I don’t think I have blogged since the tales of my urine infection and the bingo maniacs at the club when the caller forgot to call sixty two or clicketty quack in the vernacular. Picko keeps asking why I have made so little progress lately and it’s not because I have forgotten all you in Macland and neither have I got nothing to tell you but I have been SOOO very busy.
Bridget my sister-in-law (or Sybil as she is known ) has recovered well from her surgery for breast cancer and has now got three weeks of radiotherapy and she should be clear. Another success of early diagnosis. Ron’s wife, Gloria died from lung cancer after a relatively short struggle and we were all extremely upset to see her go but at least we gave her a huge send off.
Picko is still winning at bingo and he has toned his cross dressing down for now, or so it appears. And me, well I still look in on the Macateers every day and stick my two pennorth in now and again, and am working back at the Welfare which is a challenge far greater than anything that major surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy had to throw at me. If you can get over that then you can get over anything!
Whit bank holiday and I organised a disco for ten to seventeen year olds and we didn’t have any trouble. The kids were marvellous, even when my old P.A. amplifier decided to give up the ghost. Saturday and we had a darts marathon which is not really my cup of tea and on Sunday we had a gala show with the Fantastics Tamla Group. On Monday afternoon I organised one of my famous (!) family afternoons with a Robin Hood theme. Irene dressed up as Maid Marion and I was Friar Tuck – wrong shape I know! Again the kids were great and we had an archery competition and didn’t shoot anyone.
Tom-ass still has his moments and often I wake up in the middle of the night when I can “feel a smell.” Not just wind that has permeated my twin charcoal filters but the real McCoy. I lay still paralysed with fear. Has the bag eased a little or is it a full blown ejaculation? There’s only one way to find out. I throw back the quilt and start a very tentative examination. Several times my bag has come off and then it is a full blown emergency. Irene “cheerfully” gets up and changes the bed while I trap my stoma bag from wherever it has escaped and then get in the shower for a clean up. I don’t know how Irene deals with it so calmly – it makes me SOOOO mad! There is something about having a complete bed change and shower at 3 o’clock in the morning that you just don’t get when you have a normal poo. Thankfully his indiscretions are getting less or maybe I am getting better at predicting things. What is astonishing is that I used to go at least once a day without fail. Now it can be once a week or longer. And boy! When I go then I really do go.
Jonathan has sent me a card which says “Goodbye” and “Good luck” which he has signed from our toilets because they do not have the pleasure of my not inconsiderable backside anymore. I really don’t know where he gets his sense of humour from! My rapes of our toilet was legendary in the past.
Well now I have got that off my chest – or rather abdomen, I’ll say by for now and I will try not to leave it so long next time.
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