"A Penny for your thoughts... A "Nico" for your Kiss. A smile and I'll tell you that I love ya."
Or so it goes. Almost. But when it rains it pours, and this month's taste of love is filled with those of the Nico, Nick, and Nicolas variation.
Let's start with Boyfriend #1. Nico. A French man whose stunning good looks and constant gentlemanly behavior had me at 'Bonsoir' about 4 weeks ago. He brought me to, and stayed with me in the hospital, the jungle, and even during my post-needle traumatic period (aka. PiNT time). He laughs at me when I wince at the horrible taste of mineral water. He finds it charming that I NEED another pair of boots. He will reach for an air guitar pick when I break into a random air drum solo. He reminds me to take my "medeeehsun capsoool" and isn't afraid to tell me "No." Well, he hasn't actually tried yet, but I think he'll be up for it at some point. (Let's admit it, who wants Jello when they can have cake, know what I mean?)
Boyfriend #2. Nick. He's the British chap who you all met in the si'l vous plait mate story.
He's not actually a boyfriend, but qualifies more as a friend, who is a boy, with whom I like to play, cavort, and share the English language with. We hold the same interests and values when it comes to important matters such as Social status, Research, Sex, and Brand names. Oh and his accent is ooh la la sexy. And Yes, we all know the weakness I have for the British tongue. Whatever, I'm a sucker for a London boy.
Boyfriend #3: Mr. Nicolas Sarkozy.I can't help it!
http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1116322312
If it werent for his stifling 5'2" frame and his friendship with George Dubbya I think I'd be pursuing this one full force. I'm not sure if its because he's the President of France and I think I have a chance, or if I find him attractive. I'm pretty sure its the former. My "team" at work is adamant against me dating Mr. Sarkozy, (and trust me we've discussed this at great lengths) but I think it would be fun to have him out for drinks and even back for a late night game of Wii at my friend Olivier's. Although O says if I show up with Nic Sarkozy to his house, he'll poison him. So lets just keep this one on the back burner "as friends" for now. But when I start dating the President, I dont want anyone acting like it came out of nowhere. And what's in it for him you ask? a 5'10 American blonde that doesn't speak French of course. I'm the perfect accoutrement for a single French President!
Questions? comments? Go by the name of Nick and want to be entered into next month's boyfriend selections? Email Me: diane@rhymeswithnick.com
November 28, 2007
November 23, 2007
(part 3) You like Paris?
"No! No. No? No! No. Please. I dont want to go to the hospital."All I can think is please let me leave now while I've still got breath to give.
"It's just for a few days..." and the Doctor leaves the room. My Panic sets in. In America, if you are actually admitted into the hospital, post-ER, that's one thing. But it's certainly another to be told you'd be spending the better part of your PTO there. I was doomed.
Thankfully, my friend had stayed with me for the entire 8 hour ER episode and would be accompanying me to my new digs, out of the jungle and into the Maxi-hospital. So 2 of the nurses start to prep me and my IV laden wheelie-bed for the extravaganza to come. They throw a blue tarp over me and tell my friend to tell me to "hang on."
I can only imagine the look that must have come across my face when hearing this because my friend immediately starts laughing. The look must have been a cross between horror, surprise and what the fuck? Because he was in tears laughing and apologzing at the same time.I'll admit. It was kinda funny.
So out we go. Literally outside of the building they wheel me. It was freezing cold so thank god for the tarp and that it wasnt raining. And trust me, there were no overhangs in case it was. I would have just gotten drenched. Then we go down a long, cobblestone path, and the bed is shaking and rocking so much I think I'm going to fall. Here I think that same look comes across my face b/c my friend starts laughing again and at this point, so do I. As we roll down the rocky sub-terranean path to the hospital, he holds up an imaginary microphone to his mouth and says, "Deeahhne-- you like Paris?" Then swings the mike to me, where all I could do was laugh and reply a weak, "yes."
Oh the malpractice suits that await French Healthcare!It's truly unbelievable what is deemed "appropriate." I mean, really did have to hang on while we were wheeling through outside. Not only due to the adventurers-cobblestone path, but also partly due to the shady, misplaced man smoking in the public courtyard, the loose wires and construction everywhere, and finally the big bump that almost thrust the needle out of my arm when we made our entrance up into the hospital main floor.
Finally, to my room. Room 27.
4th floor. Infections.
I get into my new bed and let me tell you-- miles better than the crap beds they have in the jungle. I forgot that sheets werent made of plastic. I begin to nestle myself in, crying on the inside the whole time of course. Visiting hours are over so I bid my friend bonsoir and merci beaucoup and tell him he can have my itouch.
Now it's time for business. Me vs. the French. The nurse is hovering over me asking me questions in French. Instead of replying the already obvious, "je n'parle pas francais,"I try simply just to avoid eye contact. I could tell she was going to come at me with something, probably in the form of a needle, so this new approach was all I had. Avoidance.
Didnt work. She nabbed my right arm like a Trainspotting novice, wrapped it tight with a plastic death-band and took a large quantity of blood. damn. But at least now she was gone and I could sleep. But first I really had to pee.
This 1 minute activity that quickly turned into 20, can not be explained any other way than-- perseverence. As I mentioned, I'd never had an IV before so I wasnt sure how these contraptions worked. So I do my best to assess the situation. I had a 3 wheeler holding my med bags 5 feet off the ground. This was my mobile tubing headquarters and was to accompany me everywhere. I needed to shift that over so I could hoist myself up from my bed. As I stand, I notice there is now red (I assume blood) back tracking back up into my IV tube in my arm. That didnt look good. Ok so nowI had to hurry before the nurse came back with more excuses and needles telling me not to move. Long story, a little shorter, I got the tubes shut on the bathroom door, bruised my leg trying to be quiet as not to wake up Valerie, my new roomie. And my back hurt so bad that I could barely reach to the side to grab toilet paper and in doing so, I hit my hip on the wall and cry a little out loud in pain. Finally I hobble myself back to bed. Albeit, the experience left me feeling proud. Mission accomplished!I can do this!
So I beep the nurse to tell her the exciting news, oh and to mention about the blood/IV thing too. She walks in and before I could subtitle myself, she rips me a new one for going pee by myself (I left the light on). Thats what she was for and I was to use one of these! And holds up-- you guessed it, a bed pan. uh uh. no way no how. I was not 75 and certainly did not require a bed pan. Not to mention I have terrible aim and get extremely gun shy so if I was going to be doing any peeing, it was going to be on my own painful 20-30 minute expedition.
Sunday Morning.
6am. More needles. More blood drawn. IV bags changed. back to sleep.
8am. Breakfast is served: 1 croissant. 1 demi baguette.1 luke warm bowl of bad coffee.
11am: Intern asshole shows up with a whole lot of questions. one of them being, "An American in Paris? Why haven't you learned the language?" and shakes his head at me in disgust. He then shares what he considers enlightening news. "Deeahnne, it appears as though you have an infection in your kidneys. We'll need to do more tests." Then leaves.
1pm. Lunch is served: Pork with peas and carrots. a demi baguette.
I sleep. I sleep. I sleep. I go pee.
1pm-8m: No Doctor. No results. No timeline. No solutions.
8pm. Dinner is served: Ham steak on beans. 1 small baguette.
I quit.
For those of you that do not know, I am a vegetarian. I also eat fish which technically makes me a pescaterian. But for those of you doing the math here, keep in mind I have not eaten since Friday afternoon. It is now Sunday evening, and I have consumed 1 small croissant and 1 small baguette.
So I ask Valerie to go smuggle me some chocolate from the vend and tell her to get herself anything she wants too. "Its on me. Here's 7 euros in change. make it last Val!"
She brings me a Lion bar. I go to sleep.
This routine continues for another day...I needed to talk to someone. Or at the very least my painkiller dosage upped. I was dying and still no Doctor had come to see me.
It was Monday and I had not brushed my teeth or hair, nor had an outfit change in almost 3 days.
I was still screaming "aloha" from the waist up and I had no idea where my maroon pants were.
Tuesday. I take action. I make a plea bargain for my better health. Fortunately, I had a minor Degree in Persuasive Communication from USC and it was here I intended to outwit the French health care program.
"Doctor. Si Vous-plait. I'm extremely mal-nourished. I've developed an alergy to the color beige and to my roommate Valerie. If additional tests were needed I would appreciate the option of testing off-site and would make visits and appoinments my number 1 priority.Antibiotics are my middle name and I'm feeling a little better at the thought already. Please consider?"
Four hours later- Presto chango, they had come to their senses and agreed to an early release.
Beaucoup water, antibiotics 2x day, efferevescent codeine for pain as needed, and lots of rest.
So now I'm home. Thanksgiving has passed, but I did give thanks. For a lot...And It's still not over with me, but I do feel a hell of a lot better. Merci Beaucoup, Frenchies.
And I may have given this Medical experience a bad rap, but truth be told, the French know how to do it. They help. They dont ask a lot of questions but they do their best to make you better. And as far as ER's go, well I'm sure Saint Antoine is a lot better than SF General or Oakland County. No, I'm positive it is.
And now more than ever, I truly appreciate the importance of my learning French post-haste. It's possible I could have been out of there on Monday had I known how to ask "Do you have a Supervisor?"
"It's just for a few days..." and the Doctor leaves the room. My Panic sets in. In America, if you are actually admitted into the hospital, post-ER, that's one thing. But it's certainly another to be told you'd be spending the better part of your PTO there. I was doomed.
Thankfully, my friend had stayed with me for the entire 8 hour ER episode and would be accompanying me to my new digs, out of the jungle and into the Maxi-hospital. So 2 of the nurses start to prep me and my IV laden wheelie-bed for the extravaganza to come. They throw a blue tarp over me and tell my friend to tell me to "hang on."
I can only imagine the look that must have come across my face when hearing this because my friend immediately starts laughing. The look must have been a cross between horror, surprise and what the fuck? Because he was in tears laughing and apologzing at the same time.I'll admit. It was kinda funny.
So out we go. Literally outside of the building they wheel me. It was freezing cold so thank god for the tarp and that it wasnt raining. And trust me, there were no overhangs in case it was. I would have just gotten drenched. Then we go down a long, cobblestone path, and the bed is shaking and rocking so much I think I'm going to fall. Here I think that same look comes across my face b/c my friend starts laughing again and at this point, so do I. As we roll down the rocky sub-terranean path to the hospital, he holds up an imaginary microphone to his mouth and says, "Deeahhne-- you like Paris?" Then swings the mike to me, where all I could do was laugh and reply a weak, "yes."
Oh the malpractice suits that await French Healthcare!It's truly unbelievable what is deemed "appropriate." I mean, really did have to hang on while we were wheeling through outside. Not only due to the adventurers-cobblestone path, but also partly due to the shady, misplaced man smoking in the public courtyard, the loose wires and construction everywhere, and finally the big bump that almost thrust the needle out of my arm when we made our entrance up into the hospital main floor.
Finally, to my room. Room 27.
4th floor. Infections.
I get into my new bed and let me tell you-- miles better than the crap beds they have in the jungle. I forgot that sheets werent made of plastic. I begin to nestle myself in, crying on the inside the whole time of course. Visiting hours are over so I bid my friend bonsoir and merci beaucoup and tell him he can have my itouch.
Now it's time for business. Me vs. the French. The nurse is hovering over me asking me questions in French. Instead of replying the already obvious, "je n'parle pas francais,"I try simply just to avoid eye contact. I could tell she was going to come at me with something, probably in the form of a needle, so this new approach was all I had. Avoidance.
Didnt work. She nabbed my right arm like a Trainspotting novice, wrapped it tight with a plastic death-band and took a large quantity of blood. damn. But at least now she was gone and I could sleep. But first I really had to pee.
This 1 minute activity that quickly turned into 20, can not be explained any other way than-- perseverence. As I mentioned, I'd never had an IV before so I wasnt sure how these contraptions worked. So I do my best to assess the situation. I had a 3 wheeler holding my med bags 5 feet off the ground. This was my mobile tubing headquarters and was to accompany me everywhere. I needed to shift that over so I could hoist myself up from my bed. As I stand, I notice there is now red (I assume blood) back tracking back up into my IV tube in my arm. That didnt look good. Ok so nowI had to hurry before the nurse came back with more excuses and needles telling me not to move. Long story, a little shorter, I got the tubes shut on the bathroom door, bruised my leg trying to be quiet as not to wake up Valerie, my new roomie. And my back hurt so bad that I could barely reach to the side to grab toilet paper and in doing so, I hit my hip on the wall and cry a little out loud in pain. Finally I hobble myself back to bed. Albeit, the experience left me feeling proud. Mission accomplished!I can do this!
So I beep the nurse to tell her the exciting news, oh and to mention about the blood/IV thing too. She walks in and before I could subtitle myself, she rips me a new one for going pee by myself (I left the light on). Thats what she was for and I was to use one of these! And holds up-- you guessed it, a bed pan. uh uh. no way no how. I was not 75 and certainly did not require a bed pan. Not to mention I have terrible aim and get extremely gun shy so if I was going to be doing any peeing, it was going to be on my own painful 20-30 minute expedition.
Sunday Morning.
6am. More needles. More blood drawn. IV bags changed. back to sleep.
8am. Breakfast is served: 1 croissant. 1 demi baguette.1 luke warm bowl of bad coffee.
11am: Intern asshole shows up with a whole lot of questions. one of them being, "An American in Paris? Why haven't you learned the language?" and shakes his head at me in disgust. He then shares what he considers enlightening news. "Deeahnne, it appears as though you have an infection in your kidneys. We'll need to do more tests." Then leaves.
1pm. Lunch is served: Pork with peas and carrots. a demi baguette.
I sleep. I sleep. I sleep. I go pee.
1pm-8m: No Doctor. No results. No timeline. No solutions.
8pm. Dinner is served: Ham steak on beans. 1 small baguette.
I quit.
For those of you that do not know, I am a vegetarian. I also eat fish which technically makes me a pescaterian. But for those of you doing the math here, keep in mind I have not eaten since Friday afternoon. It is now Sunday evening, and I have consumed 1 small croissant and 1 small baguette.
So I ask Valerie to go smuggle me some chocolate from the vend and tell her to get herself anything she wants too. "Its on me. Here's 7 euros in change. make it last Val!"
She brings me a Lion bar. I go to sleep.
This routine continues for another day...I needed to talk to someone. Or at the very least my painkiller dosage upped. I was dying and still no Doctor had come to see me.
It was Monday and I had not brushed my teeth or hair, nor had an outfit change in almost 3 days.
I was still screaming "aloha" from the waist up and I had no idea where my maroon pants were.
Tuesday. I take action. I make a plea bargain for my better health. Fortunately, I had a minor Degree in Persuasive Communication from USC and it was here I intended to outwit the French health care program.
"Doctor. Si Vous-plait. I'm extremely mal-nourished. I've developed an alergy to the color beige and to my roommate Valerie. If additional tests were needed I would appreciate the option of testing off-site and would make visits and appoinments my number 1 priority.Antibiotics are my middle name and I'm feeling a little better at the thought already. Please consider?"
Four hours later- Presto chango, they had come to their senses and agreed to an early release.
Beaucoup water, antibiotics 2x day, efferevescent codeine for pain as needed, and lots of rest.
So now I'm home. Thanksgiving has passed, but I did give thanks. For a lot...And It's still not over with me, but I do feel a hell of a lot better. Merci Beaucoup, Frenchies.
And I may have given this Medical experience a bad rap, but truth be told, the French know how to do it. They help. They dont ask a lot of questions but they do their best to make you better. And as far as ER's go, well I'm sure Saint Antoine is a lot better than SF General or Oakland County. No, I'm positive it is.
And now more than ever, I truly appreciate the importance of my learning French post-haste. It's possible I could have been out of there on Monday had I known how to ask "Do you have a Supervisor?"
(part 2) The Jungle
Welcome to Saint-Antoine Hospital, ER, aka. the Jungle.
I swear they were trying to kill me. It may have been the drugs, but I'm pretty sure there was a grand conspiracy in both the ER and the hospital to "off the American."
I arrive to Saint Antoine Emergency Room in Paris on Saturday afternoon. The non-cute paramedic takes me in to the jungle, telling me jokes (in French) and looking at me like he expects a laugh. If I could have made a fist, I'm not kidding you, I would have bopped him one good.
So once inside the jungle, one of the nurses puts me on a wheelie bed and I am so thankful to be lying down, I just want to nap as I am so exhausted.However, I am immediately told, "no nap, no sleep, just in case..." OK, well lets hurry this along then. Didn't they know who I was? Surely I had to know someone at this hospital...if I could just have a quick peep around...Oh who was I kidding? Sometimes even I wonder who I am. To thinkI am going to be admitted to a FRENCH hospital, a non-french speaker, run into someone I know, and then be the very first one looked after. I could see it in my thoughts."Hurry! Go make sure the American is OK!" Riiiiight....
Ok so 4 hours later, I am diagnosed with Viral Menengitis. Bring on the Sars Masks!
http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/meningitis-topic-overview
Everybody that entered "Box 3"(my little ER room) had to wear a mandatory mask. Even me. [Side note here, but its funny how karma works-- since 2001 I've had a mild fascination/preoccupation with the Sars mask phenomenon particularly that stemmed from the Burberry Sars Season. And now here I was starring in my own sars mask line. Not Burberry. I think it's called M3 and they also make post-its.] Anyway...
I'm pretty sure at this point I'd reached the end of my line, so it didnt matter what kind of mask I had. I had a french doctor that was now telling me he had to take this special kind of test that would essentially remove liquid from my spine. And not to mince words, he kindly added, "This WILL hurt, so we'll need you to hold still and if you want, we can give you some gas before that should help with some of the pain."
Um, Ok.
So I'm breathing like a maniac to try and get as much gas as possible into my system before he gets going. The doctor keeps coming over to me while I'm inhaling his magic toxins and asking if I'm Ok. I was. The problem was, this shit wasnt working fast enough and I felt way too coherent to be probed in any sort of menacing way. But because its the ER, I could feel his time line closing in on me, and I had only a few puffs left. Fuck. I didn't want this. I didnt want this. I didnt want this. I think even on the gas I may have tried to click my heels like Dorothy in the Whiz. Unfortunately, I had no shoes or socks on, so my dreams were quickly smashed.
The Nurse sat me up and she and the doctor got behind me. The next thing I know, there is a VERY large needle curving into my spine and I have never, ever, make no mistake about it, felt pain like this before in my life. I cry. Loudly. I was now the girl in Box 3 who was not going to make it. Meanwhile, the Doctor is saying "perfect.perfect."
Excuze moi, Doctor? Perfect? Are you joking me? F Off! I should have killed you and that stupid paramedic when I had the chance! et Voila. Spine check= done.
Next up? IV's and Brain scans? Great! Can't wait.
"Deeahnne, we now go to check your brain for damage and after that we hook you up to IV, ok?" Do I have a choice?
So the nurse wheels me into another section where the labs and scans are and hands me off to two 20-something "dude's" that run the lab. Right before I am automated into the MRI/Xray machine is when the Doctor appears and says, "its forbidden to move your head." I was so stressed out now. He didnt indicate how long I would be in there or how long the process would take, just that it was forbidden for me to move. And we all know saying something like that to someone is like saying, "Hot plate! Don't touch!"
I was now completely out of sorts, feeling compelled, and sweating profusely from 1) the fever and 2) the stress of not moving my head a centimeter, or else! When the Jack Nicholson head strap velcroed tight over my head, all I could do was begin making out my christmas list. Oh, that and determining who the lucky individual would be to inherit my itouch.
I go in. I come out. Time escaped me here, but it felt like forever. I needed to call my Dad.
et voila. Head check= done.
Back through the jungle and back into Box 3. Yes, still wearing Sars Mask! 3 hours later...
Lets do blood now shall we? Before I get into this, let me tell you, I have a severe case of needle-phobia. I detest needles. They detest me more. I have been known to pass out even on sight of a needle. Big or small, no matter. This is where the adult Deeahnne exits the building and the biggest baby on earth enters. I cry. I plead. I sob. I beg for mercy and God and if you could just NOT stick a needle in me, we'll all be better off. However...
Here at Saint Antoine, if you arent going to regret coming to the hospital, they'll make sure you do. And in we go... the nurse preps my arm for an IV. I've never had one of these before and it certainly wasnt on my top 10 List. I ask her about "alternaciones" or "d'leau" and I'm basically trying to stall her with any nonsense I can think of so she'll forget what she was doing and leave my arm alone!
She didnt. Obviously this sucked for me.
I cried. I cried again. and again for what may have been the next 2 hours until the doctor barged in on my pity-party and took my sars mask off. "Deeahnne, good news. It doesnt look like you have viral meningitis. " I un-enthusiastically reply, "Super."
I'll admit it. At this point, I was broken. I was hurt. I was hot. I was cold. I was still sweating. And now even my sars mask was gone. That mask had actually become quite comforting to me, and what? In walks our Hero and just rips it off me? What did this guy want? A standing ovation? He put a 10 inch needle in my back and made me see God, then decries its not meningitis? F- Off! So what then...?
"Deeahnne, we think there's a problem with your kidneys. We're admitting you into the Hospital."
I swear they were trying to kill me. It may have been the drugs, but I'm pretty sure there was a grand conspiracy in both the ER and the hospital to "off the American."
I arrive to Saint Antoine Emergency Room in Paris on Saturday afternoon. The non-cute paramedic takes me in to the jungle, telling me jokes (in French) and looking at me like he expects a laugh. If I could have made a fist, I'm not kidding you, I would have bopped him one good.
So once inside the jungle, one of the nurses puts me on a wheelie bed and I am so thankful to be lying down, I just want to nap as I am so exhausted.However, I am immediately told, "no nap, no sleep, just in case..." OK, well lets hurry this along then. Didn't they know who I was? Surely I had to know someone at this hospital...if I could just have a quick peep around...Oh who was I kidding? Sometimes even I wonder who I am. To thinkI am going to be admitted to a FRENCH hospital, a non-french speaker, run into someone I know, and then be the very first one looked after. I could see it in my thoughts."Hurry! Go make sure the American is OK!" Riiiiight....
Ok so 4 hours later, I am diagnosed with Viral Menengitis. Bring on the Sars Masks!
http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/meningitis-topic-overview
Everybody that entered "Box 3"(my little ER room) had to wear a mandatory mask. Even me. [Side note here, but its funny how karma works-- since 2001 I've had a mild fascination/preoccupation with the Sars mask phenomenon particularly that stemmed from the Burberry Sars Season. And now here I was starring in my own sars mask line. Not Burberry. I think it's called M3 and they also make post-its.] Anyway...
I'm pretty sure at this point I'd reached the end of my line, so it didnt matter what kind of mask I had. I had a french doctor that was now telling me he had to take this special kind of test that would essentially remove liquid from my spine. And not to mince words, he kindly added, "This WILL hurt, so we'll need you to hold still and if you want, we can give you some gas before that should help with some of the pain."
Um, Ok.
So I'm breathing like a maniac to try and get as much gas as possible into my system before he gets going. The doctor keeps coming over to me while I'm inhaling his magic toxins and asking if I'm Ok. I was. The problem was, this shit wasnt working fast enough and I felt way too coherent to be probed in any sort of menacing way. But because its the ER, I could feel his time line closing in on me, and I had only a few puffs left. Fuck. I didn't want this. I didnt want this. I didnt want this. I think even on the gas I may have tried to click my heels like Dorothy in the Whiz. Unfortunately, I had no shoes or socks on, so my dreams were quickly smashed.
The Nurse sat me up and she and the doctor got behind me. The next thing I know, there is a VERY large needle curving into my spine and I have never, ever, make no mistake about it, felt pain like this before in my life. I cry. Loudly. I was now the girl in Box 3 who was not going to make it. Meanwhile, the Doctor is saying "perfect.perfect."
Excuze moi, Doctor? Perfect? Are you joking me? F Off! I should have killed you and that stupid paramedic when I had the chance! et Voila. Spine check= done.
Next up? IV's and Brain scans? Great! Can't wait.
"Deeahnne, we now go to check your brain for damage and after that we hook you up to IV, ok?" Do I have a choice?
So the nurse wheels me into another section where the labs and scans are and hands me off to two 20-something "dude's" that run the lab. Right before I am automated into the MRI/Xray machine is when the Doctor appears and says, "its forbidden to move your head." I was so stressed out now. He didnt indicate how long I would be in there or how long the process would take, just that it was forbidden for me to move. And we all know saying something like that to someone is like saying, "Hot plate! Don't touch!"
I was now completely out of sorts, feeling compelled, and sweating profusely from 1) the fever and 2) the stress of not moving my head a centimeter, or else! When the Jack Nicholson head strap velcroed tight over my head, all I could do was begin making out my christmas list. Oh, that and determining who the lucky individual would be to inherit my itouch.
I go in. I come out. Time escaped me here, but it felt like forever. I needed to call my Dad.
et voila. Head check= done.
Back through the jungle and back into Box 3. Yes, still wearing Sars Mask! 3 hours later...
Lets do blood now shall we? Before I get into this, let me tell you, I have a severe case of needle-phobia. I detest needles. They detest me more. I have been known to pass out even on sight of a needle. Big or small, no matter. This is where the adult Deeahnne exits the building and the biggest baby on earth enters. I cry. I plead. I sob. I beg for mercy and God and if you could just NOT stick a needle in me, we'll all be better off. However...
Here at Saint Antoine, if you arent going to regret coming to the hospital, they'll make sure you do. And in we go... the nurse preps my arm for an IV. I've never had one of these before and it certainly wasnt on my top 10 List. I ask her about "alternaciones" or "d'leau" and I'm basically trying to stall her with any nonsense I can think of so she'll forget what she was doing and leave my arm alone!
She didnt. Obviously this sucked for me.
I cried. I cried again. and again for what may have been the next 2 hours until the doctor barged in on my pity-party and took my sars mask off. "Deeahnne, good news. It doesnt look like you have viral meningitis. " I un-enthusiastically reply, "Super."
I'll admit it. At this point, I was broken. I was hurt. I was hot. I was cold. I was still sweating. And now even my sars mask was gone. That mask had actually become quite comforting to me, and what? In walks our Hero and just rips it off me? What did this guy want? A standing ovation? He put a 10 inch needle in my back and made me see God, then decries its not meningitis? F- Off! So what then...?
"Deeahnne, we think there's a problem with your kidneys. We're admitting you into the Hospital."
(part 1) The Paramedic, Deeahnne and the Wardrobe
"Deeahnne, it is forbidden to move your head while inside the machine."
I asked no questions. How could I? He didnt speak English and the French translation for "imminent death" wasnt coming to mind.
I couldnt even think straight. What was happening?
Lets go back to Saturday.
All week I had been fighting this mild cold and headache. The cold Paris winter was setting in and my body was aching all over. Especially my lower back. Chick thing, maybe. whatever. I didnt really didnt think about it too much. That is, until Saturday morning when I woke up in a pool of sweat and could barely walk 2 steps. I called a friend and asked him to please come over as I think I need to go to the hospital. Something wasn't right.
1 hour, 3 prayers later, two paramedics show up, one of which is ooh la la so cute (even sick my mind is still in the gutter). Anyway, before we leave the apartment, let me describe the scenario.
Imaginee- Deeahnne sitting slumped on the couch, sweat glistening on every uncovered part of my body, my mouth half open, staring at something, not sure what, but it must have been very important b/c diverting my eyes for even a second was going to be a task. I couldnt form words. My english had officially broken and I couldnt form a phrase if my life depended on it and maybe it did. So I'd point to the areas of pain and I believe it is here when I started rocking back and forth. I was getting cold and I needed action.I just kept thinking, "lets go, lets go lets go."
Finally they feel my forhead and we're outta there. 42 degrees.
We walk out the door and into the elevator when the paramedic sees that im not wearing any shoes. I hadnt even noticed. didnt care really. so my friend runs upstairs to my bedroom and grabs, of course, the ugliest pair of shoes I own. perfect.
So I leave my house for the adventure into the famed world of French healthcare wearing: a shiny navy blue windbreaker, a shortsleeve yellow T shirt that reads "Aloha", maroon sweatpants with bedazzling on the waist, black socks, and bright coral flats with gold embellishment on the toes. And even after all this, I thought to myself in the elevator on the way down, "I should have grabbed a hat."
Lets check in shall we?
I asked no questions. How could I? He didnt speak English and the French translation for "imminent death" wasnt coming to mind.
I couldnt even think straight. What was happening?
Lets go back to Saturday.
All week I had been fighting this mild cold and headache. The cold Paris winter was setting in and my body was aching all over. Especially my lower back. Chick thing, maybe. whatever. I didnt really didnt think about it too much. That is, until Saturday morning when I woke up in a pool of sweat and could barely walk 2 steps. I called a friend and asked him to please come over as I think I need to go to the hospital. Something wasn't right.
1 hour, 3 prayers later, two paramedics show up, one of which is ooh la la so cute (even sick my mind is still in the gutter). Anyway, before we leave the apartment, let me describe the scenario.
Imaginee- Deeahnne sitting slumped on the couch, sweat glistening on every uncovered part of my body, my mouth half open, staring at something, not sure what, but it must have been very important b/c diverting my eyes for even a second was going to be a task. I couldnt form words. My english had officially broken and I couldnt form a phrase if my life depended on it and maybe it did. So I'd point to the areas of pain and I believe it is here when I started rocking back and forth. I was getting cold and I needed action.I just kept thinking, "lets go, lets go lets go."
Finally they feel my forhead and we're outta there. 42 degrees.
We walk out the door and into the elevator when the paramedic sees that im not wearing any shoes. I hadnt even noticed. didnt care really. so my friend runs upstairs to my bedroom and grabs, of course, the ugliest pair of shoes I own. perfect.
So I leave my house for the adventure into the famed world of French healthcare wearing: a shiny navy blue windbreaker, a shortsleeve yellow T shirt that reads "Aloha", maroon sweatpants with bedazzling on the waist, black socks, and bright coral flats with gold embellishment on the toes. And even after all this, I thought to myself in the elevator on the way down, "I should have grabbed a hat."
Lets check in shall we?
November 12, 2007
Lighting up Paris
Rightfully so, many of you have expressed concern with all of the drinking I appear to be doing. To you people I say, "Mind your own business and read a sober person's blog then. Lets see how long that lasts."
The truth is, I really miss having my own spots and my own bars that I can call my own(see temporary residences in glossary) like I did in SF. Being out and about in a city has always provided me with a certain level of comfort and in a weird way, justification and liberte. On one hand, i do owe it to my people to respresent my city, as well as America, and lets not forget the most important part here- who am I to withhold my beauty and charisma from such a fine city? I do this for them, the Parisians. I make their lives better. I light up the room with my smile and I'll light your cigarette too if you ask nicely.I drink. I smile. I am.
Now seeing that I cant (yet) discuss the who's who and the what's what of Paris, You are basically hearing about my take on the bars, clubs and levels of cocktails I consume with some other crap thrown in for good measure. Once I get you all hooked on"French with English Subbys," dont fret- there will be plent of long walks, leisurely moonlit dinners, fashion shows and art exhibits to boot. For now, just sit back, relax and enjoy me enjoying Paris.
Otherwise, I can recommend a good Frommers "Paris in 7 days" for you.
besos
The truth is, I really miss having my own spots and my own bars that I can call my own(see temporary residences in glossary) like I did in SF. Being out and about in a city has always provided me with a certain level of comfort and in a weird way, justification and liberte. On one hand, i do owe it to my people to respresent my city, as well as America, and lets not forget the most important part here- who am I to withhold my beauty and charisma from such a fine city? I do this for them, the Parisians. I make their lives better. I light up the room with my smile and I'll light your cigarette too if you ask nicely.I drink. I smile. I am.
Now seeing that I cant (yet) discuss the who's who and the what's what of Paris, You are basically hearing about my take on the bars, clubs and levels of cocktails I consume with some other crap thrown in for good measure. Once I get you all hooked on"French with English Subbys," dont fret- there will be plent of long walks, leisurely moonlit dinners, fashion shows and art exhibits to boot. For now, just sit back, relax and enjoy me enjoying Paris.
Otherwise, I can recommend a good Frommers "Paris in 7 days" for you.
besos
November 8, 2007
Take a Stand for a Seat
Can we talk about the toilet seat cover situation for a minute? What's the deal???
I'm not really sure whats going on here but most establishments, including my office in Levallois, have the bins installed that are to hold said covers, but none are ever to be found. Ever!
Its like "Neat Seat" went around and installed a sampling of bins throughout all of Paris, but never actually followed through with the distribution of its plasticky paper products.
So I usually spend 2 minutes double wrapping 3 separate strips of TP so I can sit.
I'm a tall girl. Squatting is not really that cool or convenient for me. Aside from the fact that unless I'm camping, on most other occasions I'd like to consider myself a civilized human being.
Are the French sitting on the seats or do they squat? Do they do what I do? Where's the TP build up in the pipes? Someone send me some seats-to-go please.
I just dont get it. Maybe I'll write a letter...and then another letter, and another letter every day just like Andy Dufraisne did in Shawshank Redemption. Before you know it, I'll have 12 libraries and toilet seat covers in all of Paris!
Genius. I know.
I'm not really sure whats going on here but most establishments, including my office in Levallois, have the bins installed that are to hold said covers, but none are ever to be found. Ever!
Its like "Neat Seat" went around and installed a sampling of bins throughout all of Paris, but never actually followed through with the distribution of its plasticky paper products.
So I usually spend 2 minutes double wrapping 3 separate strips of TP so I can sit.
I'm a tall girl. Squatting is not really that cool or convenient for me. Aside from the fact that unless I'm camping, on most other occasions I'd like to consider myself a civilized human being.
Are the French sitting on the seats or do they squat? Do they do what I do? Where's the TP build up in the pipes? Someone send me some seats-to-go please.
I just dont get it. Maybe I'll write a letter...and then another letter, and another letter every day just like Andy Dufraisne did in Shawshank Redemption. Before you know it, I'll have 12 libraries and toilet seat covers in all of Paris!
Genius. I know.
November 7, 2007
Drinking for the French
Sante!
A new drinking game was invented last night at Dinner of all places.
I met up with a few of my friends at a really great restaurant near my new pad in Bastille. It was super fun and I was so glad to be out with people that I'm not actually sleeping with. Its refreshing actually, and I felt like a real live french person! Well, one with subtitles anyway.
So here's how the game works. Everytime I say something correct in French we all drink.
That's it! Its really a genius game for several reasons. The first being that I control it the whole time. Its like being the President in a good game of Asshole. Second, I only know a few key phrases, one of them being "Je ne se pas" which translates to "I don't know." So I just keep saying je ne se pas and we all drink. Not sure who this game is more entertaining for- me or the french who, now that I think about it, do always seem to be laughing at me. I'm laughing at them too, I guess, but on the inside where it counts. OK, no thats a lie. I laugh at them to their faces too. Because lets face it, the French are pretty funny assholes.
A new drinking game was invented last night at Dinner of all places.
I met up with a few of my friends at a really great restaurant near my new pad in Bastille. It was super fun and I was so glad to be out with people that I'm not actually sleeping with. Its refreshing actually, and I felt like a real live french person! Well, one with subtitles anyway.
So here's how the game works. Everytime I say something correct in French we all drink.
That's it! Its really a genius game for several reasons. The first being that I control it the whole time. Its like being the President in a good game of Asshole. Second, I only know a few key phrases, one of them being "Je ne se pas" which translates to "I don't know." So I just keep saying je ne se pas and we all drink. Not sure who this game is more entertaining for- me or the french who, now that I think about it, do always seem to be laughing at me. I'm laughing at them too, I guess, but on the inside where it counts. OK, no thats a lie. I laugh at them to their faces too. Because lets face it, the French are pretty funny assholes.
November 6, 2007
I'm a si'l vous plait-mate
Sometimes the sexual deviant rule applies. Even in Paris.
Sometimes the "poke" rule applies. Even outside of Facebook and especially in Paris.
When I first met Nick Morgan he was looking very nonchalant and sort of gazing off to the left. He was wearing a white t-shirt, had a huge gold hoop earring hanging from his lobe, and was dedicating a "peace sign" in front of his mouth to some lucky individual across the room. It was probably one of the sexiest pictures I had ever seen in my whole life and I poked him right there. Instantly. Didnt hesitate and knew it was just a matter of time before he poked me back. Next thing you know, we're poke buddies. Like extreme poke buddies. We're sending gifts, and whispering sweet absolutely nothings to each other, and as Nick put it, we're on the far right edge of the scale. Here's an article to help explain the "poke phenomenon" for those you that dont already know.
http://valleywag.com/tech/facebook/poke-epidemic-reaches-crisis-proportions-314264.php
So Nick walks in and instantly I know a few things. (To my Friends-you know it when I know it, and yeah, obviously its the first thing. To my Parents- I knew that Nick was a trustworthy, stand up guy, who I could tell was going to be a gentleman the whole weekend. )
So Nick shows up with 4 bath products, a briefcase carrying no papers, and 2 cel phones- I'll mention this for Nick- but yes readers, Nick bought the Prada (never shoulda oughtta) cel phone."Its nice on dinner tables," he says. And I say, "But so are high heels, and..... Oh Ok, I see your point." And thats how it goes for the rest of the weekend, se la vie!
I will only sum up this weekend via personal email and phone calls, otherwise you guys are just gonna have to deal with an ellipses...
Please indicate which part of the Pokend you'd be interested in hearing about:
-C&A
-Sexual Deviance at LePub
-Nick "the Flame" Morgan and how it all began
-the governessesss
-Mexican Fernet, part 1
-Indiana Tex Mex, part 2
- the safety pin and button debate
-the best way to sleep in Boots
Sometimes the "poke" rule applies. Even outside of Facebook and especially in Paris.
When I first met Nick Morgan he was looking very nonchalant and sort of gazing off to the left. He was wearing a white t-shirt, had a huge gold hoop earring hanging from his lobe, and was dedicating a "peace sign" in front of his mouth to some lucky individual across the room. It was probably one of the sexiest pictures I had ever seen in my whole life and I poked him right there. Instantly. Didnt hesitate and knew it was just a matter of time before he poked me back. Next thing you know, we're poke buddies. Like extreme poke buddies. We're sending gifts, and whispering sweet absolutely nothings to each other, and as Nick put it, we're on the far right edge of the scale. Here's an article to help explain the "poke phenomenon" for those you that dont already know.
http://valleywag.com/tech/facebook/poke-epidemic-reaches-crisis-proportions-314264.php
So Nick walks in and instantly I know a few things. (To my Friends-you know it when I know it, and yeah, obviously its the first thing. To my Parents- I knew that Nick was a trustworthy, stand up guy, who I could tell was going to be a gentleman the whole weekend. )
So Nick shows up with 4 bath products, a briefcase carrying no papers, and 2 cel phones- I'll mention this for Nick- but yes readers, Nick bought the Prada (never shoulda oughtta) cel phone."Its nice on dinner tables," he says. And I say, "But so are high heels, and..... Oh Ok, I see your point." And thats how it goes for the rest of the weekend, se la vie!
I will only sum up this weekend via personal email and phone calls, otherwise you guys are just gonna have to deal with an ellipses...
Please indicate which part of the Pokend you'd be interested in hearing about:
-C&A
-Sexual Deviance at LePub
-Nick "the Flame" Morgan and how it all began
-the governessesss
-Mexican Fernet, part 1
-Indiana Tex Mex, part 2
- the safety pin and button debate
-the best way to sleep in Boots
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