Barbecue with the Moss Vale mob

On Wednesday, P. and I went into a flurry of making salads for a barbecue lunch at the Lesley/Louise/Michael residence. Dad provided the meat and Lesley & Co. the drinks and nibblies and MORE salad. Again, I was feeling off colour and didn't eat much and slept a lot, but the mob from Moss Vale spent most of the arvo. splashing around in the pool. It was also good to meet Lesley's mum, Margaret at long last. While it was good to catch up, I wish I were feeling a bit better.





By today, I was feeling a bit better and P. and I made it to the NGV, this time St Kilda Road, for the English watercolours which are well worth it. We then had an oh-so-tasteful lunch in the tea room. I had crustless sangoes and P. had salmon blinis, rounded off with an eclair each.

Charcoal Lane, UTI and Christmas

Lasst Wednesday, Frank, P. and I took Noel T. to dinner at Charcoal Lane to say thankyou for his many dinners chez lui. We had a splendid dinner: starting with Noel and I having lemon myrtle whisky sours (delicious!), then three blissful courses. The standard is still high at the Lane.

During the day, P. and I went to the NGV for their two Indigenous exhibitions at the Potter Gallery, 'Living Water', works acquired from the Western Desert and WA from the Felton Bequest 150th splurge. It is a colourfilled exhibition and too much to take in at one visit, as is the historical origins of Western desert painting, with works drawn worldwide. A second visit is required to avoid overload.

Back home, I had a call as a result of the pre-op. tests to say I have a urinary infection. What a surprise, after having a catheter in for two weeks nearly! I've been given (very efficiently) some huge antibiotic bombs to deal with it. Meanwhile, I don't feel like eating much: a tragedy for Christmas. All I feel like doing is sleeping, but I still went with Dad and Pierre to my sister's for Christmas Day. I ate like the proverbial mouse, even though the food, cooked by her husband, was really splendid (seafood bisque, turkey with all the trimmings and father's Christmas pud.)

Now its Boxing Day, and I'm doing what I should have done yesterday: slept. And the bombs seems to be taking some effect. I hope I'll feel normal by tomorrow.

A date for surgery

Today, with the help of my father for transport, I went to pre-operative at the Royal Melbourne to prepare for my prostate scrape-out. It will happen (unless fate intervenes) on 12 January and will require a hospital stay of two to three days, then a convalescence at home for four to six weeks with limited exercise.

Pre-operative is now a well-oiled routine: two nurses, a specialist (this time a urologist) and an anaesthetist, plus a visit to the estimable vampires in pathology. It all took a bit over two hours.

Back at the ranch, I'm now in the final stages of the short story collection, but need to take a deep breath and plunge into the difficult non-fiction, head first.

Urology capers

Today, I went to visit the inestimable Jim Samson of Urology at the Melbourne Hospital. He removed the catheter (painlessly) and set me to drinking lots of liquid with a view to peeing, which I eventually did. After examination (the old rectal finger), the young urologist recommended a prostate bore-out in January because it would be impossible if the problem recurred after a transplant (because of anti-rejection drugs).

There are the usual caveats but the op. is only a hour, plus two nights in hospital. Also, I am to head to emergency if I have any more trouble peeing. So it was a bit of a mixed blessing, but all in all, a satisfactory result. Thanks to Jim (the nurse) and James (the urologist) for very good treatment.

Meanwhile, work is piling up on short story collection and the non-fiction book, plus assorted leftovers. I'll have to attack all of that tomorrow. Today will be spent recovering from a bit of medical battering.

Life's full of surprises

I haven't posted for a while because P. and I have been preoccupied with medical matters. We went last Wednesday for our 'work-up' for the transplant. For a week and a half beforehand, I'd been having trouble peeing so I told the renal doctor and he said I was being admitted forthwith. The next two days were spent in hospital with myriad tests which showed in the end that I have an enlarged prostate which is stopping me from peeing. Something will have to be done about this before a transplant is possible. In the meantime, the symptoms are taken care of by a catheter straight into the bladder. It's a little uncomfortable, but I'm getting used to it.

Meanwhile, I've nearly finished the autobiography. Last Saturday night, P. and I went to see Meow Meow in The Little Match Girl at the Malthouse. It was a great show but didn't seem to have much to do with match girls.

When I was told I'd have to be admitted to hospital on Wednesday, I said, 'I can't, I'm going to the opera tonight.' The doctor said: 'No you're not.' but P. and Mike H. went instead to Of Mice and Men which I was sorry to miss, especially as they said it was quite good.