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Wheelbarrow Efforts

It's something to do

A Cautionary Tale

I wake very late every morning. My body has often had breakfast before I am in tune with my surroundings. I once woke up in Reading, after driving from Ashford in Kent on auto pilot.

 

However, the consequences of this zombie like behaviour are becoming more serious. For example, I lay in the hospital bed in my normal early morning state (eyes open, but no one home), when I felt an itch in the crook of my right arm. My brain dispatched the left hand to deal with it, and it was not until the third morning after that they stopped the bleeding. The spot I had removed with satisfaction had been the scab of a blood test puncture.

 

Im not the only one. The lady I sat beside for dinner the other Saturday had gone down stairs in the same state. She was carrying a cat under one arm and teacups in the other. Her slippers betrayed her, and she has suffered severe back pain for the last sixteen years.

 

But the latest event is the limit. Again in bed and half awake, I became aware of a persistent itch in my scrotum. My brain despatched a hand to deal with the problem, and chose that hand that had been trained for over sixty years in the care and delicate touch required, my dominant hand. However, being not really conscious, the brain missed the new important evidence. My stroke had totally destroyed my dominant hand which was only now making a slow recovery.

 

What approached the site of the itch can best be described as one of those cultivating tools with three prongs used to dig up weeds in the garden, wielded with the grace and lightness of touch to be expected from a work experience youth let loose on a JCB.

 

I leave you to imagine the pain!

Im not sure what picture would be appropriate here

Think before you Scratch!