I phoned the Old Man at 07:47, and told him it was Sunday.
“Are you coming down here?” he asked; and he told me: “I’ve only just got up.”
We started with the deep box, of which he said:
“Fallen.” — i.e. it had fallen off the top of the telephone-table.
He offerred dispersible aspirin. Then:
“They’ve fallen out of the box, BLEKE.” I presume he was referring to the bubble-pack. He dissolved a dispersible aspirin, stirred and drank.
We moved on to lansoprazole; he offered ferrous sulphate. Then he found the lansoprazole and swallowed a capsule, but said he needed to refill his water-bottle. I rang off at 08:01.
At 08:37 I phoned again. The Old Man said he hadn’t had breakfast yet, owing to lack of time [!]. He offered simvastatin.
I asked him: “Have you got the box with the blue dots, or the one with no coloured dots?”
“No,” replied the Old Man.
I told him to look for the Normulen package. He said that he hadn’t refilled his water-bottle. He swallowed a half tablet of gliclazide.
We moved on to bendroflumethiazide.
“I think it’s bendroflumethiazide,” said the Old Man. He found a tablet of bendroflumethiazide, but claimed it was “half”. I queried this; I think he just meant that it was a small tablet. He swallowed it.
He found the amlodipine, but said:
“It’s fallen out of my hand.” — I think he meant the tablet, not the package. I told him to get another.
“I’ve lost the lid,” he said — the lid of the sandwich-box, I suppose. I had to remind him about the amlodipine.
“Are they half dots [sic] ?”
“What do you want, BLEKE?” he asked. I replied, “Amlodipine.”
“I can’t find it.” But shortly thereafter he found it, and swallowed a tablet.
“Levoperoxide?” He couldn’t find the levothyroxine.
Of the co-codamol, he said:
“I’ve found those straight away.”
He swallowed 2x co-codamol.
I tried again for levothyroxine; he offered bendroflumethiazide, but couldn’t find the levothyroxine.
Our phone-call ended at 09:13.
At 09:55 the Old Man had still not had breakfast. He said he wasn’t sure that he had any bread.
At 10:00 he hadn’t yet gone to make breakfast.
“Give me a chance,” he said.
At 13:50 he gave me some nonsense about having bought a lunch. It was obvious that he’d had nothing. Then when I pressed him:
“Why do you want to know?” and “I’m not telling you.”
At about 17:00 he was still not in the real world. He said he’d eaten his last banana.
At 19:13 I told him: “You’re not looking after yourself. What are you playing at?”
He rang off.
I rang back and told him to find the blue-top and red-top bottles. He didn’t understand. “Wake yourself up!” I told him.
He found the bottles, and swallowd a cod-liver-oil capsule and a multivitamin. I asked him: “Did you swallow them with water?”
“Oh, no,” he said, and drank some.
We moved on to the evening box. I told him to find the simvastatin.
“What do you mean?”
Clearly he wasn’t understanding much that I was saying.
He twice offered lansoprazole. He had the light on; I told him to open the curtains.
He found the levothyroxine, and swallowed a tablet.
“It’s divided by one,” he said — meaning, I think, that the levothyroxine tablet had a groove down the middle.
We moved on to ferrous sulphate, but the Old Man kept offering lansoprazole and dispersible aspirin. I told him to check whether the ferrous sulphate was (incorrectly) in the deep box. He found it, and swallowed a tablet.
For co-codamol, he offered lansoprazole, then ferrous sulphate, then amlodipine. “Which box are you looking in?” I asked him.
“The blue box, now,” he replied. He didn’t find the co-codamol. However, the Old Man sounded more awake and aware than he had at the start of the medication session.
Our phone-call ended at 20:07.
At 20:43 I phoned the Old Man, to sign off for the evening. I got him to take a drink of water.
[Original posting 25 July 2011]