Pain in my leg and in other legs

The stitches were peacefully removed from my left thigh in my GP's surgery this afternoon but owing to the infection requiring several stitches to be removed prematurely the wound has not fully healed and still requires antibiotics, treating and dressing. So, I stay with the crutches and let the cobwebs cover my Honda City languishing neglected in its garage detained without trial.

During the time when the infection raged through my leg, this dreadful war between Israel and Hezballah/Lebanon has caused wounds far deeper than mine. In pain, my heart goes out to those who are bleeding, who are weeping, who are fleeing. I am on the side of the victims on both sides of the border and to the aggressors on both sides of the borders, I yell, "Stop!" in a voice fit to carry right over there amidst the noise, and hope your voice joins with mine.

The slow travels of my left thigh

Only five months to Christmas.
I can hear you shriek from here.

I am still hobbling around on borrowed crutches and go places only with the assistance of friendly chauffeurs.
The surgeon rang me to tell me that the pathology results are back and it's all clear (whew), so there is no residual melanoma.

Meanwhile, the wound has become infected so I have antibiotics and pencillin to quaff each 4 times a day.
The joy of having pus squeezed out through 11 stitches inside one's left thigh is not one I highly recommend.
The stitches are due out tomorrow week, so I hope my car still recognises me by then.

Eleven Stitches

Yesterday afternoon I had that anticipated excision and I am the proud bearer of 11 stitches. The pathology review is due in 10 days and I shall know whether the removed freckle is primary or "in transit", i.e. something that had lain dormant since my St Valentine's Day massacre, a "dinner plate" excision in 1978. I dress my little wound in about 2 or 3 days and the stitches will come out in a fortnight. I return to my surgeon for inspection in 3 months time. My leg is not particularly energetic at the moment.

Just an ambitious freckle

I'm still here even though you may think otherwise since I've posted nothing here for 2 months.

I've received my son from Canberra, seen him off at Mascot International Airport at the beginning of his 4 week tour of UK and parts of Europe, collected him back and waved him "au revoir" as he drove to Brisbane.

Yesterday would have been my Pearl wedding anniversary had not the marriage collapsed after 11 years.
It was also the 22nd anniversary of Mum's death with the dreaded lung cancer in 1984.

Tomorrow I fight my way through the traffic and negotiate my way into a complicated car park to attend the Sydney Cancer Centre and Royal Prince Alfred Hospital in Newtown where I anticipate a wider excision of a superficial spreading melanoma on the inside of my left thigh just below a previous excision from the same thigh on St Valentine's Day 1978.

Would you keep your fingers crossed for me please if it doesn't interfere with your typing?

I expect to be bringing my leg back with me, well the rest of it, anyway.

Prayers at Ryde City Council

Last Tuesday night, I led our local Ryde Council in opening prayers.
I had not done this before.
I had the opportunity of reading the agenda beforehand so I was able to prepare accordingly.
Afterwards I was able to catch up with most Councillors and the others who had come to demonstrate for the retention of the Gladesville Library now under threat of closure.
An interesting evening.

ANZAC day memories

This is a rollcall of what war has cost my family.

Maternal grandparents: Son-in-law William returned from WW2 with one lung.
Maternal Grandma: Youngest brother Alex(20) killed at Pope's Hill, Gallipoli. Nephew David killed in RAF in UK leaving daughter. Niece's husband Mobs killed in RAAF in PNG leaving twin daughters. Niece's husband George in Gull Force killed in Ambon leaving 4 children.
Maternal Grandpa: Two cousins, Clarrie and Bert (married with children) killed in France during WW1. Nephew Ernest killed while POW in New Britain.
Paternal grandparents: Dad's brother Arthur killed in Buna, PNG. Dad survived Bomber Squadron but died prematurely in 1966.
Paternal Grandpa: Fought in Boer War. Younger brother Aubrey returned from WW1 mortally gassed leaving 3 sons. Nephew Ken shot down flying Sunderland flying-boat.

Another war anyone?
You've got to be kidding.

S for Sugar

Several days ago, I received some on-line information about my late father's WW2 service in the RAAF. He was a bomb-aimer in 463/467 Squadron flying on sorties in Avro Lancaster over Germany. He flew several missions in the famous PO -S, better known as "S for Sugar" which flew over 130 sorties and survived. Thousands of air-crew lost their lives, and my father survived the war. Today I had the experience of speaking over the 'phone to his navigator now 89 years old.

Yesterday, I attended the Palm Sunday service and march at Parramatta. I don't want to see anyone going to war and suffering from war again, so making and keeping a just peace is a high priority.