered hearing aids with me!
Still, it gave them and the ambulancemen a laugh, and I was happy to do that for the overworked angels.
Gone out of sync there, Tsk!
I was cold and uncomfortable in that trolley in that cubicle. Late on, about three hours before getting my freedom, and an actual Doctor called on me, early hours of Sunday morning. She put a small, thick blanket over me, and at long last, moved the top of the trolley up and forward for me. t was heaven compared to what it was before. Thank you, Doctor, whoever you were. 🤎 X
On the last mini CT scan, a different shift lady, who I assume had just started her shift, came out with a quote to beat them all! I laughed so much, it hurt!
“You know you’re a nurse when your finger has gone in places you never thought possible.”
As she checked out Hammorhoid Harold’s bleed!
A highlight of my stay in the hospital!
The above helped me through to when the Doctor returned with all the diagnoses, to tell me, with a cunning smile on her face, that I could go home.
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THE AMBULANCE HOME
I wanted to get home for once, after leaving hungry, drinkless, my Khagoul torn to shreds and no sleep.
But, despite the joking, my esteem for nurses
remains as high as ever, probably higher.
As I was pushed through the maze of corridors on my escape route, my heart went out to the staff at the QMC. Every corridor still had patients on trolleys queuing in them. Far less than yesterday, thankfully. The staff on their way home had a twinkle in their eyes; those arriving didn’t!
The same ambulance men were in a better mood than yesterday, although they were pleasant enough chaps, just cheerier today. he ride home was even bumpier than the one going to the hospital.
BY good fortune, we drove along the road where I have to go in November, to discuss my upcoming
Trephination surgery, the driver confirmed it was the building I needed. It’s on Leen Gate in Lenton, and we passed it, and the driver confirmed that it was the place that I needed to get to. Then we got back to the flat, my haemorrhoids were bleeding, and my cartilages were hurting. A bouncy ride, and just as we got on Citrus Grove, where the flats are, we went over the unseen speed bumps, and I suffered again.
Humph! A bit of a mind blank here. I can’t recall getting into my flat! But once inside, the heat in there scared me to death! I hastened to the obvious place the heat was coming from, the kitchen, and found that I had not, as I thought I had, turned off the stove, and it had overheated the place. No signs of damage were found. t must have been on a low heat level. But it could have been dangerous leaving it for all that time. Blimey, I could have easily caused a fire. What a Silly Stupid Iriot!
I searched Google Maps for the neurosurgery place and found it. Now I think it will have to be a taxi to get there and back. Buses with numbers, as well as their timings, are all affected by my Arithmaphobia. I must ask a Carer to help me with that.
I opened the windows and went to the toilet for the first time since Friday night, hoping to pass something smaller than a granite-sausage, this time.
I DID… NOTHING! ehehe! Tsk!
Three days now without any rear-end flow,
Will I want, or be able, to go?
Well, I just don’t know!
While sitting there, an evacuation was a no-go…
My mind mused again, on our UK Dumbo,
The unworthy Prime Minister who misleads & lies,
Brewing up problems as yet to be addressed,
Driven by greed, self-wealth; he’s not a theopneust,
The perfect, cunningest solipsist!
I just had to have a go at him, Keir the schiziest,
Who hides his empathylessness!
I liked scribbling that, I’m at my wittiest!
Carer Mirza, formerly Carer Mizra, because I was misspelling his name. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately, doing things, making choices, wrongly.
Telling Mirza (I got it right then!) about the ambulance driving by the neurosurgery place, and matching it with what he said about the scan revealing a lot of fluid on the brain, gave me hope that this may be the worrying problem lately with my brain-power loss. Just maybe, they can slow down my decline. I know the Doctor said it can’t be stopped, but I’m clinging to the hope that the Trethination procedure could slow it down. You don’t know how much this gives me hope for carrying on living in the flat, and not being sentenced to living in some old people’s care home. PLEASE! Anyway, Mizra… Mirza understood what I was saying. He gave me the… Crapllemongers, I spelt his name wrong again, sorry mate. Mizra… Got It! Mirza had followed what I was saying and wished me all the best with it. Telling me I am a lovely man and patient.
Double, nae, treble Smug mode utilised! Bless him. edications were issued, and he had to dash off to catch the bus to his next client.
I phoned Sister Jane to tell her I had escaped the hospital and was now back in the flat.
I got on like a house on fire with the blogging catch-up. When the teatime dilapidation started. Tired, weary. No chance of finishing it today. I thought I’d aim to make a meal: Sausages, garden peas, and eat each sausage with a slice of Milk Roll bread, with sauce, naturally. I’ll test the yoghurt before deciding if it’s alright, as it’s one day out of date. Then try to get an early night, so at long last I can get up in the morning bright & early (Ahem!) and get a full ablutioning session in, but we’ll see.
Carer Mirzra snapped the outdated calendar clock. Then he made the necessary changes and adjustments for me.
Someone unknown sent me this via email.
It may have been from Ejaz from last week. I can recall us looking at the partial moon. Ejaz must have snapped it for me and forgot to send it earlier? Thanks, mate.
I felt terrible later on when I found the LU biscuits I bought to thank Jenny; I still haven’t taken them to her flat. I need to text her to find the best time for me to take them down. Please remember!… I’ll do it now… Huh, the battery’s dead, I’m charging it.
I think one of the Carers took some shots for me. I’ll put them on tomorrow’s blog when I get them. I’m sure that the Carer took a night shot and the meal. Oh, such an excellent meal. If he did, you’ll salivate at it, well, maybe not, but it was lovely to me. I’ll be disappointed if I’ve got this wrong.
Now, being so short of sleep, will I nod of and dwell with Sweet Morpheus, and awake refreshed? eeply contented, with a warm feeling inside of me… I suppose something will ruin my rest, just a feeling that has come over me… We’ll see. I might be wrong, of course, but this has been known.
I need to dig around again on Monday. I know I had two spare SD cards that worked on Kodak Tim 2. I’ll have to find them or at least recall what I did with them. How to do that is another query that I anticipate may end up in the ether-full of so many other forgotten and/or misforgotten recent things, events and intentions.
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WORRA WEEKEND!
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