Quick Visit

In and out of hospital for three days.  With my usual habit of telling myself "jack" stories, I'd managed to convince myself that my back was O.K., but my kidneys were going.  Probably the catheter was killing me.

I pissed off the doctors and nurses by refusing all pain meds except paracetamol, but I'm not cut out to be a morphine addict.   It takes weeks to get rid of the mouth and throat dryness and the after taste of withdrawal. 


Scans and x-rays showed nothing wrong with my kidneys, so I guess it is my back, again. Monday evening I'm interviewing a new GP; I'll ask for physio.

I'm still too tired to do anything except get dressed, but yesterday we had the yearly lunch with our neighbours where we used to live in Rémuzat.  Six hours at the lunch table and we were the second people -- only -- to leave.  I ate more than I've eaten for 3 weeks and promptly threw most of it up.  It had tasted good going down, though.

In fact, the food was so magnificent (cooked by a Belgian neighbour and his wife) that we are sworn to not discuss the meal -- to avoid a real estate rush, everyone wanting to live in La Combe and pushing property prices up.  (Yes sirree, the wine was flowing.)  This would  be good news only to the people who bought our house and  are now selling to return to the bright lights of Brussels.

A couple of friends who were there were supposed to visit today, but are suffering the aftermath.  Evidently the "lunch" didn't break up until 10:30.