Progress??!!

Sorry I've not been blogging, but far too busy keeping Hincksy fed, watered, creamed and generally spoilt - perhaps it's in his master plan to keep me away from the keyboard. Dad's even more worried about the blog now. Clive, his nextdoor neighbour, (who's been lazing in Austrailia for so long, he's almost an ex-pat), sent him a card. Between generally boasting about the weather, food etc, he dared to mention the words Buddah, raining rice, blah-blah. He asked Hincksy if I was still in the Will. I wonder whether the nurses could be bribed into sending him into an old people's home, where he surely couldn't get access to the internet?

Dad's obviously still in hospital....Aldi is laying off staff. I think they're only keeping him there now so that they can reap their revenge and use him as a guinea pig for all the new toys in the torture chamber. After the human bowling ball incident, the physios decided to take no risks and presented Hincksy with what appeared to be a parachute harness. Foolishly assuming it was part of the drill and would go nicely with his stilletoes, thank-you, he was happy to be wrestled into it. The principle being, that if he lost his balance again, the harness attached to the ceiling, would avert casualties - very wise. What Hincksy didn't realise was, that war had commenced and the physios had a secret weapon. One scathing remark - no never - and he would fly into the air, more like the pantomime dame than Peter Pan!

Not one to be out manouvred, Dad's enjoying purile games. Hide & Seek is his latest. As, of course, he is the best driver in the world, it hasn't taken him long to master the wheelchair. The child thinks it is hilarious to zip off in the opposite direction en-route to the physion dept, and hide behind the curtains. I think his Muttley laugh usually gives the game away, and the staff seem to have a weary 'we've got a stroppy toddler' look on thier faces.
Dad was a bit concerned the other day, when he was told that they'd put in an order for his own wheelchair. He wondered whether they thought that he wouldn't walk properly again. It's amazing how small his world has become since being on the ward. When I pointed out that the main hospital entrance was about 2 miles away, and that it'd take him about a week to walk there, he conceded. From negitivity, excitement is born...He's now working on technical drawings on how he can achieve the Range Rover of all wheelchairs.

Dad suffered a massive trauma last week....He was moved into a different bay; same ward, next bay along! Most patients are lucky if they know which hospital they are in let alone ward, they are moved so frequently. The spoilt sod was so disgruntled, his blood pressure went up, and the nurses thought he'd gone on hunger-strike. For the whole weekend, he hadn't ordered any food, and informed the concerned nurses (with pitiful doe-eyes), that he didn't fancy anything. 'Paul, you must eat and keep up your strength', they pleaded - fools. Eventually the Ward Sister came and told Hincksy that she had the authority to order him anything he liked from the canteen, but he solumnly couldn't be tempted. Now, one look at the ever-expanding muffin-belly is proof enough that Piggy Hincksy has definately not lost his appetite. What the manipulative sod 'forgot' to tell them was, that his catering department was providing a veritable feast for a weekend of (more) binging.

Despite his whinging and whining, Dad has settled into his new bay quite well - but you have to wonder if it's a case of needs-must. The bay is full of five other guys of a similar age and diagnosis as he. They are all big guys, and some of them are alot more mobile than he his. Queen Bea is not Top Dog any more...he's the new boy! I would have loved to have seen the look on his face when Hincksy was hoofed out of bed on his first morning and informed that there would be no more bed-baths from the gorgeous nurses....he could go to the bathroom and sort himself out. I bet he kept a tight grip on the soap that day so as not to accidently drop it!

This is definatley the Naughty Boy's Bay. I think that the air in the bay is blue most of the time. Dad tells whispered tales of what they have all been up, reminiscent of scout camp days, it seems. There is one chap in there who had to have half his skull removed, and they put it in his abdomen for safe keeping until it can be put back. Over and over again, the nurses fall for it; 'Do you want to feel my bone?' he asks. Naive...Foolish....Nay, Stupid; they fall for it every time.. you can only imagine what he gives them to feel. The same guy isn't supposed to go off on his own, for fear he will fall and cause catastophic damage to his head. He almost gave the game away the other day, when he escaped to a far flung bathroom for some peace, and tumbled over in there. Determined not to reveal his secret wanderings, he took several hours to grapple his way onto his feet, and managed to cause enough damage that if left the bathroom completely flooded. Needless to say, when the WAGS arrive, they all look like 'butter wouldn't melt', and not a choice word or childish prank in sight - until 8pm!

If you visit Hincksy and fear he has radiation sickness or first degree burns, don't. Last week the ward was having a new floor laid and all patients were dispatched alsewhere. Hincksy and his new pals did very well, and were moved to a small bay just off one of the women's ward (I think I saw some of his old buddies in tents on the bypass). There was an almost carnival atmosphere in the bay, with just 2 poor nurses and a drug trolley to keep control. No drugs required, for once! For the first time in over 2 months Dad has seen sunlight..and a car..and a tree..and a bird..... Ecstatic, they all basked in the sunshine and enjoyed and burned, until the first miserable old sod declared it was too hot and the curtains were closed!

Hope to Blog again soon. Keep visiting - I know It's a Chore!!

Vick X

Not the most eventful week, hence no rush to blog. Needless to say, even from the mundane day-to-day rituals, Dad seems to give just enough ammunition to force me to put finger to keyboard.

After his momentous Chinese takeaway, he thought he was on a roll with the food and upped the ante on his requests. As you read on, you'll understand the effect that the constant food troughing and remarkable resemblance to Buddah, has had on his rehab progress. Last weekend, having studied the Menu at length (well he's got f**k all else to do except plan for his weekend feast); 'Yung Chow Chicken Fried Rice & Beansprouts & Noddles' he demanded, though he may as well have just ordered the Set Meal for 4! I can now add 'Scapegoat' to my Job Description, as he explained that he'd only ordered so much food, so that I could have his leftovers. Good job I'm not a skinny bitch needing sustenance, as what he deigned to leave behind wouldn't have fed the cat! Despite only leaving shrapnel on his plate (and in his beard,) he proclaimed that it was dry and he didn't enjoy it...yeah, yeah - he's just not plausible any more, and the ever growing muffin belly, justs acts as proof, Your Honour.

Hincksy's catering team (me & mum) is currently planning how to pull off his latest demand for the perfect bacon butty. On Saturday morning - even though it isn't visiting hours - he wants hot, crispy bacon in a soft, doughy sandwich. What does he think we are - bloody miracle workers... how can bacon stay crispy for 6 miles? Nevertheless, we never shun a challenge, and have drawn out a mass of plans to deliver the golden egg - oh hell, he'll want one of those next!

There is a new chap in Dad's bay (as he is 'Bea - Top Dog in Wentworth Detention Centre' alias Prisoner Cell Block H...it is HIS bay), and the guy can talk. This is a threat to the status quo...Major Alert. The chap has loads of cards and visitors and is a potential danger to Hincksy's status. Fotunately, the guy seems a bit confused, and this only gives power to Queen Bea! I'm sure I heard Dad mutter to one of the nurses; 'He said he was constipated and asked for an enema!' The power is all his.

Dad has a friend in the bay who interestingly can, but doesn't speak much; and he forgets easily. His daughter is fanastic and is there every day urging him to get stronger and fitter, but is worried that he's not getting all the rehab he needs. She's asked Hincksy if he would urge her Dad on and to coax him to go for physio when he says he's feeling tired. Dad is a sucker for a pretty blonde, and can't help himself. Maybe he still thinks the recycled bottle under the sheets is working as a teepee... She also needs advice on what help is out in the 'real world', this has once again added to my Job Description, and I am now Community Nursing Advisor to the whole ward as Dad states 'My Daughter is a District Nursing Sister, she'll sort it out!'

Hincksy is doing better than we ever dreamed. Yesterday they took him
into the Physio Dept. He's been shuffling around before now, but they decided that if he got up a bit of momentum, his balance may be better. 'No Probs', and off he went at high speed; one physio holding his bad arm, and another there for support. Whilst careering across the room, the stilettoe went from beneath him and, now being round, he hurtled like bowling ball through the department taking the staff with him. Thankfully no lasting injuries, but he's now reconsidering wearing the steeltoe-capped boots, with ankle supports.

Dad is also getting alot more movement in his bad hand. He can now touch each finger with his thumb and proudly states that he can 'scratch his bollocks'! I gave him a new exercise yesterday...Hold the ball...Forward to the left..Back..Forward to the front...Back...Forward to the right...Back and lift. 'A new technique in rehab?' he asks......no it's the gearbox on the Range Rover - and a wicked grin across his face!

P.S. As I couldn't remember the names involved in Prisoner Cell Block H, I needed to look it up...and sadly, I have to inform you that they have an Official Web Site - I think I may be a member now...and Bea might be coming to look for me...arrhh!

Regards, Vick

Special Edition / Special Fried Rice

I've never seen anyone distroy a Special Fried Rice at the speed of Hincksy tonight. I left home early for my special mission - but good things only come to those who wait; and wait I did - 25 minutes. When I finally skidded around the corner of the bay, I swear he was just getting togged up to go and get the food himself. 'At Last!' he wailed. Apparently he'd been preparing for his meal for several hours. Cancel tea, go on the pan, backrest up, sheets tidy, tray in front of him, napkin at the ready...he even had a bath this morning to mark this momentous occassion. His spoon was waving wildly in the air even as we were trying to shovel the rice etc onto the plate. At last, he took a big breath and dived into the nosebag.

Mum and I tried to chat over the ecsatatic moaning, thankfully the nurses knew what he was up to and weren't distracted by the bay sounding like a knocking shop. Not to be left out, and worried that we may be gosiiping about some essential details, he tried to join in. Showered in Fried Rice, we asked him to butt out and concentrate on eating. However, in my Role as Happiness Co-ordinator, I couldn't stop myself asking him if he was enjoying the food...Fool, I'm still picking the rice out of my hair as he spluttered 'bloody lovely!'

He ate the lot, and now truly resembles Fat Buddah, and has the smile on his face to go with it. In true Hincksy fashion, he burbed and farted in celebration. Party over, he spent the next hour and a half intensely picked rice out of his teeth, and I mean intense. First the toothpick, then the electric brush, then the toothpick again, then the electric brush again, then the normal brush, then a gargle and finally the noisy teeth sucking. 'I'll still find a bit of rice later' he moaned - he is likely to have the callbell wrapped around his neck at some point; if not by the nurses, then by ME!

Briefly moving away from subject of food...Dad has a very important role in the ward. He too is a daily blogger, but not online. His neighbour's daughter arrived tonight and came straight over to him for an update on her Dad's progress. Hincksy gave her a full inventory of what he'd eaten and detailed his personal care that day. I don't know if he charges for his services, but we were wondering why his chocolate mountain was growing!

He's working really hard with his arm and leg exercises. I told him that he was doing so well, that I wouldn't be surpised if the physios tried him on the bars with some walking. 'Well I've already done that by the bed,' he stated.........WHAT????? And he didn't think this monumenous detail was important enough to mention? 'Well, I only really shuffled.' Shuffled or not, we can all look out, me more than most, because he's back and he's scary!

I would like to just take this moment to thank Phil for telling Dad how much he was enjoying the Blog. Intersted, Hincksy has now demanded that I start printing some off for him to read. I may as well resign as his duaghter and leave the country - there will be weeping and wailing (me, not him!)

Back to his favourite subject...food. When he was in his post ecstatic state, he had a moment of realisation. His one and only tastebud must have exploded back to life and he exclaimed, 'the Hospital food is f*g shite, isn't it!' Welcome back Hincksy.

Vick X

Happy New, and wishing Health & Happiness to you all.

Dad is doing far too well for his own good. The little movements are getting bigger, but alas there is no hope for the really little things... he's going to kill me! The nurses have asked that, when we're all bringing him his toys, could we slip in a pair of handcuffs? Sadly for Hincksy, I don't think they want them for he would be hoping for. His mini fart cushion for exercising his bad hand is really not considered funny anymore, not that it ever was, except to him. The ward has been closed due to D & V, and can't be reopened until 48 hours after the last symptom. Needless to say, now that Hincksy has fully recovered from his bugs, he finds is highly amusing to watch the look of horror on the face of the ward manager when he's exercising the hand. On the other hand, the nurses have an ally. If the ward is closed, they can't admit any patients and can put their feet up....not when their running up and down the ward with bedpans and sickbowls, they can't! I have to say, it does make you wonder, that they only had a problem with this since Dad arrived - perhaps his methane gases are contagious? Another conspiracy theory I've heard is that there are some contaminated Maltesers being passed around the ward....

Hincksy isn't allowed in the torture chamber at the moment. They say it's because of the bugs, but I'm not sure that the physios aren't giving time for their bruised shins to heal. They have, however, stood him next to the bed and done some exercises with him, and he's doing really well. He is having a problem putting his bad heel down to the floor, but curiously this doesn't seem to concern him. Curious, until he announced that a good stilletoe heel would sort that out. I'm very worried about his state of mind. Not because of the heel, but that any self-respecting weirdo wouldn't wear a stilletoe on one foot and a steel toecapped boot on the other.

Hincksy is positively enjoying the hospital food now, and I'm sure he only has one lonely tastebud left. I foolishly suggested that when he's home, he could pop up to the hospital for lunch, rather than his usual, the college - 'not a bad idea, and it'd be cheaper.' I think he's ready for counselling. However, he is getting more of an apetite now that he's doing more. I'd only just poked my head around the door and he demanded his homemade butties out his personal fridge - even though it was only 10 minutes after teatime. 'Didn't you like your tea?' I asked - 'It was bloody lovely, but I'm starving.' I mentioned the words 'Slow Boat' & 'Special Fried Rice' and he was drooling at the thought. Guess what I've got to collect on my way in on Saturday night? Of more concern, is that he's trying to establish which take-aways deliver. Mum needs to take all his money off him or he'll be looking more like a Buddah within the week. I plan to make the old bugger suffer though, and give him chopsticks to eat his long awaited Meal.

All nasty tubes have now been removed and he's back on the bottle. Not that anythins has changed, it's just that the nurses have realised that whatever they do, Hincksy is a pain in the arse. When I arrived tonight, he had about a dozen bottles shoved down the side of his bed - just in case. Thankfully they were all empty. Dad's decided that he particularly likes the night nurses - perhaps they look better in the dark? Worringly his favorite is a male nurse, Gavin. There was a time when he would have called all male nurses poofs...perhaps this has changed him for the better? Maybe it's the lure of all his toys, but Gavin is quite happy to charge up Dad's DVD player overnight, even though he's not supposed to have it in the hospital. And curiously, the chap in the opposite bed, is alot more settled. Dad monitors the guys progress through the day. If he's singing and chanting like a parrot - he'll sleep. But if he has a quite day, there would be hell to pay overnight. Not anymore, a wee chap with Gavin, and he sleeps like a baby. I think Hincksy has pulled rank, as the longest serving prisoner in the bay - think back to 'Prisoner Cell Block H' and you get my drift - thankfully he's not well enough to follow anyone into the showers..yet - and wearing one stilletoe it could be worth filming.

The day nurses keep Dad in his place and have him sussed. He can't understand why they keep putting his table and callbell just out of reach - doh! They keep constantly offer him a sideward, only the gift for those who are dying or who need the door closing on them...we only hope he's the latter. He likes it where he is and can keep an eye on all the goings-on. So much for patient confidentiality, he knows the full history of every patient in the ward thanks to his superman hearing.

Thanks to all the visitors, please keep coming even though he's painful. He relishes the cream of the gossip that he's getting, and may well blog himself about his time in hospital. The Cunninghams weren't due to visit for a couple of days, as they were going to a 'very interesting' engineering conference in London. They turned up anyway, and organised as ever, hadn't realised that the flyers that they were getting through the post for the conference, were to say it had been cancelled, and shouldn't be binned without reading. They are going to try again this weekend, and go the Boat Show - this gave Hincksy even more of a titter. He's hoping that Alan may buy another nautical gadget that will get him into endless disasters. He once asked Dad to sort out his sat-nav on the boat (in Porthmadog), as he couldn't work out where he was when he got out of the bay. Dad still hasn't got over the joy of telling him that his sat-nav was covering South Wales and not North!

Mum had an odd phone call from the hospital social worker the other day. They didn't really give her any information, but I got the impression they were wondering if she was willing for him to come home - have they met him already? She's missed her chance and has said yes. I was more inclined to make the bugger suffer, and suggest we sell up, put him in the dog's home, and sod off to somewhere exotic - wishful thinking, but I'm sure that somebody with my amount of job descriptions deserves a perk.

Hincksy is now starting to think of home. He was very morose at one point and demanded we sell the Range Rover, Boat & Canoes, and give the guns to Alan. As usual, we completely ignored him... but he is still thinking about an automatic Range Rover; but then again... He has confessed that, when he drove back from the supermarket when he was having his stroke, his arm and leg were dead; He can't understand why if he could do it then, he can't do it now. Fair point, but then they are still scraping bodies off Kings Mills Duel Carridgeway and he needs to be stopped.

Hincksy made a special request today. If he asks anyone for some toothpaste on his electic toothbrush, please don't put f*g Conotrane cream on it as it tastes like shite and he has that on his arse!

Best Wishes, Vick X