Things are slightly different in France. The government picks up part of the tab and people take out private health insurance for the top-up. The insurance companies are not allowed to refuse anybody on grounds of pre-existing conditions and there are no limits (similar to Obamacare?). That's the bureaucratic side of things and the French love bureaucracy!
Now, when it comes to the care itself, they're great and straight to the point. Our GP arranged everything very quickly. I had an ultrasound of my abdomen and lower limbs arteries the very next day after I went to see her with the initial symptoms. Once it was established that I wasn't going to drop dead immediately, she was able to schedule the angioscan and the consultation with the surgeon with a degree of flexibility. The surgeon decided to wait until after the end of year holidays and I was given a date to enter hospital the day before the surgery.
I had requested a private room with an extra bed for Peter when I had the pre-op tests and the consultation with the anesthesiologist in mid December, so that's what we got. As we knew I had to spend at least 24 hours in intensive care, we had to book a room in a B&B attached to the hospital, just across from the car park, called Pavillion Marivaux.
The hospital room was very spacious and we were served a "marvelous" dinner. I found out we couldn't smuggle our own food in.
The nurses were incredibly kind and very efficient. The surgeon came round to say hello and confirm the time of the surgery. The anesthesiologist also paid me a visit, remarking that I had "pole position," i.e, the first op of the day. When the new shift started at 9 o'clock, a very jolly nurse came in to explain the "showers." I was given a bottle of Betadine and told to shower with it before going to bed. She said she would wake me up 2 hours before the surgery for another very thorough shower with Betadine, including hair, then she would prep me up. This shower routine is to combat MRSA, which seems to be a worldwide problem due to abuse of antibiotics over the years...
I was taken downstairs to the operating theatre, had my arms strapped to arm rests, catheter in one arm, blood pressure sleeve on the other, electrodes all over, Dr Asselineau said something while injecting... then I felt a pressure on my right leg and thought Dr Brechet was preparing to start the surgery, but he was just finishing it! It all happened during the previous "..."
Unfortunately, the details of this stage in the proceedings are a bit foggy, but I know I was taken to a reanimation unit, where a bunch of very efficient people hooked me up to various bits of equipment, asked loads of questions, then moved on to the next person out of surgery. There were several teams moving between patients, checking them every ten minutes or so. People came and went, but I was still there after 4 hours. I don't know what caused the concern and or delay in my transfer to the intensive care unit, but I finally arrived there and could ask if Peter had been informed about the outcome of the surgery. Yes, he had, and would be able to visit me in about one hour.
They say cell phones are not allowed in hospitals, but all nurses, doctors, porters and everybody else are permanently talking on theirs, all the time! Peter had my cell in his pocket and I was able to receive a call from my sister. I also sent some texts to local friends and to Shapeshifterbelly.
One of the auxiliary nurses was Portuguese and we enjoyed some very nice chats when I was awake.
I spent most of the time asleep, even though my right arm would get squeezed for the blood pressure every 15 minutes and a nurse would check me every hour. Dr Brechet came to see me in the morning and said that as soon as Dr Asselineau gave the ok, I could go back to the regular room, then home the next morning. That's when Peter sent an epic text to SSB. My phone is a hateful piece of shite and he's not very good with modern technology, on top of having enormous hands, which makes the keyboard totally inadequate. This is what he wrote:
Hissb regina is happy tohave thigs fixr ficed fixed backto normal room today. Thanjs foor ketting everyone know. lv love peter.
Isn't it great? And he wasn't even drunk!
The Portuguese lady, Paula, held my hand all the way to the elevator when they came to transfer me to the other room, then kissed me and wished me all the best.
In my limited hospital experience, I always came across at least one miserable member of staff. Not this time. They were all charming, cheerful and seemed genuinely interested in my well being.
I haven't done very much since we arrived back home. The neighbours came out to greet me. Madame Soup from across the road returned the key (she was feeding the cats) and Madame Mim from downstairs offered to run errands, such as going to the pharmacy, etc.
We managed to go to the pharmacy to fill my prescriptions and contact the community nurse for a home visit. She was charming and this morning she gave me the first shot of Heparin, which I'm going to need for the next ten days.
It was a very interesting experience and now I have a fantastic bruise on my right leg around the groin area.
Peter is cooking lunch, so wish me luck. His food can't be any worse than the vile stuff they served us at the hospital!
UPDATE
I forgot to mention that EVERYBODY kept urging me to fart after the procedure. I obliged and produced my best drumrolls and Chinese fireworks!
