Guest Author: Justin Richardson ---------------- Why did I turn the wrong way? Why didn't we bring the rolling bag? Why am I not eating yet? Where are we go…OW! Writhing. Shame. Annoyance. Continued writhing. Oh, look. The ER is right there. What's the French word for "convenient"? And with that, I got up and hobbled my way towards the ER. The curb that felled me was part of the driveway to the ER so the "salle des urgences" was merely feet (pun intended) from me. I should note that this was not only my first time going to an ER in France, it was my first time going to an ER ever as far as I know. I had no idea what to expect. Once in the ER lobby, I found a chair and used it for its intended purpose. There was a mother and her son also in the lobby. The kid was probably nine. I'll find out more about their situation later, but for now, Angela is trying to see if anyone speaks English. Not so much, it turns out. But we manage to convey the problem. I attempt to hobble to the desk area, but the non-English speaking nurse puts her hand up and says, "Stop!" She rushes to get met a wheelchair. Angela sits across the room and fills out a simple form that is unexpectedly in English. A nurse comes to wheel me back. It is approximately 10 til 6. Our train back to Paris leaves in 40 minutes. The nurse speaks some English. He is a large man with a friendly demeanor. He takes my blood pressure, and manages to ask me what my pain is on the ubiquitous scale of one to ten. I say zero or one. I am still living on adrenaline. I am a fool. The nurse's face agrees with my assessment. I get wheeled back to an examination room. The room is virtually empty. There is no exam table and very few pieces of equipment in the room. Other than a sink and the doctor's rolling stool, it is essentially a vacant room. So it is me in a wheelchair, Angela in a folding chair, and our luggage. My shame fills the room's remaining volume. The adrenaline is wearing off, and my throbbing ankle is quite painful. I think of Brian Regan's bit about his trip to the ER. I should have said I was an 8. It's just after 6:00 when the doctor arrives. She speaks very little English, but she helps me take off my shoe and sock, and pokes and prods various parts of my foot, ankle, and shin. We manage to convey our impending train departure, and she suggests we will probably miss the 6:30 train. I am headed for an x-ray. Angela goes to find some food and try to figure out our train options. Another nurse comes to wheel me back to "Radiologie." On the way, I catch up with the mother and son from the lobby. The boy, now wearing a hospital gown with his right arm in a sling, goes in to get his x-ray first. His mother looks nervous. We are alone in the hallway. A few awkward moments pass, and I try to ask the woman if the issue is with his arm. No, she indicates it is his shoulder. I ask if he fell while climbing. This was too much English. "Little English," she says apologetically. "Me too," I answer. The joke doesn't land. "Sport," she says. "Umm…box?" she says shadow boxing. "Ahh!" I say. The boy emerges from the x-ray room, and I see him look at my ankle. He looks more concerned about my ankle than whatever his own issue is. I like him instantly. I get wheeled into the x-ray room, and the technician essentially fails to wheel me over to the table so I have to hobble across the room to the table (more of a slab, really) and climb up on it. Other than that oversight, she is very friendly, and I am back in the hallway a minute or two later. I get wheeled past the boy, and I give him a thumbs up and say, "Good luck!" His face says, "Dude, have you seen your ankle?!" I'm back in the exam room, and sit there alone for a few minutes. Angela comes back in out of breath. She apparently ran around town getting food for us and some cash as we are anticipating a cab ride in our future. The original nurse stops by. He now sees my ankle for the first time, and exclaims, "Ooo, big ankle!" which sounded hilarious with his French accent. He asks if we need a cab, and he goes to help us with that. The doctor returns, and explains that my ankle isn't broken, but she doesn't know the word for ankle so she first says, "wrist?" She walks me through what she is going to prescribe. We communicate well despite the language barrier. She offers to help us find out about other train options.
A few minutes later, we are back in the lobby. We managed to get through a full ER visit in a little more than an hour. Our nurse friend comes out and asks, "Are you ever coming back to Bayeux?" Thinking he is making a joke about our experience, we laugh. He's not in on the joke. "No, this is serious question." Unclear where this is headed, we hem and haw and indicate that a return is fairly unlikely. He explains that I will not be billed for the ER visit. He bids us farewell, and returns to his station. A few minutes later, the cab pulls up. As we are loading into the cab, yet another nurse runs out and asks us if we have explained our needs to the cab driver. We say no, and she tells the cab driver that we need to be taken to the pharmacy, where he needs to wait for us, and then on to the train station. We have already learned that there is an 8:10 train, which is our goal. With this last help, we have now received assistance from every staff member we saw at the hospital. The taxi takes us to the pharmacy. The driver stops the fare, and comes into the store with us. The pharmacist was very friendly and thorough. Too thorough. We have a train to catch, and I am practically at top speed even while sitting. I collect my painkillers, have my air cast on, and am armed with crutches. The cab driver takes us to the train station. He tries to refuse our meager tip. At this point, we are so humbled by the last two hours we don't know what to do. The folks at the hospital worked hard to overcome the language barrier, were all very friendly, they helped us get a cab, they helped us confirm our train options, they told us they couldn't charge us for the services… As ER experiences go, I'd recommend a visit to the hospital in Bayeux, France.
2 Comments
Michael
11/7/2015 11:41:24 pm
This story never gets old. :)
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Larry
11/8/2015 07:09:51 pm
Angela's telling of the event was equally interesting, fun, amusing...
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