The world is getting weird particularly my world. My mother wears a colostomy bag and I do the fiddly things that have to be done for her difficult condition. It's an hour of my life I'll never get back and my fingers hurt because I have to roll up the bottom with a stick strip and fold over, making sure the fold over bits go to the outside. TMI, sorry, it's life.
So to make things easier because the nursing staff just throw the whole lot into the hazardous waste and never open the bottom with the sticky strip, I thought I would ring the Ostomy Association and get exactly the same bag without a bottom sticky strip opening. No, they're not allowed to change the bags on my say so. I have to ring the District Nursing Service, who rings the stomal therapist, who rings the nursing home, who rings the doctor and then she makes an appointment to thoroughly go through mother's records etc. I know more about my mother's unusual condition than any stomal therapy nurse anywhere. I ring mother with the bad news (for me) and she said "no, bloody hell no". I thought she'd forgotten how to swear, she's always telling me off. "I hate those know-it-all bitches. You keep folding the ends."
She then tells me that she needs to buy a TENS re-chargable unit for the pain in her shoulders. She says it makes her comfortable, my sister says it's all in her head. The Home physiotherapist was going to order it but decided for some reason that I should do it and handed everything over to mum. So I'm going to walk in there with something that has to be charged like a cell phone and could give her heart a jolt if it's not okay but I can't walk in and hand over a plastic excrement bag, ostomy not my sister. I will take it to the office where it will be checked and re-checked by the electrician but I want to know why it's my job not the physiotherapist's. Her excuse was the high cost of the unit and she wanted me to be responsible.
The only joyous part of this morning was getting a parcel I've been waiting for except it was my address but not my name. Bless a company that put a phone number on the return and it turns out it is for 73 just up the street. It'll take me five minutes and I'll count that as my 30 minute day walk.
I tell you, the siren call of the soothing gin is getting stronger.