I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the dirt

My sister offered to spring clean my kitchen which triggered my innate worry that the place is a mess. Subsequently I’ve spring cleaned this morning, which was satisfying as it was exhausting. 

I’ll add to the blog when something else comes to mind

Ps. Nothing has lol

Piss Bags

 

I haven’t quite mastered the techniques of leg bag placement yet

It’s quite a skill and I’m learning. 

I’m finding mid thigh placement the best position after a near disasterous twanging of elasticated ties in Sainsbury’s car park yesterday had me scrambling down my tracki bottoms behind a collection of supermarket trolleys.

I cancelled this week’s counselling clients ( thankfully only two) not wanting a malfunction in the therapy room as I’ve already knocked open the bag’s tap by mistake and partially flooded the kitchen vinyl ( through which Roger Gayly walked)

All this is a big learning curve and I’m yet to build up sufficient confidence with each bit of equipment, even though I’ve been working with them neigh on thirty years.

The nhs system for replacement bags and other such doobies is efficient and impressive. My supplies will be delivered today and after I write this I will empty my leg bag again and take Roger out for a walk

My mind has floated back to the summer of 1992 when a selection of motley nurses and physios would regulary take a group of young men and women out from their rehab Spinal Wards to The Ledmill Nightclub.

Here we would get drunk as lords, and where the patients learned to dance in their wheelchairs as ABBA played and suddenly everyone felt young and free again after their traumas of injury.

Most of the patients would have catheter leg bags and part of rehab would be the secret emptying of said leg bags into empty beer pint glasses, in a dark corner. Many a Thursday night whole lines of warm lager  coloured drinks would magically appear at the latter parts of the evening.

Of course nurses adored the irony of skint students grabbing one of the pints “ by accident” 

Happy days

Remarkably Bright Creatures

Sally or Ann ?

My elder sister is in her late 70s and isn’t physically that robust.

But…Yesterday she called up to the village , with large bags of logs for my fire and cranberry juice for my bladder. Tomorrow she will deliver mince and potatoes ( a supper I adore) 

She’s always been the mother I never really had and watching the Netflix movie Remarkably Bright Creatures today I realised how much Sally Field’s character Tova was just like  my sister……tough, empathetic, loyal and opinionated 

The film was adorable with Alfred Molina playing the grumpy octopus Marcellous quite wonderfully 

I cried for an hour watching it. 

Go and see it……it’s a lovely watch

A thought

 According to psychology people that grew up with an absent father and an emotionally unstable mother learn to be strong too soon. 

They got used to solving everything on their own, because no one ever taught them how to face things.

They grew up learning that asking for help was a way of bothering others.

They learned to read the room before speaking , to measure their words so they would create more chaos and to smile even when they felt broken inside. 

That’s why that nowadays they find it hard to trust, hard to believe that someone could stay without hurting them. 

It’s not that they don’t want to love, it’s that they are afraid of being abandoned again. They get attached but at the same time they pull away because they can’t bare to lose someone important once more, and even if they seem cold, they are only protecting the little they have left of their heart.

Psychology says that behind those strong people they’re still awaiting the day their parents come closer to give them the warmth they’ve always been searching for. 

And no matter how hard they hide it, they truly want is to find someone to give them the peace they never had at home.

Goodbye Kira

 

Trelawnyd Productions loses its director this week for Kira leaves the village to return back to her native love, her home country of Canada. Only recently has she put down some connections with us locals and I hope we have all been welcoming in our joint venture of the Christmas show , which was such a success only a few months ago now.

We had planned a leaving do for her tonight, which I had to bow out of for obvious reasons, so I wanted to give her a little token of our appreciation, something that would mean something but something she could carry easily in transatlantic luggage 

So I chose three things. A centenary cup depicting the Memorial Hall, a copy of a 1950’s photo of the village and a hand drawn child’s drawing of the hall itself donated to me from a flower show some years ago, The  hall is the building we all want to save for future generations, and was one that received a nice donation from Trelawnyd Productions from a review Kira worked so hard to support. 

Bon Voyage Kira,

Be happy

I Saw God On The Train

I read this poem today and needed to hear it performed 

In person

The pace Lucas Jones gives his own poem elevates it

amazingly

The enormity of having a long time catheter hit me today, even though I’ve spent 1000s of hours teaching young men how to cope with them back in my spinal injury days

I didn’t sleep much, but found some out of date Valium I was once given to get a battling Albert over the vets threshold, which did a small trick.

My elder sister brought me some tulips and punnet of strawberries which was nice
 

Pompeii MMXXIII” — Dan Smith

 Trendy Carol’s hubby came around and has taken Mary for a few days while I get used to the whole catheter thing. I was grateful as I’ve been in a little pain and discomfort. Roger has kept me company, and important note to self “Don’t let your catheter bag dangle when you get out of the shower with a cat in the bathroom !”

Ouch 

I watched David Attenborough’s 100th birthday tribute last night, and was suitably moved by the whole thing. Dan Smith was new to me and I rather liked his hand gesturing performance. 

I hear the village’s Spring Fair was a success 

I wasn’t quite up to it

Weary

 I’m home, feeling rather weary and very sore.

It’s been a tiring 24 hours.

I’ve seen the efficient side of our beloved NHS when I attended a cottage hospital for a routine kidney ultrasound yesterday. I’ve had no pain or discomfort so and the technician and I  were somewhat shocked to find out that I was in urine retention . 

Fast forward to six hours later when a testosterone filled Urology Registrar and a diffident Surgical Reg, passed a catheter through a blockage in my urethra. 

I have never screamed as much as I did last night, so much so that after the deed was done and I was shown back into reception, 2.5 litres lighter, at least 10 patients sitting along the corridor eyed me with ashen looks and worried faces. 

I was sent home with the catheter in situ and sometime in the night , the catheter literally snapped in half    ( you couldn’t make it up) so back I went, waiting another 5 hours in order to see two more urology registrars brandishing more pain inducing catheters! 

They used tons of local anaesthetic this time ( and by 2 pm I was beginning to lose some of my natural good humour) but the deed was done and I was sent on my way to pharmacy with a prescription for strong antibiotics walking like a man who looked as though he’d shit himself. 

I was near dropping when the pharmacist told me my prescription was only usable for community pharmacies so resisting the urge to throttle the technician with the straps of my leg bag, I walked to Bluebell, only to find I’d lost the prescription somewhere en route. 

I hobbled back to A&E where a delightful nurse , sorted things out giving me the tablets from her store. 

I could have kissed her

It was nice to get home. 

Nuala has been fab in phone support, even stating she would be on the next train to wales if I needed her, 

😀❤️

But like I said, it’s just nice to be home