Well, despite being able to attend Bible study Thursday night and work Friday morning, my health finally got the better of me Friday afternoon while walking to the grocery store with Kyle. I believed an ear infection was causing me to feel lightheaded and woozy. I felt totally fatigued as if all my strength had been wicked out of my body by a dementor. Oddly enough, I was still in good spirits and seemed more amused by confused state than anything else. Poor Kyle became terribly worried because I was off and completely out of it. He called my mom the moment we arrived back to our apartment for some advice. It was determined that we'd best see the doctor asap! At this point, most doctors offices had closed for the day leaving the hospital as our only option.
However, many of you know that France has socialized medicine and even the emergency room (called centre d'urgence) is full of French people with the French work ethic (that is to say, very little to no dedication to being efficient). It was rather calm and there were a few friendly folks holding out for their turn to see a doctor in the waiting room. We passed more than two hours together before
Lea Amilton was summoned by the nurse.
The nurse did a few of the normal things~she took my temperature, checked my blood pressure, and recorded my symptoms in my newly made file. However, being quite a doctor's office/emergency room aficianado as well as having worked in a medical center made me acutely aware of some missing factors. They didn't weigh me or check my height though that is not too strange. They didn't ask me about any medical conditions I had, any current medications, any allergies to medications, anything about smoking or drinking, or really any thing about my medical history. Not to be too gross (especially for the male readers), but they asked nothing about my "lady days". This is Medicine 101, people.
The nurses next move came as quite a shock. I had come in with all sorts of trouble with my head. My head is the problem, and yet she insisted in derobing all from the waist up and putting on a blue medical gown. You know, the kind that reveals your behind if unfortunate enough to be admitted for a longer stay at the hospital. I guess it's simply the French way to insist that women take off their shirts whenever possible. Similarly my only other visit to a doctor's office in France was for immigration. All immigrants are required to get chest x-rays to ensure we're not going to infect the population with TB. I've had a chest x-ray once before at Georgia Tech during my orientation (FASET for my gtg friends out there). Somehow my TB test results hadn't made it into my medical report to the school; and I couldn't register for classes until they knew my lungs were pristine. It was an altogether different procedure in France than it was in the U.S. In the U.S. they are very kind and modest; you go into the room by yourself, someone tells you how to stand as they snap the picture then you are released to cover back up. In France, you go into a big room with a nurse or two. They make you press the top part of your body on what appears to be a large glass panel while holding your elbows out like your doing the Chicken Dance. It's quite miserable and awkward. The dignity of the patient seems like a low priority here.
Then the nurse proceeded to tell me the doctor would be in shortly, and left me to sit in my little room for 2 hours by myself. Sorry, no husbands allowed. Don't you know that visitors aren't allowed in the emergency room. I spent the better part of that time thinking of the ridiculous name of the emergency room (centre d'urgence), as there is nothing urgent about what they do.
To add insult to injury (or rather headache), I overheard the nurse mention to some unknown person outside my room that I was British and didn't speak French. Hello, we had just carried on a whole conversation in French, lady! I admit that I didn't have the words "lightheaded" or "bleed" in my vernacular, but I substituted those with "feeling like I will faint" and "my body dispenses blood" with a gesture that implied gushing. I'm sure it sounded silly, but not as silly as a Brit. That's just rude. I'm all American. By the way, my room doesn't have a door; I can hear you through my shower curtain, nurse....
So I endured those hours humming old piano songs I learned in the Suzuki method books to the rhythm of an old woman's heart monitor. She had fallen and didn't seem to know where she was or what they were doing to her. It was certainly sad to overhear. I prayed. I worked up the nerve to ask if Kyle could be with me (as there was a chair in my tiny room that obviously wasn't for the doctor). I was scolded by the nurse saying that she already said no. I thought about my family. I thought about how I found the hospital and doctors in Spain so much better in light of my miserable situation in the French hospital. I thought about why I didn't feel good and tried to come up with some vocabulary from the depths of my memory to express myself better to my physician. I thought about that night in the ER with my family where they said when the night was over, I could have chocolate ice cream and watch the Olympic opening ceremonies. And that's exactly what we did that night. I thought about how I could try to sneak out to the waiting room to get my copy of
Jane Eyre from Kyle so I wouldn't feel so bored or lonely. Wearing the cloth gown and feeling super cold and vulnerable prevented me from being so bold. I thought about the theories I read about Lost and how the show might conclude. I wished I could tell Kyle that I hadn't been treated yet and he should go get some food because we missed dinner entirely. It was a unique and unexpected time of reflection.
Miraculously the doctor came a few minute before 11pm. I started feeling bad around 4 or 4:30pm and finally we'd get to the bottom of it. He requested that I make the most of my hospital gown and lose my pants and shoes. We talked about my symptoms; he checked my heart and eyes and ears. We did a neurological exam to rule out anything more serious. He made me laugh when he tried to explain ulcers to me in baby french and then in English~his pronunciation of stomach sounded like
stomashe. Ultimately, he found nothing serious wrong with me. I couldn't believe it was not my ears. I am the queen of ear infections and mysterious hearing loss and other things I should probably not discuss for modesty's sake. The doctor wrote me a prescription for each of my symptoms~goodbye pain, goodbye vertigo, goodbye nausea. I was allowed to put my clothes back on and given some medication to take immediately. They released me to the waiting room where I had nothing new to share with Kyle. It's a mystery.
I don't know what to take from the experience. It just seemed miserable because I still don't feel great and I have medicine to treat my symptoms. We'll have to go to the doctor again on Monday to see if there is somebody who can get to the root of the problem. Don't you know I'm thrilled about seeing another physician hot on the heals of this spectacular waste of time in French medicine. The one thing it indicated to me was that everything I fear about socialized medicine could be reality. Sorry French citizens~you, too, shall be responsible for paying the expenses from my useless hospital visit. I promise to try and take care of myself for your sake until I return to my homeland.
Sorry, this was a vent entry~a ventry, if you will. There are plenty of good things going on. For instance, yesterday I finished administering the standardized test at one of my schools. My student Quentin (made popular by his drawing of a tiny version of him and a giant version of me) surprised me greatly. They were required to ask at least 4 questions in English for me to respond to. His last question: Do you have a boyfriend? I nearly fell out of my chair laughing and in shock. I did not teach him that. Someone has been studying English outside of class... In other good news, we have a large group of friends coming to stay with us for the next few days. It'll be quite a treat. I'm on vacation for two weeks and can relax a bit. In a week Kyle's parents, brother, and sister are visiting. There's plenty to be happy about and plenty to be thankful for. Though not in the best of health, I certainly am happy.
This is a promise that there will be photos in the next entry as well as some nice stories. I hope all is well with you wherever you are. If you feel inclined to pray, please pray that we get an answer about why I don't feel well. Thanks friends. A bientot....
