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Bloody Dong!
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Lydia Dustbin
May 20, 2021, 9:48:08 AM5/20/21
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How the bloody blue hell do you get gmail to do anything you want?
Going dotty ?Moi? NEVah!!
So now we are three scones, or not. I think Rusty has some other blessing) sucking up oxygen and checking our O2 stats every few minutes... Perhaps I shove the other end of this tube up my... No, no, that would never work.
I ave han hoxygen compactor. It sucks O2 out of the air and pushes it up my honker. It sits by my bed and makes a noise so I pretend I am on an hairy-plain, or spaceship, or anywhere but this rotten dump.
R and I are not on speaking terms.
Seriously.... I take it you pair have been through the hauling off to A&E in an ambulance and all that but have either of you had funny reactions due to high CO2 readings?
I have been tortured by two tiny asian nuses who were so small the had to jump up on the bed and run up and down the bare matress yelling at me. NO. no| Mrs Leach, you must keep the mask ON!!
Wonderful iron and leather Heath Robinson machines attached me to the mask with giant cogwheels nd creaking levers and chains.... and it HURT!
Somewhere in space... I hung suspended, far from the human race and... about six inches from the bed, trying to stop from being strangled by my fingers. Nobody ever brought me a bedpan.
Strange though. It seems dementia is self-editing. I could smell hay and urine (floor) wet leather, old blood, rubber mask and vomit... But never shit.
Thank God for that!
Next visit... this time I put the whole hospital under the control of aliens who lived on the roof and harvested little old ladies (me) in the night. I know this was true because the cruel nurses made up lists and whispered about it. I also heard them discussing piping ether and Choral Hydrate (is that gassy?? I don't think so) into the oxygen supply, so obviously I could taste/smell ether and...
No. no Mrs leach you MUST keep the mask on!!
THE HELL I WILL!!!
They used to push me right up to the lift doors at night (lift doors never there when I looked later... strange that 8)...) and tell me... you are a pest, mrs Leach. We don't want you here. You are next.
I now know what it feels like to be weak and helpless, completely without hope and mentally preparing myself for god-knows-what.
Discovering myself back in my usual bed with the sun shining later. just left me confused. The days were for fighting medical staff. The nights for fighting demons.
Have faint, very unhappy inkling of what it must be like for people who's brains really do mix up the world.
Cried a lot.
Lydia
Going dotty ?Moi? NEVah!!
So now we are three scones, or not. I think Rusty has some other blessing) sucking up oxygen and checking our O2 stats every few minutes... Perhaps I shove the other end of this tube up my... No, no, that would never work.
I ave han hoxygen compactor. It sucks O2 out of the air and pushes it up my honker. It sits by my bed and makes a noise so I pretend I am on an hairy-plain, or spaceship, or anywhere but this rotten dump.
R and I are not on speaking terms.
Seriously.... I take it you pair have been through the hauling off to A&E in an ambulance and all that but have either of you had funny reactions due to high CO2 readings?
I have been tortured by two tiny asian nuses who were so small the had to jump up on the bed and run up and down the bare matress yelling at me. NO. no| Mrs Leach, you must keep the mask ON!!
Wonderful iron and leather Heath Robinson machines attached me to the mask with giant cogwheels nd creaking levers and chains.... and it HURT!
Somewhere in space... I hung suspended, far from the human race and... about six inches from the bed, trying to stop from being strangled by my fingers. Nobody ever brought me a bedpan.
Strange though. It seems dementia is self-editing. I could smell hay and urine (floor) wet leather, old blood, rubber mask and vomit... But never shit.
Thank God for that!
Next visit... this time I put the whole hospital under the control of aliens who lived on the roof and harvested little old ladies (me) in the night. I know this was true because the cruel nurses made up lists and whispered about it. I also heard them discussing piping ether and Choral Hydrate (is that gassy?? I don't think so) into the oxygen supply, so obviously I could taste/smell ether and...
No. no Mrs leach you MUST keep the mask on!!
THE HELL I WILL!!!
They used to push me right up to the lift doors at night (lift doors never there when I looked later... strange that 8)...) and tell me... you are a pest, mrs Leach. We don't want you here. You are next.
I now know what it feels like to be weak and helpless, completely without hope and mentally preparing myself for god-knows-what.
Discovering myself back in my usual bed with the sun shining later. just left me confused. The days were for fighting medical staff. The nights for fighting demons.
Have faint, very unhappy inkling of what it must be like for people who's brains really do mix up the world.
Cried a lot.
Lydia
Sn!pe
May 20, 2021, 10:13:43 AM5/20/21
to
Lydia Dustbin <lydiadu...@gmail.com> wrote:
> So now we are three scones, or not. I think Rusty has some other blessing)
> sucking up oxygen and checking our O2 stats every few minutes...
> Perhaps I shove the other end of this tube up my... No, no, that would
> never work.
>
Wahey! Wotcher, Lyd.
> So now we are three scones, or not. I think Rusty has some other blessing)
> sucking up oxygen and checking our O2 stats every few minutes...
> Perhaps I shove the other end of this tube up my... No, no, that would
> never work.
>
This is by way of a brief acknowledgement of your esteemed
missive wot I will attempt to rnsr properly in a shortly or two.
FTR: <snip...@gmail.com> is my preferred Usenet Reply addie;
ask there and I'll give you my permanent poshest private address.
--
^Ï^ <https://youtu.be/_kqytf31a8E>
My pet rock Gordon just is.
Sn!pe
May 20, 2021, 3:24:38 PM5/20/21
to
Lydia Dustbin <lydiadu...@gmail.com> wrote:
[...]
> Have faint, very unhappy inkling of what it must be like for people who's
> brains really do mix up the world. Cried a lot.
>
> Lydia
Boodly 'ell, Lydia.
So far I've escaped the blue light taxi to the hospital; I do not like
the sound of that one little bit. Is the machine they hooked you up to
a ventilator? I have heard that they are not nice with a capital NOT.
I had a home visit from the Oxygen therapy assessment nurse in February.
Being a truthful kind of wading bird I confessed that my last smoking
episode (it was only for a couple of weeks, honest) finished back in
November. "Ah" said she, sagely, "that's a pity." They won't consider
my eligibility for O2 therapy until I've been off the gaspers for at
least six months - apparently I'd be a fire risk... Meanwhile, I crave
daily and dream about smoking every night. She said they'd reconsider
when I ~have~ been off the sotweed for six months.
I freely admit that I dread the trials that you are now experiencing.
It's all very jolly to jest about being moved to the bed by the door,
but, but, boodly 'ell, Lyd. Are you in hospital now or have they
decanted you back home?
I'm at a loss to know what words of comfort I might offer you - nobody
deserves that sort of treatment unless they've been really bad and
neither thee or me has been quite that bad.
In other news: it seems that I am to be a grandfather again. My younger
son and his good lady are to produce in September (no mention yet of
marriage or where they expect to live...) It will be good to have a
grandchild near at hand, seeing as my other two granddaughters are in
Australia. Maybe the family name won't die out after all.
Chin up, dear.
P.S. I had unsubbed from scones quite some time ago and then stumbled
across your smiling fizzog as I was poking about in my photos. Anyway,
it inspired me to resubscribe in hope of bumping into you and here you
are. Have an e-hug from an admirer.
[...]
> Have faint, very unhappy inkling of what it must be like for people who's
> brains really do mix up the world. Cried a lot.
>
> Lydia
So far I've escaped the blue light taxi to the hospital; I do not like
the sound of that one little bit. Is the machine they hooked you up to
a ventilator? I have heard that they are not nice with a capital NOT.
I had a home visit from the Oxygen therapy assessment nurse in February.
Being a truthful kind of wading bird I confessed that my last smoking
episode (it was only for a couple of weeks, honest) finished back in
November. "Ah" said she, sagely, "that's a pity." They won't consider
my eligibility for O2 therapy until I've been off the gaspers for at
least six months - apparently I'd be a fire risk... Meanwhile, I crave
daily and dream about smoking every night. She said they'd reconsider
when I ~have~ been off the sotweed for six months.
I freely admit that I dread the trials that you are now experiencing.
It's all very jolly to jest about being moved to the bed by the door,
but, but, boodly 'ell, Lyd. Are you in hospital now or have they
decanted you back home?
I'm at a loss to know what words of comfort I might offer you - nobody
deserves that sort of treatment unless they've been really bad and
neither thee or me has been quite that bad.
In other news: it seems that I am to be a grandfather again. My younger
son and his good lady are to produce in September (no mention yet of
marriage or where they expect to live...) It will be good to have a
grandchild near at hand, seeing as my other two granddaughters are in
Australia. Maybe the family name won't die out after all.
Chin up, dear.
P.S. I had unsubbed from scones quite some time ago and then stumbled
across your smiling fizzog as I was poking about in my photos. Anyway,
it inspired me to resubscribe in hope of bumping into you and here you
are. Have an e-hug from an admirer.
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