Progress??!!

It's me again and I'm pleased to see a blog. We were getting somewhat concerned down under as it's a complete waste of time emailing fellow villagers for any news, they never reply, perhaps they're too busy buying everyone drinks in the Buck. If Karen seems overly inquisitive it's because she's been tasked with getting an accurate update on Hincksy's condition. Now we know he's OK and farting for Queen and Country we'll sleep soundly, that is if we can sleep, 35 today but rain moving in so Christmas should be comfortable.
Give him our best wishes, you're obviously coping very well with the trauma, must be much worse than being pampered in that Hospital bed.

Regards to yourself, Kate and Mom. tell Jen we're thinking about her.
Clive & Irene in Oz

Hi All, sorry I haven't blogged for nearly a week, although I'm not really sure anyone has noticed! Apart from the fact the Hincksy was a miserable bugger last week, and gave me very little ammunition to blog about (except the muck-spreading), there is the small matter of Christmas; which remarkably is still coming nearer, despite our family's traumas. Dad did mention tonight, that the stroke has f****d up Christmas for everyone...who's kidding who here - we're gonna be having a great time! The ward sister gleefully announced that it is open visiting on the big day, pissing on our chips. Dad really thinks that we're not going to miss the thrill of hearing him snore through the Queen's speech - again. He's on his own there!

Dad was officially declared 'missing in action' on Saturday during his weekly pampering session. The, quite naive and new, nurse foolishly poured a large quantity of bubblebath in the bath, before she started the taps. This is a top-of-the-range, spanking hydrotherapy jacuzzi. Needless to say, Dad was in there before they realised the error of their ways. He was last seen, polishing his tackle as the pumps were turned on and disappeared into a mass of bubbles that filled the entire room. He was heard to be chortling, but the nurses were mortified, nonetheless. This wouldn't make good reading on the incident form, and the NHS seems to be always looking for job cuts. He survived and has asked for a snorkle & mask to be ready for next weekend.

The chap that was in the next bed, and had to suffer silently... well, just suffer Paul Hincks and his entourage, (as he couldn't speak), has been moved out to a specialist rehab unit closer to home. Well that was the excuse his wife gave, when saying her goodbyes. Was she choking back the tears, or just choking? Anyway, we wish them both the best of luck, and hope he gets the opportunity, in the future, to come and tell Hincksy exactly what kind of roommate he was, and just because he didn't argue, it didn't mean he necessarily agreed with his very loud opinions!

Dad really does get too excited about the S & M Parlour (physio department). His stamina is growing, and therefore gets to spend a little longer in there each day. Today, as he is the best driver in the world, he demanded that he could propel himself back to the bay in the wheelchair. The physios stopped him, when they finally peeled themselves off the floor laughing, having witnessed him going around in circles, one-handed, for sometime. Opportunist sod, Hincksy now has patent pending on a wheelchair that has a fixed axle, a rudder and foot pedals. I gentle explained to him that electric wheelchairs have already superseded his prototype, to no avail...'It's a fantastic idea. Though I'm sure I'm ready for one of those too!' There is usually a wheelchair around the bay somewhere, and I wonder whether temptation will be too great for him to wait for a manufacturer to take on his creative ideas. Knowing that we have refused him any real tools, he's looking hopefully at the oxygen pipe and asking if I've got a lighter - a suitable substitute for his welding torch I'm sure.

Everyone will be pleased to hear that Hincksy can now 'fart with confidence'..well that was until he had the hospital curry, that he said was 'Bloody Lovely'. It's very sad, as we know it probably tasted less like a Indian food than a MacDonalds; but he enjoyed it. I suspect that the next time it comes round, he may find thick marker pen hiding it on the menu...the nurse can't take much more.

Alan, a regular visitor, came tonight...and he's been rumbled. His wife, ever health conscious, always watches his diet. Sadly, what she doesn't know is that he seems to be a professional hospital visitor who only moves on, when the bed area is cleared of chocolate. Worryingly, Hincksy is exceedingly generous with his Maltesers...all visitors beware, the bowels movenments are now firm and pliable! The other day, Alan arrived in his spanking Bentley, and mentioned that he hadn't had any money for the parking meter (is he royalty, or what). Dad was crying when we told him that there was a mass of the Yellow-Jacket Brigade jostling around the car, vying for who had could place the golden wheel-clamp on the 'rich-gits' car.

Worryingly, Hincksy has developed a penchant for creams and oils. In the midst of his crossword, Mum asked, where he would like his pencil putting. He replied 'As long as it's got K Y on it, you can put it where you like, but with a gust of wind, I can take the nurses out at twenty paces!' There's no stopping him now.

Happy Christmas to All,

Vick X

Kate has come back today, and poor Dad is getting more heckling than even he can cope with. He's very proud of himself, and is now up to half an hour in the S & M parlour (physio dept.) He is obviously pushing himself very hard to stay the time, we now know why..all those lovely ladies hidden away in there. Apparently they have had to bring him out earlier before now, as he gets quite a sweat on and they worry about his blood pressure. Wait until the girls have a day off, and he's left in the rather large hands of the guys - bet he'll sweat even more then, for all the wrong reasons. And he'll be damanding the return of the steel-to-capped boots.

Curiously, he also asked for some aftershave to be taken in. Now anyone that has been within six foot of Hincksy knows that he wouldn't waste his money on 'poofter' things like aftershave & sprays. He hasn't worn Brut since he was courting my mother. He duped Mum big style. He initially asked if he could have some surgical spirit brought in. The nurses just stared at me; those born before 1970 in horror, and after, with a blank expression. Needless to say, with a quiet word that the stuff is more damaging than radiation, they said that he couldn't have it. Dad said that he needed the aftershave to help with some dry skin behind his ears, as he had been refused his request...naive, but she may have the trump card. Most normal people would use a moisturiser, but not a real man. Not knowing where to start and being in the unfamiliar territory of Boots Male Grooming Products, she must have had a moment of sentimentality, or inspiration, and purchased some Brut.

As the dutiful daughter and the personal nurse, that I am, I shaved him tonight. How such a simple task can go so hosrribly wrong. Hincksy has less concentration than a goldfish. Once he had made his demands for a shave, he was considering the next. Dad can't have a normal safety razor, he has this old fashioned beast that should be assessed by Health & Safety, and even I was nervous with the fresh blade in it. He was very distacted by the Madegascan King Prawns that needed shelling for his consumption, and damn well nearly lost an ear. When I'd finished, twinkle in the eye, he called on the Brut and I obeyed. F*g Hell, not only will Jim think I'm having an affair, smelling like this...He'll think I've got crap taste too. I'm sure I saw a twinkle in Mum's eye...the nurses and physios won't come too near now. Sadly Mum has obviously become so acclimatized to the pungent methane layer over the past forty years, that she expects no-one else to notice. Yesterday, she had the audacity to say that she hates the hospital smell when she walks onto the ward - well, it wasn't there before he was admitted!

I was so dizzy with the demands, that I left the wash bowl on the bin, next to the sink. I was going to empty it, but was easily distracted onto the next task. I was tempted to give a firm and well-meaning tug on his catheter bag to bring him back to reality, but jumped at Kate sqealing when the full bowl slipped off the bin. Very coyly, I explained to the stern looking nurse that I thought Dad's catheter bag had leaked...and hadn't he drunk well today. fortunately, none of the other guys in the bay can snitch on me!

Dad is definately becoming institutionalised into hospital life. Though he claims to have lost 2 stone in hospital, the muffin belly is certainly on the return. He is forcing down at least three hospital meals a day, and a fridge full of treats. Still oozing sympathy, we also feed him the things we usually can't afford. Mum took him some delicious looking King Prawns, (we weren't able to try them to confirm this), and sat there peeling them for him, as she felt it was a two-handed job. Kate & I pleaded that he should try and do it himself (just for a laugh), the spoilt bugger, and when she couldn't keep up, she rested. Greedily, he had a go, but then claimed he was choking on the bits and needed it doing for him. I gentle explained to him that that the claim of choking wouldn't wash until he was turning blue.

As the Eau de Hincksy (Brut)appears not to be having the desired effect on the female staff, Dad is employing gorilla tactics from Commission HQ. We do wonder whether he is actually trying to secure a bay all to himself, so he can get the computer & desk, and possible tools in. Today, he instructed Mum & Kate to purchase a shopping list that he had dictated (literally). Tomorrow, they will be searching for an operating trolley to brings in the said goods...about 3 crates of Cava, several tins of chocs; and he's had the gall to send us back for a big bouquet of flowers. Pushing the genrosity a little, I asked if it would be extending to his family...**** Off.

Regards, Vick

Hello worldwide - I would feel quite important - but it's only Clive & Irene in Aussie - I'm sure no-one else is reading.

Unnerving things have been happening on Bersham Ward. Some people who suffer a stroke, have changes in thier personality...wishful thinking we scream, but it may be true. On the other hand, Dad may just be becoming less beligerant to those with the elusive disabled driver badge that he aspires to obtaining. Yesterday he found out that Jim, (my other half and disable for 25 years,) fell down the stairs. No, he wasn't p****d. Jim has a paralysed arm and lost his leg in a bike accident, and generally lives a normal life..from the outside. He obviously chose me carefully, (I was his nurse when we met,)to enusre he got every perk of the job! Hincksy would usually take this news in his stride, but immediately exclaimed 'Get handrails put in, and I'm paying'. Anyone who knows Dad understands that he doesn't part with money readily and this was totally out of character. We're considering taking advantage of his obviously vulnerable mindset, and getting a hugely over-inflated quote to get him back to normal thinking.

When Dad first had his stroke, I tried to encourage Mum to thinking about how well he could recover. I told her about a similar situation with a friend's father, who also has MS. I expalined that they spend half the year in Spain, and lots of camping...'Oh, do you thing he might go abroad now?' she asked - no hope!

Dad was disappointed that the physio dept was closed over the weekend. Each weekday he has been hoisted into the room, and has been working on his seating balance, with his two rather gorgeous male physios, for us, not him. We really couldn't understand why he was missing it so much - was his psyche affected that much that he found the starpping lads attrative? Today he went in, waving to his admirers like royality, in a wheelchair! We were left abandoned by his bed, with nothing to do, but eat his maltesers & dressed-crap (spoilt), and finding things to do with the magnifying glass. He eventually came through the golden doors beaming, in his chariot, and was surrounded by female physio helpers. The sneaky sod - that's why he doesn't wear his steel-toecapped boots anymore - going for the gentle touch. It's was also noted, that he was wearing his best pyjamams, and not the ones that had the logo 'Wrexham Hospital Trust' written on them.

Needles to say, Hincksy was very taken with the wheelchair, and rather than sitting still, as told, he almost had it apart in seconds. It is currently gas-propelled, but should the source be depleated (we're ever hopeful), he's already got designs for a V8 enigine, with driver controls - no girls allowed!

I took him in an MP3 player today - he was impressed. A new gadget that he hasn't had before, and supplied by a female. I thoroughly enjoyed having to tell him how it works. Sadly the headphones he has are far too small for his enormous head, and we're going to have to go shopping again. Alan (Cunningham) was supposed to be helping him do a crossword today, and I was quite impressed at his tolerance, Dad's, not Alan's. How Alan got to be a successful business man with his small grasp of the english language - lord knows. We last saw Hincksy with the nurse-call-bell wrapped dangerously tight around his own throat.

Dad really is affected by hospital life. Mum took him some dressed-crab in this afternoon. He said he would leave it for now, as he didn't want to spoil his tea.......

Regards to you all. Keep the messages coming - he's loving it and thinks he's important! Vick

Just read all the blogs Vick, are you planning to write a life history when he gets to the end of the long road and takes control of number 7 again? It would make interesting reading, we could circulate it to the world's most influential publishers and make a fortune, don't tell him though, he'd want the royalties. B-O-D must be suffering without his control of the flood defences, I hear the road's open again, he must be mortified to have missed getting his 'mark' from the environmental agency; only consolation, and we've missed it, is that the air must be purer so some are benefitting. Tell him he wouldn't like it here, 37 for the last two days, 'kin hot and sticky, causes flatulance.
I'll add some more to the blog each week, in the meantime tell him we're thinking about him and to try cutting back on the effing, farting and tackle admiration. Self gratification gets you nowhere.
Clive & Irene

I walked on to the ward to be greeted by the usual Eau-de-Hincksy aroma, and the curtains pulled around the bed. I could hear mum's voice, and a second latter, she appeared, eyes streaming and nose running - the general effect of cutting an onion. Thoughts whurred through my head - oh god... what's happen. Before I could react, a nurse appearred in the same state. Coughing and spluttering, arms extending as far as she could reach away from her, with a steaming bedpan in hand. Relief...for me and Dad. He looked quite chuffed when they pulled back the curtains, and a little slimmer. I'm sure he hangs on until visiting time. The wife of the guy in the next bed is lovely, and tolerant, but I'm sure I even saw her and her sister huddled close to the oxygen outlet!

Mum & I almost needed medical help ourselves today. I'm quite into the role of humouring his moans and groans - I positively look forward to it - well it does give me ammunition for the Blog. So, I duly asked him what he had for lunch, and promptly hit the floor. Mumbling, as if embarrassed, he said 'It was quite nice actually, I could really taste it'. He was going to ask to be taken down to the kitchens to CONGRATULATE the chef!'. (That's more like it.) Picking myself up, I asked what he'd had, but he's still awaiting the chemical analysis. Haven't got the heart to tell him that it's far more likely that he's becoming institutionalised, than the food actually improving.

Today I feel very important - my personal profile has increased. I am currently - Personal Nurse to Paul Hincks; Private Physio to Paul Hincks; Medical Advisor to Paul Hincks; Private Chef to Paul Hincks; Personal Shopper to Paul Hincks; Researcher to Paul Hincks; Masseuse to Paul Hincks (he'd rather have a swedish, six foot tall blonde bird, with big t**s - but he's not having one... because his Medical Advisor doesn't recommend it in his state....revenge!). Today, I have been promoted, with no increase in pay, to PA to Paul Hincks & Secretary to Paul Hincks; and he has given me emails to send & stuff to check on the internet (interest rates for his savings!). I have also, dutifully, sat and read his messages from you all, to him. If he carries on like this, as his Medical Advisor, I will instruct the nurses that he's still constipated and needs another, rather large enema!.

Hincksy is quite bored at times, and it didn't go unnoticed that all his toys were hidden out of his reach when we arrived today. Needless to say, Command HQ was restored before I left. It seems that when he hasn't got visitors, he's now poaching his neighbour's wife, to humour his rambling. Malcolm can't talk after his stroke, though he obviously desperately wants to. His wife was telling us today, that Dad was quite chatty the other day. That obviously means he took his platform, in the biggest bed, to have a rant. He took the opportunity to have a groan about the modernisations that Mum has demanded at home - bathroom, toilet, kitchen...spending money. Mum is getting brave...she told him that he might not recognise the place when he gets home, and that she's in-charge now....who's kidding who here? It really didn't worry him,he knows he's the Captain. Mum is getting more practical though. I have taught her how to put credit on her mobile phone, and even turn it on!. Nevertheless, she has surprised us all, and has been successful in implementing the Paul Hincks Flood Defence System on the house; even if the screws are a little loose, 'I'm sure it won't matter!'. Dad finally said, the thumb-screws tightened, that he's proud of her...though he would have done a better job himself! I've take the golden opportunity to plant the seed if doubt in his mind, and have told him that I might get Mum her own toolkit for Christamas. She wouldn't know what to do with it, but he doesn't need to know that!

Thank you to everyone who's sent cards, emails, blogs, and have visited. He was grinning from ear-to-ear when I read them to him earlier, though he didn't understand why they all mentioned oxygen masks. Needless to say, I haven't given him a copy of what I've been writing... I'm dreading the day he has access to a computer and reads. Please keep them coming, and visit when able - it's going to be a very long road to recovery.

Vick

Heard from Phil that your in hospital. How are you doing ? I expect it will be a long road to recovery, and I hope you have already started the process. Today's a "non working" Friday so if it's ok with u, I'm going to visit u this afternoon.

p.s. The aerial is still flying high and performing well, inspite of the wind. It's amazing what a couple of engineers can do with a washing line pole !!!

Regards Julian

Just an update and to ask if Paul's sorted his discharge system out yet. We're thinking about you in Australia,
Can you keep us updated in this blog please.

You could see them from the far end of the main corridor. The nurses handing out safety information, for those who enter the ward. Methane in the air, any sudden rise in pressure could be catastrophic for all. You'll never guess who was resposible...? With a smug look on his face and a twinkle in his eye, ever the entrepreneur, Dad thinks he's stumbled across a new money-making scheme - muck spreading - 'I could sell it...make a fortune', he wails. A further word of warning; Hincksy is bored and if he offers you a Malteser, politely decline - you can't be too sure.

He has a new toy!!!! It's a long-armed grabber, good for lifting anything that comes close. He's just practising at the moment, throwing things to the end of the bed, then retrieving it. You just know his working up to something naughty.

He's amazingly bright today, considering he had very little sleep last night. Dad has made a polite refusal when the cocktail trolley arrived has offering sleeping tablets, until now. The new chap in the bed opposite was groaning, loud and incessently. Fortunately there was a doctor on the ward, so Dad collared him regarding the night sedation. 'Would it be possible to give that man something to shut him up?' Sadly, it classed as abuse and a no go, so Hincksy had to have a taste of his own medicine.

Dad is gutted that he's missing the flood action in Bangor-On-Dee, the time of year he likes best. Usually the boat comes out, he gets a flourescent jacket and a feeling of self-importance (for a change). As most of the village knows, he has invented his own flood-defence system for the house; a magnitude of plates for doors, windows and air-vents; and most importantly the pump. Needless to say, Bangor hasn't actually flooded in 40 years, but if it was ever going to, it would now, just to p*** him off that he missed it. Mum dutifully called the hospital for the drill, and has been an angel, in putting all the defences insitu (with the help of Terry). However, if the village does flood, she would like to invite anyone who knows how to operate the pump, over for a party!.

When asked what he had for tea, Dad wasn't sure - it's not returned from the lab yet, but he thinks it may have been a type of corned-beef from what he's picked out of his teeth - he officially has the country's hidden gristle mountain. I've seen an new, optomistic side of him tonight - he's requested a tub of grated cheese and pepper. I asked if he wanted some bread too, 'No, I'll put it on the food, it might give at some f*g taste!'

Regards to you all. Keeping Blogging, as have some ace messages to send to Hincksy, Vick

Dad's back to his lively self again, having had a good night's sleep and weighing a little lighter. I think the physios are just avoiding him and his hand signals completely now, for fear of being bombed at forty paces with something from his arsenal at Command HQ. He's due for review with the big bod tomorrow, and there will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth if he's not got the response he's looking - which generally includes whips, chains, thigh-high boots and a Speckled Hen.

Mike's visited again today, and brought loads of info on some torture equipment at his disposal - Dad's impressed (as long as the swedish model dispaying it is in on the deal too). Nevertheless he has sent me home with it all, and I'm sure he's expecting a full report on his 'desk' by tomorrow - pigs might fly! He's also been given a messaging, rotating ball...you know where this is going! Still pandering to his every whim, we rubbed his feet and legs dutifully, soon lost interest and gave it him back. (His feet are now so soft and massaged, when he's better and trotting around the village, don't be surpised if he yelps like a girl, that his shoes are chaffing him!) Needless to say he soon had the boys in bay, yet again rolling their eyes to the ceiling, at what he had found with the ball to do to wind my mum up in embarrassment. They'll take it off him and hide it by tomorrow. I think there is a storeroom somewhere on the ward, full of Paul Hincks's confiscated toys - the magnifying glass has been hidden again today.

Phil has been to visit - I hope he survived without a terminal case of methane poisoning. Mum was very impressed when Dad told her that Phil and her friend Gwen had been chatting in Welsh. Very naive...they were probably only deciding the quickest escape route without artilliary fire, without him understanding. Phil - if you're ready this, he is going to very disappointed if you don't blog. He's expecting you to take the p*** out of somebody's aerial, at the very least.

It seems that there are some of Dad's friends, there are so many, that don't know what's happened to him. Geoff & co only found out today. Please spread the word, Hincksy isn't bashful about this - more the shame - and he's going to needs loads of support, gossip and heckling to keep his spirits up.

After his quiet day yesterday, we took him just 4 mouthsize bites of grated cheese sandwich - we didn't want to waste the bread, he'd probably send us home with it. He was told that he had cheesy bake for tea, though it had to be chemically tested for this to be ascertained. After nothing but babyfood for a week, he devoured one bit of the butty - who were we kidding about bite-sized portions? In true form he exclaimed - 'There was more f*g cheese in that than the whole ward had for tea!'

More Soon, Vick