Comment Allez Vous Messieurs?
Us chaps of a certain age are prone to problems with various parts of the body below the waist and occasionally these problems need a bit of attention. The first step, normally the one l find most difficult to take, as it acts as a precursor to a chain reaction that once started takes on a rather speedy life of its own, is a visit to the Medecin. Now don’t get me wrong l really like the stern, professional young woman who has had the misfortune of being my Doctor for the past 13 years, but she speaks little or no English and our conversations where l try to explain symptoms involving the processing and discharge of waste product or malfunction of the male organ could be, quite frankly, construed as being highly amusing if it wasn’t so devilishly embarrassing.
In any event I have learned, over the years, that preparation is the key to making this difficult first consultation less stressful. With the help of pre-prepared diagrams and countless visits to the Larousse English/French medical dictionary l now go armed with a polished presentation which could only be improved by using my laptop computer – l did try it once but the wife thought the French medical profession were not quite ready for Prostate by Powerpoint.
Once the presentation has been delivered and the Doctors examination complete she goes through her lists and recommends the Specialist she thinks is best suited for the next stage of the process – the name, address of their Cabinet and phone number are handed over and then its up to me to make the call to arrange the appointment. I am constantly surprised that it takes between 3 and 5 months to get an appointment with an Ophtalmologue (eye Dr) but only a few weeks, or even sometimes days, to get a rendezvous with a Cardiologue, Oncologiste, Urologiste, Gastro Enterologue or other Surgeon.
I do not advise taking any diagrams or notes with you to the Surgeons office, rather rely on your Doctors written explanation that introduces you and your problem to the Specialist. A couple of years ago l made the mistake of producing my own notes and diagrams to an Ear Nose & Throat surgeon who promptly placed them in a draw, which she closed rather loudly, before announcing, in perfect English, that we would be doing a Laryngoscopy post haste to discover what, if anything, was wrong. Within 10 minutes the examination was over and l was presented with a letter for my Doctor and my notes thrust back into my hand and told no action was necessary.
On less happy occasions when surgical intrusion has been necessary the waiting time has been minimal and the process of entering the Clinic or Hospital, after the Anesthesiste appointment, the procedure and post-op care have been excellent. Oh, there was one wonderful occasion when in the Intensive care unit following a nasty heart attack and angio-plastie procedure, the female head of the Department insisted that she knew me from a previous stay in the hospital. Having never stepped foot in the place before l told her in feeble French that she was mistaken, she said she was not and insisted that l had been in the Hospital earlier that year.
Being wired up to various electronic monitoring devices and receiving oxygen and a saline drip through tubes, although not very pleasant, had not affected my long, or short-term, memory in the slightest and l insisted, in rather louder French, that she was wrong. Standing at the foot of the bed, with my notes in her hand, and her glasses perched on the end of her nose she, in an even louder voice, told me l was completely mad and a very stupid Englishman. As the monitors started to beep a little louder and quicker l reverted to my mother tongue using some choice words about ‘duty of care’ and her mental health.
Obviously the whole unit was up in arms and l was immediately identified as the culprit and told to calm down and stop disturbing the peace. The woman left in a huff and l was left feeling like l had experienced some nasty dream. I spoke to my surgeon later in the day and explained what had happened, he listened carefully, asked a couple of questions but made no comment. On the morning of the day of my departure from the unit the woman reappeared at the foot of the bed. She offered a very mild apology saying she had checked hospital records and was mistaken. Being extraordinarily happy at not only not being dead but going home that day l readily accepted her apology.
Over the years l have found French male Surgeons all have some English in varying degrees of competence. My Cardiologue is a serious minded Young man but shows flashes of a very warm and gentle sense of humour. The first time l had a Colonoscopy was about twelve years ago, the second more recently. Both surgeons spoke pretty good English and displayed an unexpected degree of black humour. When told l had to have an Endoscopie and Coloscopie he asked if l was scared. “Of course l am” l said, “me too” was his response. At the post-op visit to get the results of the biopsie and some advice on residual pain (both of which were benign) his parting shot, with a large smile was “ Maintenant, allez mourir ailleurs” (Now go and die elsewhere). Still l suppose their job isn’t a lot of fun and they need to get a laugh when they can.
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