Tuesday and it was a bit of a pig of a day with one or two bright spots. My night was uneasy and I woke fairly early, but I had managed to avoid taking any co-codamol. I got myself up and dressed and then started the process of organising my life as well as I can. I get a phone call from the TWOC (Trial Without Catheter) nurse who cheerily tells me that my TWOC will be on fucking July the 5th! Really!. I explain that I was told that I would get a TWOC after seven days and was only provided with enough bags to last me ten days. All the nurse at the other end would say is that they are busy. “So where do I get the bags I need”, I ask,” you can collect them from the hospital” says the nurse. When I tell her I can’t get to the hospital I get the medical shrug and “tough shit”. So I am left with nothing.
What followed was me phoning every number on my Urology and catheter care paper work. I start to source alternative sources and ringing my local chemist. I get referred to all sorts of people including suppliers who tell me that they only supply goods in ten week blocks! My local chemist does not stock them but will get them in if I have prescription from my GP. On ringing my GP surgery the receptionists is unsure and asks if I have product identifiers. I do have the labels from the packaging which they then ask to see. I am by this time at my wits ends and when my partner suggests ringing someone else I just loose it big time. My partner takes the packaging to the GP but they need to talk to the doctor, so I still did not know where I was. I buy stuff off Amazon and then try to relax on the lounge recliner for the rest of the afternoon till there is football to watch. A friend rings me and we chat about how work is going for her and how her family are. It is good to be able to chat to someone outside my immediate family. By now I am feeling physically and emotionally exhausted.
I spend my evening watching football mainly England playing like schoolboys against professional players. As soon as they managed a dull, drab and miserable draw I went to bed, took my night meds and tried to sleep. All goes well, I do take a co-codamol at one point. At 4:30 am I wake up and find that my leg bag had leaked! I empty my night bag and fit a new 7 day bag and strip the bed and get it all into the washing machine. I end the night on the recliner in the lounge fitfully sleeping and inwardly desperate.
Wednesday and I finally wake up achy and tired. My partner has hung my bedding out and I have ordered a new mattress cover. I go through my waking routines and get breakfast. My partner tells me that the doctor has sent the prescription to the chemists so the things I need will be available to collect tomorrow. I settle down in the lounge for the morning until my partner goes to see her mother with her brother. An email tells me that someone on the writing course that I went on some time ago is having her book published. There is an invite to the book launch in London, obviously I will not make it but I pre-order my copy of Prospects by Kate Wilson. Once it arrives and I read it I will let people know what I think. I watch more of the Post Office Enquiry and relish how the lawyer picks apart a Fujitsu so called expert and their role in the prosecutions of the postmasters. They adjourn for the day and I start to draft the blog while the tennis at Eastbourne provides the backdrop.
My evening is football and S.W.A.T and the Tesco order. I think about writing but I am so distracted by my need to manage myself that it is hard to find words or inspiration that I can capture. The Americans have tried to ring me a couple of times but I cannot face them at the moment so I’ve emailed them and told them I’m recovering from my operation and if they have proposals for an audio book to email me. They just want my money. I prepare for bed, it takes a while at the moment. With my meds inside me and me rigged up for the night I publish the blog and try to sleep. Tomorrow I might make another YouTube video, or try to spend time on the patio
