(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?"