Entre Les Murs

The American Hospital

[BH: there's nothing to worry about in what follows.] Saturday got off to an unpleasant start, then hit the skids.  We were woken in that 0-to-60 fashion that, for a couple without children, only a hair-ball puking cat can effect.  Janet discovered that not only was she having to mop up nauseating liquid, but she was doing so with a migraine.  She went for the headache meds in the kitchen while I finished up.  I heard a bang, and when there was no response to my enquiry, I went to see what was wrong.  And discovered my wife collapsed in a tangled heap by the doorway, glasses on the floor beside her.  They tell you about the anger, bargaining and denial of these moments; they inexplicably leave out the icy fear, panic and dumb horror.  Janet had to be told where she was but recovered her senses rapidly.  At the risk of collapsing any further suspense to the story, it was just a faint, brought on by low blood pressure and nausea (Emma submits, lest she be held responsible, that this is far from the first time, and more like the hundredth, that Janet has had to clean up a like mess).

There were some minor injuries.  Janet had hit her head and shoulder on the doorway on the way down.  That raised a goose egg on her skull and the shoulder is going to be painful for a few days.  You now know that she's fine, but at that point I still didn't so I called her sister (who is a critical care nurse in the US) and tried to sound calm.  The advice was that Janet was probably okay, but she should see a doctor anyway, and since we were already up we'd probably get more attention in an emergency room at 5:30 a.m. immediately following the incident than we would mid-afternoon the day after (part of getting good patient care turns out to be marketing).

We dressed shakily, found a taxi and presented ourselves at the emergency room of the American Hospital.  There Janet was quite speedily examined and obtained an IV drip, drugs for the headache, x-rays, CT scan, blood work (all normal), and a sling. 

Our doctor was a Scot, but the rest of the staff were French.  The nurse who provided the sling was concerned that it wasn't a very attractive material (despite being a blue that happened to match Janet's shirt nicely) and said a couple of times that Janet could simply use any scarf that she had at home instead, clearly assuming she has dozens.


Janet's sister was spot on about how to get prompt attention - not that she foresaw the fashion advice.  It must be said that the level of service may have been enhanced by the fact that it's a private hospital (ever the Canadian, I'm not willing to say that's clearly the case). 

The doctor also arranged an immediate appointment with Janet's eye surgeon, in case there was some connection to her recent laser retinal surgery.  That doctor was delayed so we had to wait nearby her office for an hour until she arrived at 11.  Fortunately we were very near the Trocadero, so we found a café with a view of the Eiffel Tower (and rather poor pain au chocolat) in which to pass the time.

In by seven, home by noon - not a bad turnaround for an emergency room visit, given the Trocadero side trip.  We took a moment to check on the kestrels before catching up on our missed sleep.  I don't know why I didn't try it earlier, but I found I can take passable pictures through the binoculars.

posted 14.4.07