Cranky

I feel cranky and grumpy as hell

But what ails me I just cannot tell

Heavy chest, feeling rough

Yet no fever or cough

And a perfectly good sense of smell

I’m so tired of feeling this way

Short of breath on and off through the day

Tightness tugs as I breathe

Getting old, I believe

Childhood asthma returned? Who can say…

Fandango’s One Word Challenge: Cranky

The Joys of Spring

While spring-time fills my heart with joy

Plant pollen makes my red eyes itch

And constant sneezing does annoy

Hay-fever is a total bitch

Good anti-histamines employ

Reduce my allergies enough

To let me breathe, however rough

While scented flowers fill the air

I fill my lungs without a care

And wheeze until it makes me cough…

Ronovan’s Poetry Prompt: Itch

Age-Old Dilemmas

Dementia and delirious,

High fever and forgetfulness –

Such stressful times I must confess,

Hope nothing more nefarious?

With virus deadly serious,

Clear diagnosis undefined

Leaves worry keeping pace behind.

No matter what my dad has got,

Infected catheter or not,

Bewilderment meets rambling mind…

My dad’s been in hospital for the last three weeks. He turns 84 in the middle of next month, has survived four strokes and has vascular dementia with a noticably progressive deterioration over these last few months.

He was initially admitted with a bad UTI (urinary tract infection) and after a course of antibiotics to clear the infection was fitted with a permanant catheter to help make things easier for him to be back at home with my mum, where he desperately wants to be. But in spite of the excellent care he’s receiving he’s now developed another high temperature along with another UTI, so has started on another course of antibiotics but for obvious reasons has also had to be swabbed for Covid, although it’s highly unlikely he has it.

He’s already been in a room on his own in the hospital and has been barrier nursed from the start so for dad, the only real immediate change for him will be there will now be absolutely no question of him going home for at least the next two weeks, just to be sure. And at this rate it seems he might not even get home for his birthday. Or for mum’s birthday a few days later. And the thought of my mum and dad each having to spend their birthday on their own after nearly 60 years together makes me feel so sad.

It’s tough enough not having been able to see either of my elderly parents for a while due to lockdown, but now with dad in hospital it feels even harder. I’m torn, because I know he’s in the best place for now, but I know he hates being away from home and in unfamiliar surroundings. And I know it’s giving mum a much-needed rest from it all, but still I can’t help but worry about him all on his own in hospital.

I know there are many families across the world separated from their loved ones just now, some in truly dire, life-threatening circumstances. I know that in the midst of a world pandemic, my dad is just one increasingly frail old man with dementia who’s already lived a full life, who now finds himself stuck in isolation in hospital because of ongoing problems with his waterworks, but he’s still my dad and I love him more than I can say ❤

Ice Cream and Tears…

Ice Cream and Tears…

As silent enemy appears

And tortured worry ebbs and flows

Sweet comfort eating soothes my woes

While life feels threatened, filled with fears…

For lunch I have ice cream and tears

Oblivious to virus spread

That leaves a trail of many dead

I watch them battle on in vain

Too much to deal with, numbing pain

I swallow down ice cream instead…

Ronovan is going to be setting us a new challenge, to write an Espinela or Decima – a poem of ten lines with eight syllables in each line in two stanzas of four and six, and with a rhyming pattern of abba/accddc

I’ve never seen this form before, but it sounds intriguing so I thought I’d give it a go here as a kind of practice run, using Ronovan’s theme of modern society – and hopefully I’ve done it justice 🙂