Chapter 562 - Just Depressed

"I'm well", she said in response to the Wild Dog Carer nurse asking how she was. I had just found her phone for her (it had been hanging from the monkey bar above her bed) expecting the nurse to make the scheduled call at 1100. The nurse has a bright cheery voice, almost child-like, and I like to think their 30 minute chat is good for her, although I have no idea what they talk about. During the past week a close relative rang her and when I later asked what was said, assuming there must have been some family gossip, the reply was "Nothing", before remembering that mention was made of a grandchild's wedding being over and done with; she had no idea who that was.

Saying "I'm well" is a social courtesy and she may not remember this morning's beginning. At 0615 I set the pump to its day rate and took her phone from its cradle, making it chime, and her feet began to kick, then slowed to a stop. By 0715 after I had exercised, showered and dressed her legs were very dyskinetic as I slid her from bed onto the commode. and wheeled her into the bathroom. I removed her overnight incontinence pants and pad, quite full of piddle. Her nightie, wet from pants leakage, was replaced as was the thin absorbent sheet over the main absorbent washable "bluey" on her bed. I wheeled her out to place her feet on the pedal machine but the dyskinetia was so bad she just wanted to place her legs up onto a lounge chair; her legs were aching and her right arm was "asleep" and tingling. Her face expressed sheer misery. The Wild Dog Carer was due to arrive to shower her. "Do you want to go back to bed?" "Yes" she said. So a clean pair of incontinence pants were threaded onto her legs and using the multi-gripped belt I lifted her back onto the bed, then rolled her back and forth to pull up the pants and had her settled but still dyskinetic as the Carer arrived. By this time her hair was in rat tails from sweat. I told the Carer she need not stay; I would shower her later. During these COVID days the Carers check our temperatures with a non-contact thermometer. The Carer was puzzled that her temperature was less than mine when she was sweaty because she was so hot. I tried to explain that those non-contact devices check surface temperatures and in this case the sweat would be cooling the skin; an in-ear measurement using the device we have in the cupboard would be accurate; my stuffy techo explanation was not understood. By now it was 0800, and after rolling her from her back onto her RHS, then onto her back again then onto her LHS the dyskinesia came to a halt. Then she said she was "cold" so I covered her with bed clothes, the dyskinesia began again, eventually stopping at 0815 after I rubbed her legs for several minutes and she slept. She woke at 0835 without dyskinesia. I left her quietly in bed and at 0845 I used the small slider board to move her back onto the commode where she pooped into the pan once I had returned her to the bath room. I left her on the commode to shower herself, returning to help her dry before taking her back to the bedroom to dress in clean incontinence pants and pad. By 0930 the pump was re-fitted, the FitBit (began attaching this again a few days ago) was around her right ankle then to breakfast. After which she was in her sewing room sorting things and scraping the carpet again.

So at 1100 this morning she was "well". I'm stuffed.

Have I ever mentioned that procrastinating about writing this blog tears the guts out of me, depresses me but having written, I am relieved, almost as if I have been badly constipated. The relief is almost exhilarating.

She cannot be tempted to "play" with the games I bought, hoping to keep her alert and active, away from repeatedly reorganising things in the sewing room, reorganising magazines and books in the TV room, scratching the timber floor, scraping carpet in the sewing room, pulling leaves from the large Peace Lily and replanting them in the same pot to grow by themselves. I used to leave the clothes newly washed in baskets in the bedroom for her to sort and hang until I realised the chore stressed her too much; that it was an all day job for her was unimportant.

On either Saturday or Sunday each week now I have driven to the local cafe for fish and chips at their drive through facility, and then find a park where we can eat. Last Saturday , about to drive home from the park at the weir, the car failed to start. Thirty minutes later, with a new battery fitted and $273 charged to a credit card, we left for home. An expensive lunch. But an outing for both of us; she reading a Mills & Boon romance and me reading the expose by John Bolton (who I dislike) about that idiot in the White House. Don't get me started!!!