It has been one of those days. Started well a day or so earlier, with a letter from Ameli announcing my ALD (I believe just in connection with affairs of the heart…no, that can’t be right but you know what I mean ), and another one saying that, as I was over 82 I was entitled to a free covid jab.
The nurses were booked up 'till the end of the month so I made an appointment with the pharmacie in the larger town, for this morning. The letter said quite specifically that no documentation needed to be taken, but, as my Carte Vitale is always in the small purse I carry I thought that should be ok, just in case.
Got there 15 minutes early, a common habit of mine, hate people who are always late, and was quickly at the appropriate desk. With some difficulty I heard from the lady behind the thick plastic screen that they needed my CV. Ably concealing my, I told you so, smile, I produced the required item. By this time another lady had joined her in studying their screen closely and ‘piece d’identite’ was mentioned (2nd doc apparently not needed ) but then as I struggled to produce the only thing I had which I know is not accepted by all, my driving licence, that was cancelled. (3rd doc, albeit cancelled). Then to the 4th doc not needed, ‘mutuelle’? I have one but it is in my larger wallet which I do not carry with me. More screen study, searching for me under Axa. Unsuccessful. Then I was asked which arm I wanted it into which I replied, as always, not being a gaucher, the left one please, but then nearly made a fatal mistake. I made a joke.
‘As you can see’, pointing to all the bruises and puncture wounds, ‘there isn’t much room but it is for the best’. Shock horror, explanation demanded. I continued to hurtle towards my impending doom, cheerfully, ‘I had a heart attack 3 weeks ago’
. More shock horror, ‘are you allowed to recieve a covid injection?’ Then, ‘are you taking anticoagulants?’ ‘No idea, but I am taking 6 pills a day where one sufficed before so I reckon the anti-coag will be in there somewhere.’ Doubtfully they concurred with that but then said, as a final shot that I would have to pay for it. At this point I was ready to turn on my heel and trust my covid immunity to luck but instead I agreed to pay the enormous sum of €2.36 and was immediately ushured into the adjacent room where the seat was indicated to me while the dreaded needle was sorted from a little green bucket. I was required to take my shirt off because she couldn’t find enough spare flesh for the deed. I apologised for my slow take up and remarked that I normally wore a hearing aid (me too, she butted in brightly and we were now copins), but I fell into the river and lost them. Loads of sympathy now, with oohs and aahs, and she just touched the needle to my skin. I never felt it go in, either she was a super expert or secretly had decided the risk was too great. Then she asked me a question which was really puzzling. It sounded very much like, in French of course, ‘are you female?’ but, quick as a flash I realised was ‘does it feel bad?’ (fait mal?) She noted my hesitation so I explained what I had thought she said. Peals of laughter as she indicated that I should sit in the seat provided in the store for 15 minutes before leaving.
But she wasn’t quite finished with me yet, engrossed as I was in my Kindle she came again and gently touched my shoulder ‘just checking you hadn’t fallen asleep.’ Friends for life, I shall look forward to my next visit.
Then to Super U. All I wanted was a box of Shredded Wheat which disappeared from our own Auchan’s shelves a year or more ago. Non was forthcoming so I headed for the nearest exit the last line in a long row of cashouts and my usual exit in times of empty handidness. Unfortunately Eva Braun was at the till as I breezed forwards with a cheery arms outstretched ‘rien du tout’. ‘NO, Interdit, you must go to the no purchase exit’, 100 metres away, or so it seemed, ‘but I am only going for a coffee’ which is right next door. ‘NO’.
So I walked up the line and found a larger than usual checkout, presumably for the elderly, infirmed and confused, which was attended to by a young lady cashing a customer through. So I went through. feeling well qualified, and headed for the coffee shop but I reckoned without Eva who appeared to be reaching for a phone to call Adolf. I did try to explain that everyone else lets me through but she treated me to a very stern warning before I could continue for my coffee, but as I waited to be served I was braced for the hand of a stormtrooper landing on my shoulder.
Non came so I hurried outside to sit with some friends who had hailed me but I had at first ignored, so traumatised as I was.
I have come to the conclusion that I am not so weak, confused, and infirm that I thought I was. Maybe if I brushed up on that a bit, I might have an easier passage through what’s left of my life.