An American in Provence

Day 8 of my confinement.
I can move about more easily now, and removed the gauze coverings of my incisions. Besides Frankennavel, they look fine.

One of my (very few) complaints about french health care is the after-care instructions, that is, instructions for what to do/not to do after your hospital stay. In the US, they give you a ten page document of what to expect, what is normal, what is not normal and you should go see your doctor, what to do, how to take care of your wounds, what not to do, what to eat and drink, what not to eat and drink, etc.

Probably for insurance reasons. That way, if you screw up and re-open your stitches or something, they can say "On the after-care instructions sheet we said not to do any strenuous exercise! Not our fault!" Anyway, here in France, you have to "tirer les vers du nez" (pull the worms from the nose) to get information on when you should take the bandages off, whether the stitches have to be removed or not, when to expect the bloating to go down, etc. All I was able to eek out of the nurses was to take the bandages off after five days.
Me: Five days after what? The operation itself or my release?
Nurse: Five days.
Me: Thanks a bunch. Do I need to have a nurse remove them or are they absorable?
Nurse: Well, what kind did the doctor put in?
Me: How in the world am I supposed to know?

Ah well. Just drives me back to my generalist to find out whether I am, or am not, dying.

Alain is naturally a very funny guy, which is quite painful for me when I try as much as possible to avoid sneezing, coughing, hiccupping, soliciting my ab muscles to sit up, and above all laughing. I am continuously admonishing him "Stop it! Stop being funny! Stop making me laugh I told you! It hurts!"

I rambled back over to my doctor this afternoon so he could check on my progress and to find out whether I can or cannot accompany Alain on his trip to Portugal next week, which we have been planning for several months. He is invited to give a talk at a conference, and I am tagging along.

I got there at the Dr.'s opening time of 15:30, and there were two people in the waiting room before me. Now in France, you have to count at least 20, usually 30 minutes of wait per person ahead of you. Great, I'm in for a wait.

Another woman came in after me and hovered in the hallway, between the waiting room and the doctor's office. I could just tell she wanted to jump ahead in line.
When the patient already in the office came out, she asked the dr. if he would just sign her paper. He told her to ask us if it would be okay. She told (not asked) us that she would be quick, just needed a paper signed and went in.
The other two people were annoyed as well at her behavior. I said "I give her five minutes before I go knock on the door."

They noticed my accent and we started talking. (The usual, where are you from, why are you here, etc.)
Turns out they were a couple (Whew! cuts my waiting time in half.)
After five minutes, I went and knocked on the door. Yeah, well. Let someone punch three holes in her belly and see how well she puts up with someone jumping the line at the doctor's office.
She got the idea and left.

Dealing with the French Lesson #1: Never let someone cut in front of you at the doctor's office in France.

Even if they say it will be quick, they just need cold medicine/a form signed/whatever. They may all well and good have the intention of being quick, but when across from a medicinal ear, French will invariably do their 2nd favorite thing of all, i.e. talk about their health.

(What their 1st favorite thing to do is, I am still undecided on. Please feel free to speculate in the comments section.)

Morale of the story: I'm not dying and can go to Portugal, but need to stay out of the sun and water. Bummer, as that was a large part of the reason for me going.

Alain left this morning for his lab's annual retreat- two days in Giens of talks, presentations, and partying.
Still in pain, still bloated. I have taken to tracing the outlines of the hematomas on my belly with permanent marker, to see how it is spreading from day to day. So I'll probably survive the operation and the recovery period, only to die from marker poisoning.

I shuffled over at the S.O.S (Speed O'Snail) to the pharmacy this morning, and asked what they had for hematomas, bloating, and pain. She sold me a product called "Siligaz" for adominal bloating. Seriously, what marketing focus group decided on the name Siligaz for an adominal bloating reliever? It's just plain Sili.

She saw the loaf of sandwich bread I had just bought at Casino nearby and informed me that I shouldn't eat bread, as it has a lot of air in it. Instead, I should eat stuff like fennel. Like hell!
I decided that the morale boost of one (or five) peanut butter sandwiches far outweighed the possible slight extra bloating. Besides, I have my Siligaz.

Thanks everyone for your kind comments.

So here I am, rattling around in our apartment, watching tv, sleeping, and moaning about the pain.

On Thursday I managed to shuffle to the mail box to send in my sick leave forms (I have decided that French Administrative officials are sadists- just got home from the hospital after being cut open? You have 48 hours to mail in the forms!) and to the pharmacy to pick up my doliprane, oh so helpful. I was amazed by the human body's ability to log tens of hours of sleep in a 24-hour period.

Friday, I shuffled to our generalist doctor's office. Elderly ladies were passing me. Still bloated from the surgery. I am convinced here is what happened:
Step 1) Put patient to sleep
Step 2) Make incisions where needed
Step 3) Inflate belly with air so as to be able to see/work properly
Step 4) Insert camera/scissors
Step 5) Perform necessary surgery
Step 6) Remove instruments
Step 7) Sew up incisions.
Heck, I am no surgeon, but even I can see there is a step missing in the above procedure.
Step 6b) Deflate patient like some disgusting flesh balloon before sewing back up!

I feel like I swallowed an inner tube and it has settled around my waist, like a boa constrictor who swallows a small rodent whole and you can still see the form of the animal about midway through the snake. I can barely zip up my jeans to go on these exciting excursions, but I don't have any other options- too hot for sweatpants, plus they have a hole in the rear.

So I shuffled over to the doctor's office, with two competing thoughts in my mind:
Thought 1) We really must find a closer doctor
Thought 2) But he knows our medical history since we moved here

The doctor and mini doctor spent a good half an hour jamming their fingers into my belly, and finally concluded that I am okay, just have to deal with the pain and swelling until they pass. As long as I don't develop a fever or my belly becomes hard, I should be okay.

In a fit of sentimentality, I ordered a bouquet of roses to be sent to the nurses at the hospital, to thank them for taking care of me during my stay. I mean really, I do admire nurses. Their job must be rather difficult and often overlooked. They mopped up my vomit, mopped up me, inserted and removed catheters, gave me a bed bath, and all the rest.

Hats off to nurses!

Now the apartment is a mess, I am in desperate need of toilet paper and peanut butter, and getting tired of watching TV. I can't sleep well at night and don't even have an appetite for chocolate. Help!

On Monday afternoon I checked into a hospital here in Marseille for a relatively minor surgery on Tuesday morning.
I carefully read through all the papers, to see if there was a "What to Bring, What not to Bring" section, but nothing. After making sure I was checked in, Alain, Mom, Dad, and I went to the hospital cafeteria for some coffee, then they headed home, and I headed back to my room.

I was unable to have a private room, so shared with a 68-year-old woman named Maurisette.
Neither of us had opted for the TV (thank goodness), so we spent Monday night reading. When it came time for the shower, I learned that towels are not supplied by the hospital. Sheets, yes. Towels, no. Fabulous.

Apparently, towels are never supplied in French hospitals. This is something you are just supposed to innately know, as it isn’t written anywhere. I would think that the hospital would supply towels, rather than have you bring your own germy towels from home, but nope. Luckily, Maurisette had an extra one which she leant me.

We went to sleep at about 10 on Monday night. At 6, they came and woke me up, as I was the first to go. I had to take my pre-operation shower with the Betadine soap, making sure to get everything (including the 'pli interfessier' as the illustration was so helpful to point out). They changed the sheets on my bed, then wheeled me down to the operating rooms. The nurses and orderlies had great fun asking where I am from, what am I doing in France, etc. etc.
I was hooked up to everything, and the anesthesiologist put the mask over my face. Every time I am put under, my last thought seems to be "I really must tell the anesthesiologist that the drugs aren't working, so that they don't cut me open while I am still awake." ZONK.

Woke up several hours later in the recovery room, being poked and prodded endlessly.
They wheeled me back up to my room around 1:30. It seems that every time I am operated on here in France, the male orderlies taking me up to my room have to comment "You are very pretty" when I am covered in iodine, in those ugly gowns, woozy, and a complete mess. This is the second time this has happened to me. I'm not sure what the appropriate response is. Gee, thanks?

My roommate was wheeled in about half an hour later; I guess she spent less time in recovery. I called mom and dad, and they came over, bearing a towel, an extra t-shirt, and peanut butter sandwiches. I'm afraid I wasn't a very good conversationalist, as I kept nodding off. They didn't stay long. I was on a morphine drip, which apparently makes some people nauseous and have hot flashes. Boy did I ever. I was completely drenched and couldn't eat a thing.
Alain stopped by after work, and they brought in my dinner, a piece of ham, some yogurt, and something covered up, I didn't even look. I couldn't even bear to look at it.

Alain left, and I tried to sleep. They took me off the morphine, but I still felt hot and nauseous. The nurses kept coming in every hour to take blood pressure, to change the IV, to take a blood sample. Ahhh!! Just let me sleep!!

Wednesday morning, Maurisette was doing fine, up and about on her own power, able to take a shower, get dressed, and pack her bag. I was still moaning in bed. Her husband came to get her, which is when the nausea overcame me. I had a plastic bag ready, but it might as well have been a sieve. The throw-up went right through the bag, all over the floor, the sheets, my legs, my slippers, my hands. Not a pretty sight. Her husband beat a hasty retreat. I rang for the nurse. What is the matter? J'ai vomit! They came and cleaned up and handed me another plastic bag marked Toxic Waste.

Maurisette checked out, glad to be getting away from me I'm sure. They cleaned up her side of the room, ready for the next patient. I'm not sure why, maybe the smells of the cleaning products, I threw up again. Again ring for the nurse. J'ai vomit encore! At least the bag held up. They took the bag and handed me a bucket, with a bag inside.

They wanted to keep me for another night, but I desperately wanted to get out of there. Mom and dad were leaving the next day, and I didn't want to be in the hospital when they left. I managed to force down some apple sauce and rambled over to the nurse's station (all the other patients and their visitors in the hall were staring at me- I must have been quite a sight, unshowered, smelling like throw up, and moving at 2 miles an hour). See, all better now! I can leave right!

The doctor came and checked on me and decided I could go. Yippee! She gave me a prescription for frickin' Doliprane. Like aspirin. I have three holes in my stomach, my belly button might never be the same again, and you give me Doliprane?
I called dad, and he took the subway down to the hospital, then we took a taxi back. It took all my force not to throw up in the taxi (toxic waste bag at the ready).

Was so glad to get home, lie on the couch, and not be poked and prodded.

Yes, this is going to be another post about everyone's favorite topic- earwax.
(at least no pictures. Be thankful)

After about a week of putting the eardrops in my ears the situation wasn't improving. Alain's comment- why are you walking around the apartment with your 'ead on one side and kleenex coming out of your hear? (in French-American "you 'ear with your hears" and "you put your harms over your 'ead")

This past weekend it got particularly bad- seriously couldn't hear anything. Which proves useful when say, someone is yelling "Can you bring me a beer?" from the other room (Nope, sorry, didn't hear a thing) but can get rather taxing and quickly.
I kept telling Alain "It's practice for when we get older". He wondered whether I would be able to hear my courses okay- oh sure, no problem, I sit in the front row anyway.
Monday morning, first five minutes of class,
PROBLEM!
Couldn't hear a thing that the teacher was saying.
Not good.

It was like my own custom-made Megan-purgatory. Trapped in the silence in my head, while some teacher rambles on interminably in French, catching only tidbits like "action en contrefaçon mumble mumble mumble mumble mumble mumble propriété intellectuelle mumble mumble mumble très important pour l'examen mumble mumble mumble mumble".
Throw in a full bladder and some faint strains of accordion music and there you have it-
Might as well bundle me into a straightjacket tout de suite.

At lunch time I ran to the nearest pharmacy and asked for something for my ears. She offered the eardrops I already had, but I said I needed something more. Something Industrial Strength. She gave me a spray to be sprayed directly into the ear. I came home for lunch and tried it. Good grief! I've heard of foaming at the mouth but have never heard of foaming at the ears!

back to class. Not much better. Was determined to wage an all-out war Me vs. My Earwax that evening. Spent a good hour in the bathtub with the drops, the spray, some q-tips and the shower sprayer, doing what I could.
Checked out the internet to see if I could get any other helpful hints. Wikipedia suggests olive oil, among other things. Yeah, I can just see that:
Throw some olive oil in there, plus maybe some flaxseed and white vinegar...
Hey I've got a salad dressing going on here. Instead of Paul Newman's Own, we've got Megan's Own with a secret ingredient!

Looked for other solutions, one of which is called "ear candling". Basically, you buy some special candles at shops such as healthfood stores or yoga stores (wondering what kind of wax these candles are made out of), lie down on one side, stick one end in your ear canal, and light the other. Now generally, I try to live my life by the latin motto:
NON IGNEUS CORPUS QUICUMQUE SUBIUNGO

which, roughly translated is:
"Don't attach burning things to thy body"
but when you are about to become Madame Tussaud's next supplier, believe me, you'll consider anything.

I can just picture it now, at the specialist's office, whom I'm paying 60€/minute to be poked and prodded;
Doctor: This looks like... olive oil in your ears?
Me: Um, yeah?
Doctor: And candle wax?
Me: Um, yeah?
Doctor: Why in heaven's name did you do that?
Me: Um, the internet told me to?
Doctor: You mean like a scientifically peer-reviewed medical journal?
Me: Um, no, like an anyone-can-edit compiliation of random articles on everything from A (Jethro Tull album), 1980 album by progressive rock band Jethro Tull to the Z Nassau Street Express, a rapid transit service of the New York City Subway?
Doctor: (to himself) Thank god I get paid this much to deal with wackos.

Tuesday, after more deafness and now pain in the ears, started to worry about ear infections and permanent deafness. Sure, the earwax jokes are funny up to a point, the point being permanently reduced hearing at the age of 30. I could just see the tabloid headlines:
Deaf from excess earwax at the age of 30!
Growth of mold in non-aerated inner ears!
Earwax-induced infection spreads to brain!

Went back to the Pharmacy to beg for something, anything. He recommended a nearby generalist doctor that was still open, so I went over and waited. She took one look in my ears, confirmed that yes, they were indeed-y completely blocked, that she couldn't do anything, I would have to go a specialist. She gave me a letter (woe betide you if you go in France to a specialist doctor without a recommendation from a generalist doctor), I called, and got an appointment for the next day, which is something in and of itself.

The next day during lunch, right after yet another class on mute, I hightailed it over to the doctor's office, waited about half an hour (reasonable for a last-minute appointment. Heck, reasonable even for an appointment that you have had scheduled for the past 6 months) and was called in. Yep, ears still completely blocked. Thank you. Amazing how hard it is to talk when you can only hear about 50%.

Only thing to be done was to take a fire hose to my ear canals, leaving me quite drenched, off-balance (go ahead, blast your inner ears with water for a few minutes and then walk across the room and see how many walls you bang in to- I almost fell out of the chair) and amazingly clear.
Which made me wonder how long I had unwittingly been a part of the hearing impaired. I wanted to ask the doctor to please lower his voice. Actually, he probably was shouting because not 5 minutes before I had asked him 3 times to repeat himself.
Doctor: You might want to take off your jacket.
Me: what?
Doctor: You might want to take off your jacket!
Me: what?!
Doctor: You might want to take off your jacket!
Me: what?!
Doctor: Take off your jacket!
Me: Oh. Yeah. I'm having trouble hearing you because of the
Doctor: Earwax. (nods) Got it.

(Which brings me to another side note- how much would you like to clean earwax out of people's ears for a living?)

I began noticing all sorts of sounds that I hadn't noticed in a long time- the sound of a hairbrush through my hair, the noise of the movement of my bag against my leg, etc.

Got back to class in time to take a two-hour practice exam on the Patent Cooperation Treaty. Not sure which was worse- ten minutes of getting my ear blasted or two hours of writing legal essays in French. Opinions?
At least with the first I get squeeky clean auris interna and only slight nausea, while with the second I get a headache, cramp in my hand, and a sinking feeling that I'm going to have to do it all over again, for real this time, in a few short months.

Couldn't quite decide on the best title for this post. Here are some others that I thought of:
Earwax- no laughing matter.
Earwax- it can strike anyone, anytime, anywhere.
Earwax Emergencies
Earwax 101
Return of the Earwax
Earwax Alert Level: Yellow
Earwaxapalooza

So here concludes the
Exiciting but Extremely Exhausting Earwax Epic.
Now go clean your ears.

I went to the doctor's last Friday (which is NOT an easy thing to do, now that he is open for a whopping total of what, 6 hours a week? not including Saturdays, and closing before I get home from work)
I wanted to ask him about my persistent cough, which I have had since the end of October. It seems to happen to me every winter.
Alain kept suggesting that maybe it was the "coqueluche" which I had no idea what it was until I translated it online "Whooping cough". Oh man, hope it's not that.
Anyway, I went to the doctor, and when he called me in to his office, I saw that he had a young (male) intern with him, learning the ropes of exciting general practice.
How fun- Doc, my foot hurts. Doc, I think I have the flu. Doc, I'm a hypochondriac. All day long.

Anyway, in the US, whenever I have gone to see a doctor and they have an intern with them, the doctor has always offered me the possibility of saying that I didn't want the intern there during my examination. It never bothered me (hey, I guess they have to practice on poor schlups some way or another, right?) but it is at least nice to be offered the option, if you have something really embarrassing that you only want to disclose to your long-standing doctor.

Anyway, I told the doctor and mini-doctor about my cough, and he looked in his records and sure enough, I had come in for the exact same thing end of Jan. 2008 .
I went and sat on the examining table, and he started with my ears. He inserted the ear-thingy and said "Do you hear me okay?" Yeah, sure I hear you. Why?
"Because your ear is completely blocked." (ear wax)
He checked the other, and the other ear was almost completely blocked too.
He then asks mini-doc:

"Do you want to look at Madame's ear wax?"

well. That sure isn't a phrase I expected to be hearing about myself.
So sure enough mini-doc takes the ear-thingy and checks out my earwax.

I think most of us aren't used to the feeling of being scrutinized as modern medical marvels.

Actually, I had noticed my ears were a bit waxier. Ah well. Guess it is from shoving ear plugs in my ears all the time (to block out annoying people on their cellphones on the 6-hour train ride to Strasbourg, the traffic noise while trying to sleep, the darn accordion player).

Hey doctor, I have some bunions on my feet and a weird mole at the bottom of my back if you want to really impress him.....

The doctor gave me some drops to put in my ears at night. Oh, and for the cough, no clue what is causing it. I think it is just the climate here.

Move to France and get waxy ears and a permanent hacking cough in winter!
(At least the cheese is good.)

Last week I was the unwitting recipient of a French Medical First. No, I'm not talking about a face transplant or first artificial brain.
I am talking about....
A French doctor being on time for the appointment.
I know all of you foreigners in France are thinking...
Whoah!!!!!!!
I have been going to this doctor's office since I arrived in 2005. The name on the door is Dr. (first name) X-Y.
It took me three years to figure out that it was Dr. X and Dr. Y, not Dr. X-Y.
Anyway, every time I had gone to see Dr. X, I always waited 30 minutes to 1 hour after my scheduled appointment time.
However, recently Dr. X has been sick, so I have been seeing Dr. Y.
My appointment last week was for 6 pm. I left work at 5, missed the first bus to the parc-relais, so didn't get to the car until about 5:25. Didn't get back to Marseille until 6. By the time I parked and got to the doctor's office, it was about 6:15. No problem! It will be at least 20 minutes before I am called.
Except that Dr. Y was leaving as I entered- apparently she had a conference to go to, and couldn't wait any longer. Wow- a doctor waited for me?!

I had to reschedule for this week, and a bit later too.
This time, Dr. Y was on time as well.
Could the old regime be changing? Who knows.

Though judging by the other doctors, such as my eye doctor, I am thinking no.
I quickly realized that if you do not want to wait hours after your scheduled time in France, you should either schedule your appointment for the first thing in the morning, or right at the end of the day. First thing in the morning there haven't been too many people before you dragging their feet, and at the end of the day the doctor wants to go home so he hustles them out the door faster.
The problem is that in France, there are no nurse assistants that do the preliminaries- taking temperature and blood pressure, asking the basics about how you are feeling, etc. The doctor does it all. Which I guess is better for the patient, but means a longer wait for everyone.

I had a small procedure done on Friday, which required a day hospital visit here in Marseille. I had to meet with the anesthesiologist beforehand, so I had to take Monday afternoon off from work, find the hospital, check in, and then wait a good hour for my appointment. I have found that you can count on an average wait of 1 hour after your scheduled time. I don't see why doctors don't just take this into consideration when scheduling appointments, but NO.

Anyway, Friday morning I checked in and was placed in my shared room and waited for my turn. At around 12:30 I was wheeled over to the operating area and hooked up. My doctor was there with another trainee doctor I guess, because my doctor was asking the other doctor questions, one of which I knew the answer to but the trainee doctor didn't. The anesthesiologist came in put the mask on my face saying "this is just oxygen" Yeah sure doc, just oxygen.... Out.

When I came to, I was being wheeled to the recovery room. I found it quite necessary to inform the people wheeling me to the recovery room "When I was in High School, I wanted to be an anesthesiologist."
Don't know why I felt the need to share that. I guess they are used to the strange things people say when coming off of drugs. Though it was probably the first time a Loopy American informed them quite seriously of what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Spent some time in the recovery room (felt absolutely fine, thank goodness no nausea like last time) then got carted back down to my room. The orderlies taking me to my room started asking where I am from, why in France, the usual. I got a "You are very pretty" which is not something I am sure I really want to hear while looking like a scatterbrained mess after surgery but oh well. It always amazes me when people figure out I am a foreigner when all I have said is "Bonjour" "Oui" and "Non".

Waited around a few more hours, ate my hospital meal (same as last time- slice of ham, bread, and applesauce.) Finally got released around 5:30 and took a taxi home. The taxi driver was quite pleased to have someone English-speaking in his taxi and told me all about his plans to go to Vegas. Not to gamble mind you, but to see the sights.
All in all, feel pretty good. The French healthcare system is really quite good. They even (get this) will REIMBURSE me for my taxi ride home from the hospital. I have never heard of that happening in the US.

Well, here is a recap a week later. After the protective lenses were taken out, my eyesight seemed to worsen. The weekend was okay, we didn't do much. Monday morning I went to the doctor's again and he said it seems to be coming along okay. He gave me a prescription for different drops (yay! no more Eyedrops O' Fire!) and told me to come in three weeks. I managed to drive to work (scary thought huh) and got there a bit before 10. Wore my sunglasses the first day, but since then I don't seem to need them except when outside. Driving in the dark is a bit scary as there are halos around all the lights. Which didn't help yesterday when I was driving in the dark, in the rain.
Still having trouble seeing far and near, but middle distance is okay. My right eye seems a bit better than my left. Having some headaches, I guess because I am forcing myself to read. One thing is for sure is that my profession is not eye-friendly! I have the word documents zoomed in in order to have the text as large as possible but still the contrast is killing me.
Sigh. I hope it doesn't take a whole month as some people say it might.

Speaking of which, is my blog hard to read? I have read somewhere that white text on dark backgrounds is easier to read on computers, but people have trouble sometimes with it because they are not used to it. Is the white text on purple background difficult? I can change it. can also increase font sizes.
Please let me know.

Friday morning I woke up and decided that I would be able to make it to my doctor's appointment on my own- it was closer for one thing, and I could actually open my eyes! I put on my sunglasses and headed off.

Once there, I almost fell asleep in the waiting room. My vision is slowly improving, and the doc removed the protective lenses he had put in. I was afraid this was going to be painful, like it is when I have to peel off my eyeballs contacts that I have mistakenly left on overnight, but it wasn't.

Came back home and was rather restless. This is probably the time when you can cause the most damage- bored from several days of feeling terrible, sleeping, and not doing anything you feel well enough to do SOMETHING and will most likely strain/overexpose your eyes.

This restlessness still didn't stop me from taking two naps though, but it was more of the "I'm bored, nothing to do, might as well sleep" kind of nap.

In the afternoon I went to the doctor who did my back surgery (I was supposed to go on Wednesday, but that was not happening). He said everything looked good and gave me a perscription for more stuff not covered by medical insurance to the tune of 86€. What is this, America?

Moped around and listened to TV until Alain came home at 9:30 after his karate class.

Overall, feeling better and tired of putting the Eyedrops O' Fire into my eyes.

After one fun night of crying into my pillow, Alain and I went, by Metro, to the doctor's office. I didn't bother taking a shower- between not getting my back wet and not wanting to get soap nor water into my eyes, I figured it was an acrobatic feat I didn't want to attempt. Better just to be dirty.
So, we took the Metro. Anyone looking at us would have thought I was blind. Which, for all intents and purposes, I was. Still didn't cause them to offer up their seats, or not crowd me on the escalator, etc. This must be a really tough city for blind people. I can't even imagine how many dog poops they step in per day. Anyway, back to the appointment.
We arrived and an assistant checked my view. Open right eye for two seconds, umm F N. Close eye. Open again. Umm, P K. Close eye. Open again. Umm, maybe a T. Repeat with left eye. Could not hold both eyes open at the same time.
Then went to see the doctor, who said I was healing well. Then he put some magic drops in my eyes, so that I could actually open my eyes! Wow!
Came back home, picking up the eye drops we had ordered, 100 of these little buggers for 25€, not covered by health insurance. Too bad I only need 25 of them. Anyone want 75 pain-causing specialized eye drops? I'll give you a really good deal.
Came home, and Alain went to work.

I had thought that during my recuperation period I would be able to:
1) read my Phillipa Gregory book
2) Watch my favorite series
3) do some small jobs around the house (like touching up the paint in the bedroom)
4) study
5) play on the internet
6) maybe do some crosstitching

WRONGO.
Here is my fun list of activities:
1) Sit on the couch in the dark
2) lie on the couch in the dark (which usually leads to sleeping on the couch in the dark)
3) shuffle to the bedroom and lie on the bed in the dark (which usually leads to sleeping on the bed in the dark)
4) take my eye drops and medication in the dark

Here was my schedule yesterday:
9:30-10:30 sleep on couch
10:35-1:00 sleep in bed
1:05-1:45 take medicine and eat
1:50-4:30 sleep in bed
4:35-6:00 take medcine, attempt to make dinner (sorry dear if there are eggshells in the quiche), putter around
6:00-9:30 eat dinner, listen to tv program
9:35 go to sleep (in bed)
Wow. Exciting

Alain's father stopped by. Every year he loves to go to the Marseille fair and stops by to see us on his way home. (he parks near here and takes the metro).
He was quite surprised to find us sitting in the dark. We explained about my operation (we had told them I was going to have it done, just not when I guess).
Surprisingly, he didn't stay long.

I did it peoples.
I had my eyes LASIKed on Wednesday.
Please excuse any spelling erros, I can barely see to type.
This is something that I have been thinking about for a long time and finally did to the tune of 1950€. I don't actually mind wearing contacts and glasses, but lately have been having touble with infections and stuff. So when I made my list of 101 things in 1001 days, number 23 was have LASIK done, if I am good candidate. My eye doctor, (the one who likes to torture me regulary) said that I was a good candidate, took all the measurements, and I scheduled my appointment at the Laser System downtown in Marseille. Alain came home from work and we took the metro downtown for my appointment at 13:45. The doctor arrived, we went in, I wrote the two checks, then changed into a hospital gown with booties, and went into the laser room. The technician put about a hundred drops of something in each eye to clean them. Once that was done, my left eye was covered up, and anesthesia drops xere put in my right eye. Doc says to me that he is going to "peler votre cornée" which sounds suspiciously like "peel your cornea" which is something I know I don't want.
There are some medical proceedures that you should find out all you can about so that you know excactly what will happen. This isn't one of them. It is better to not know anything, then when the doctor says that he is going to "peler votre cornée" thre is nothing you can do about it, and you can't go screaming back into the waiting room.
Also, when will doctors learn that sometimes the patient doesn't need to know exactly what is being done to them? I would have been fine with "I am going to do something to your something and it might (hurt, feel strange, etc)"
So he brought something like one of those tools at the dentist's office that spins round and round to polish your teeth and put it right on my eyeball. Another bad thing- most operations you can just close yorus eyes and not have to look at what is being done. Not with this one.
After that he removed the part that had been pele-ed, then turns off the light and tells me to not move. Trust me doc, I will do my best. The laser turned on and it was like flashes of blue light for 30 seconds.
Then that eye was done, repeat on left. Which was worse because now I KNEW what he was going to do.
When finally it was over (Alain was able to watch on a TV screen in the waiting room- I don't think he particularly wanted to. He said there were parts that he couldn't watch. Lucky! I had no choice.) I went out into the holding room and they offered something to drink. Not sure why. Anyway, I had a little tartlette and and orange juice, then changed back into my clothes and went back out. The doctor gave me a prescription for some pain killers and eye drops, and we were on our way.
Luckily Alain was with me, because I would have been still lost in the metros of Marseille.
On our way back, we went to the first pharmacy to get my eye drops. They had all but one. Great. Went to the se'cond. They didn't have it either. Went to a third. Non plus.
We finally just ordered it for the next day, but I was not a happy camper at this time. Really, they couldn't have given me the prescription ahead of time so I could get it filled before the day of the operation so that I wouldn't have to spend half an hour stumbling blindly from phamacy to pharmacy? Turns out that the drops that were missing were for the pain. Great.
Went back home, Alain closed all the shutters and left me there in the dark as he went back to work.
I had heard from someone that after about 2 hours it was all better and she was able to return to work. I am not sure if she was talking two hours Neptune time, but back here on Earth, there is no way it was all fine after two hours of Earth time. After two hours of earth time, my eyes were waking up from the anesthesia and saying "Good god woman, what DID you do to us.?!"
I felt like a lovesick teenager crying buckets of tears into my pillow in the dark.
They weren't tears of pain, though it did hurt, but just my eyes were watering watering watering.Which made my nose run. Which gave me sinus pressure.
I used an entire box of kleenex.
Not fun.
When Alain came home I put on a sleep mask in order to naviaget about our lighted apartment. I swear, our apartment is like a blind person's obstacle course. Go past the sack of cement, step over the pile of weights on the floor, go around the box of crown moulding, shuffle through the small corridor between th ecouch and the building supplies.
Really, I need to work on honing my sonar skills. Wandering around the apartment screeching Eeeee! eeee!! doesn't help and only seems to annoy Alain for some reason.

On Wednesday night I took my pre-op shower with the Betadine solution. Rather like pouring iodine on your body. Not sure if I did a good job.
The next morning I couldn't eat or drink and had to take another Betadine shower. Alain drove me to the clinic in Vitrolles around 9:30. We checked in, which was quite easy since I had done a pre-check in the week before when I went for my anesthesiology appointment. We went upstairs and I got settled into my shared room. Changed into the gown and waited. Around 11 they took me down in my bed into the operating area. I was brought into one operating room (salmon colored). Put on a cap and booties, then they hooked me up to the heart-rate monitor, put the iv tube in, and waited. Then was told that I was being kicked out of there because of an emergency c-section and it was the only room where they could do it. Hey, it was her choice to have a baby in the first place, she's waited nine months, she can't wait another 30 minutes? Grumble. So they wheeled me back out and placed me in the post-op room where everyone still drugged up from surgery goes to wake up.

About 30 minutes later they brought me into another room (green). Got hooked up again. I said that I would prefer not to be put completely under, so the anesthesiologist gave me a shot of something (he joked and said it was like Jack Daniels whisky. Oh those funny anesthesiologists. What if I hate whisky?!) I guess it did the trick because though I was awake I was rather unaware until about the middle of the surgery when I *woke up* and found myself under a sheet on my side with the doctor working on my back. The whole thing lasted about 30 minutes, then I was wheeled into the post-op room.

Around 1:30 I was taken back up to my room. Alain was still waiting for me. He left aruond 2, and I was stuck with my room-mate and her parents who would NOT SHUT UP. Hey you over there, I am trying to concentrate on not throwing up, can you please shut your traps?
At around 3 they brought in my *food* which was a bottle of water, a piece of ham, a roll, a container of applesauce, and some cheese. I took a sip of water and then ran to the bathroom to throw up.

As I was throwing up someone kept knocking on the door. Can't you hear that I am busy in here? Can you please just let me throw up in peace? That is really all I ask when throwing up- not having to yell "Occupé!" in between hurls and not worrying about someone coming in and seeing my bare rear in the hospital gown while I am throwing up into the toilet. I mean honestly. I thought maybe it was my room-mate needing to use the bathroom (um, can you please wait a few minutes?!) but I guess it was the nurse asking whether I was ok. No I'm not ok, can't you hear that I am not ok?

Came out and the nurse gave me a pill which was supposed to help with the nausea. I am wary of these "this is supposed to help with that" pills because after an operation a few years ago a nurse gave me something to help with the pain. Which gave me terrible nausea so much so that I would have rather have had the pain.

Anyway, my room-mate and her parents finally checked out (perhaps because of the projectile vomiting? I don't know) and I could finally rest. I had thought that my recovery period would consist of reading my book and eating gummy bears, not concnetrating on not throwing up and having a raging headache. I was able to sleep for about an hour, then woke up at 4:30. The nurse told me I had to eat something before I could check out, so I managed to force down the bread and applesauce. Wasn't touching dairy or the ham. I got dressed and went down to meet my father-in-law who came to pick me up and drive me home.
Was in too much pain to go to work the next day. I have to go in next Wednesday for a check up, which is also the day of my laser eye surgery. Gulp. I am more worried about that then I was about this operation.

All in all, the care was very good even if I did get booted from the operation room. Would have liked a bit more instruction in what to do after the surgery though, as far as caring for my stiches. The doctor came in and sorta explained it to me but I was feeling rather icky at the time, and I don't know about you but I like complicated medical things in French to be written down.
Was informed that I cannot drink alcohol or smoke for 24 hours. Are you kidding? I can barely look at a glass of water and you think I am going to be sitting down to a good red bordeaux?

The doctors and nurses were nice and seemed to get a kick out of my being American.
Whatever keeps you from not killing me doctor is fine by me.

I have had a bump on my back for at least 4 years now. It doesn't bother me, isn't painful, and hasn't changed in size, but I have decided to get it removed. I asked my general doctor about it, hoping that he could do it. Nope. He referred me to another doctor.
I felt quite vain going to a plastic surgeon. Again, I hoped it was just something he could quickly remove in his office. Nope. He has me scheduled for surgery on Thursday. I had to go to an anesthesiologist.
I was hoping they could just do a local anesthetic, so that I wouldn't have to be put under (which is really the part that scares me the most about surgeries- it seems like that is more dangerous than the actual surgery). I was hoping that it could be quickly done and that I could go back to work in the afternoon. Nope, have to stay in the clinic for the whole afternoon after the surgery. I guess I am just used to the US where it is in and out, less time for the insurance the better. When I had my appendix removed, I left the same evening- less than 24 hours after I entered. (Though to be fair, I wanted to go home- I didn't want to stay longer in the hospital.)
I asked how much this would cost- Free.
Well, I guess there are some good things about French health care.

Went to work yesterday and spent the day annoying my coworkers with my constant hacking. It was one of those days where if you are at work you feel sick enough to just want to be home and in bed, and if you are at home and in bed you feel well to feel guilty about not being at work.
I got home and took a hot shower, as hot as I could stand it. I wanted to vaporize my lungs. Not vaporize like Star Trek, just vapor-ize. Not sure it helped or not. When the frenchman got home, he said "you must have a fever, take your temperature." I told him I had just taken a hot shower, but he made me take my temperature anyway. It was 38.8. That's not a fever! I informed him. Oh yeah? The average body temperature in Celcius is 37. Oh. Whoops. I took my temperature on Monday, I can't remember what it read, either 36 or 38, so I might have had a fever since Monday. Which probably would have been useful information for the doctor to know. Guess I skipped the chapter on Temperatures in the book "Welcome to the Metric System: living and loving it" by Knott Reelly.
Spent the rest of the evening sweating it out under heavy clothes and a blanket, and spent all night tossing, turning, and drooling on my pillow due to the inability to breathe through my nose. I never used to be a drooler before moving to France. I have a system- flip pillow, rotate pillow, that I do in my half-sleep during the entire night. This ensures that when one area becomes too warm for my cheek and too wet, I have a nice cool dry area to begin again on. When the entire pillow is used up, well, then I just migrate over onto the Frenchman's.
Woke up this morning when my alarm went off at 6 am. Took my temperature, it was again 38.7 (over 101 F). Decided, nah. I'm not going to work.
This afternoon I have to go over to another doctor's to get another sick note to take into work tomorrow- my last day!!! Also will explain this fever thing. Perhaps it is the flu? Gosh I hope not. I had better be alright by next Monday.

I have been harboring a cough all week, ever since my cold went away. I thought it was just due to the dry weather, but woke up this morning achy all over. Even my eyeballs hurt. I crawled out of bed, checked webmd for bronchitis signs- commonly follows a cold. Check. Dry cough, painful, some muccus. Check. Aching body parts. Yeppers. Fever. mm, fever? (goes to take fever- realize I have no real reference for what "fever" is in Celsius) No, I guess not.
Webmd helped me five+ years ago to self-diagnose my appendicitis. I was staying home from work. Only four days left and my replacement has started anyway. Spent the morning trying to sleep and not hack up a lung, then slowly plodded to my doctor's for his open hours starting at 2:30. Waited a good hour to be seen. There were all of two people in front of me- that drives me nuts about French doctors. They don't have assistants to do the basics, like take the temperature, blood pressure, etc. so the doctor does all of it, and you end up waiting 30+ minutes per patient in front of you. Finally got seen, and I guess I don't have broncitis, just an infection that descended down into my throat/lungs after the cold. Got a packetful of prescriptions and headed out.
On a good note, I have lost some weight, which was a surprise to me after the foodfests of Christmas/trip to Rome/New Years.

Cost for visit- 22€, most of which I guess will be reimboursed.
Cost for medicines €4.76.
Day spent in bed- priceless.

Time for my annual torturing at the opthamologists office (no idea how that is spelled, in English or French, and I cannot for the life of me pronounce it correctly in French- EYE DOCTOR). My eyes had been giving me trouble lately. And by trouble I mean- Bright Red about a half an hour after inserting contact lenses that requires immediate switching to glasses and red eye for about a week.
I went to his office a few weeks ago after work. He gave me a week's treatment of eye drops against some sort of infection and told me to come back in two weeks.
Yesterday I returned, though to his other office this time. No idea why he has two separate offices. My appointment was at 5:45. I left work on the dot of 5, then cursed traffic the whole way back to Marseille, whereupon I took the metro and then sprinted to his office. Sure glad I bothered since I didn't see him until 7. This time, they dilated my eyes so that no blue was showing, then proceeded with this horrid glass that is put DIRECTLY on the eyeball. What is worse, you have to press your eyeball against this glass. Yes, I do love pressure on my eyeball, thank you. Finally it was done and I was weeping yellow tears (from some solution they put in my eyes). They gave me some contacts and told me to return in two weeks. Sigh. Seriously starting to consider laser surgery now. I will talk to him next appointment about that. Oh yeah, it is now 2 pm the following day, and my pupils have not yet returned to normal.
Read my previous entry about the optho's here.

It's a Monday morning, end of blustery November. I am standing at the Metro station, mouth slightly open to facilitate breathing, looking a little rumpled and dazed with an expression of "What am I doing out of bed?" and "How did I get here? I don't remember walking here!" Clothed, but in the way that says "Hey, where did my pajamas go?!"
Yep, that time of the year again, Cold Season. This time, I blame Alain for starting it. Usually, I am the one that gives it to him, so I suppose it is only fair. I suppose I could try to not catch it, but I tend to treat this concept with a certain fatalistic mentality- we are living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, and eating off the same plates. Not usually at the same time mind you, but it does happen that glasses of water get mixed up and so forth. The only way to conceivably NOT catch it would be to move out for a week, but where would I go? All of his immediate family members have the same cold, and it wouldn't be taken too well if I asked to move in with one of his friends.
One thing that is good about living here is that I seem to get less colds than when I was living in Virginia. Of course, that could have been partly due to living in the Barracks with 1300 other college kids.
The French, when faced with a common cold, go to the doctor to get a prescription for ANYTHING, whether or not it will help. Americans seem to like to take a tough guy attitude- "Yeah, I may have a cold but I am here at work making all the rest of you sick and showing how committed I am to my job. Aren't you impressed by my commitment (cough cough cough)?"
I suggested to Alain that we could switch noses, he didn't seem to think that would work. What about this in sickness and in health stuff? Besides, we would look funny with each other's nose.
(wow, just did that on photoshop. Don't want to embarrass myself by posting it on here though).
So I leave you with this cartoon.

Oh, and for anyone wondering WHY I was out of bed- Christmas shopping bien sûr.

A couple of weeks ago I was having some mouth/jaw/throat pain. My mom suggested perhaps it was Temporomandibular Disorder TMD, from grinding my teeth at night, which I know I have a problem with. It hurt really bad and I could barely talk. I had to put a hot pad on my mouth each night, which was great in the hot weather. I made a dentist appointment, which was long overdue since the last time I went to the dentist I was in the US.
Of course, by the time the dentist appointment actually arrived, the pain had passed. So she examined my mouth, didn't really see anything. It was quite interesting trying to explain to her that I had a mouthpiece, like the 1$ ones you buy for boxing class. She looked at me oddly. "You do boxing?" No. Well yes, but that's another story. Thanks VMI! I had to come back next week to have the cast taken of my lower teeth/jaw, and then the week after that I would receive the custom mouthpiece.
Her office is two buildings over, which is one great thing about living in a city. My general doctor, eye doctor, and dentist are all within a few blocks. Along with the metro, several butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers.
I got the cast made last week, the typical squishy mold that they put in your mouth and you try not to panic as it almost chokes you and swallow it.
She also did an exam. Maybe I just got a nicer dentist, but it wasn't the toes-curling-in-pain experience it usually is.
I went back this morning and got my mouthpiece. It fits well, but it still feels thick to me. After a few moments a feeling of panic comes over me "I have to get this out now!" and I spit it out while gagging. Ugh. This is going to be interesting. Maybe I should try those muscle relaxers she suggested before bed.
She also gave me the mold. Maybe I will scare Alain with it, leaving it under his pillow or something. I feel strange having it, like a pair of dentures or something. Or like I am an anthropologist looking at the jawbone of some previously unknown species.
So finally, one scary parting image before I go. I don't suppose anyone's teeth are pretty but dang....

I recently went to an Opthamologist a few blocks away to get a new prescription. Also, I had to know what my eyesight was in meters, and I had no clue.
The first time I went, several weeks ago, I had a regular eye exam (quite an exercise in remembering the names of letters. F! No, E! I can see the letter, I just can't remember what it is called in French! Give me a minute!
He sent me home with a set of trial contacts, a bottle of solution, and some scary words sounding like Bifocals and muscular degeneration.
I came home, opened one of the contact lens packs, rinsed it off with the solution that he gave me (figuring it was a saline solution) and popped it into my eye.

And immediately screamed in pain. It was burning unbelievably. The eye's natural defense seems to be to close up as tight as possible and water like crazy so I had a heck of a time trying to get the Contact O' Fire out of my poor, red, squinty, watery eye. I finally managed to peel it out and rinsed out my eye with water and real saline solution as much as possible. I was supposed to go to class in half an hour but decided to skip it until my eye forgave me. I read the package of the solution- yep, just as I figured, for cleaning the lens, not rinsing. Ouch. Well, I learned my lesson about that one I guess- always double check medical stuff, especially in another language. Don't assume because it is in the same packaging and shape that it is the same stuff.

Yesterday I went back and had a follow up that was even more fun. It took about two and a half hours- they rechecked my prescription did some funny things with depth perception and stuff, though no bifocals thankfully, dilated my eyes (which I detest) and then the best part of all- he stuck a clear piece of plastic round and about two inches long directly onto my eyeball to see the insides or something.

I can just picture the scene now....
Doctor approaching patient's eyeball with a long sharp stick....
American Patient (in French): Ahh! What are you doing? Get that long pointy stick away from my eyeball!
Doctor (in French): Don't worry, it is part of the exam. I am going to take this long pointy stick and blah blah blah blah blah.
Patient (in French, panicking): What? I don't understand?!!!
Doctor (in French): There is nothing to be afraid of, it won't hurt a bit unless you blah blah blah blah blah. It is essential that you blah blah blah blah or else I will poke your eye out. Understand?
Patient (in French, hysterical by now): No! I don't understand! All I got was it is essential that I do something otherwise you will poke my eye out!
Doctor (in French, calmly, approaching closer): Yes, very good, now relax.
Patient (in French): Ahhh!! Nooo!!! Aaaaalllllaaaaiiiiinnnnnn!!!!!
(fade to black, curtain lowers)

Well, luckily I still have both eyes, and it was super fun stumbling home on a bright sunny day with my eyes dilated to let in as much light as possible and without my contacts. Miraculously managed to not step in any dog turds or get runover by a motorcycle. Thankfully, did not have to negociate the Metro. Apparently, I have to go back all of September, twice a week, to get my eyes Re-educated. I don't want my eyes to be re-educated. Granted, they didn't learn well the first time, but still. I don't look at myself every morning and think "Eyes, I have decided I am going to send you back for some higher education."