An Apple A Day Doesn't Work in France

Before we came to France for a year on limited health insurance, it seemed a good idea to me to have us all gone over to make sure we were running in tip top shape. About a month before our departure we went for our physicals, received our tetanus boosters and were sent on our way with an undocumented stamp of approval.

Oh, how I should have known better.

Upon our arrival in France it became clear rather quickly we really should have had full medical records printed up and translated and brought with us for each member of our family. Even then, I am guessing it still would have been necessary to have a French doctor create additional paperwork stating he was officially verifying our paperwork was accurate and legitimate.

Rather than attempt to get our records sent here (I believe they still technically want Vivi's, but I'm hoping they will forget), we decided it would be less of a hassle to just visit a doctor here and have Bo & Vivi gone over once again.

I don't know that we managed the "less of a hassle" part, but after five attempts in almost as many weeks, we have succeeded in finally visiting the doctor and did in fact leave with paperwork officially and frenchily declaring my children to be healthy.

Our first attempt was two weeks before school started. I didn't have a phone number for a doctor in Chinon, recommended to me because of his mastery of English, so I had to arrive in person to set up an appointment. I was very careful to avoid the hours of 12h to 14h because it is very apparent all of France shuts down for lunch at this time. You can imagine my surprise when I found the door to be locked. I looked everywhere for a notice that the office was closed for holiday or bubonic plague, but alas all I found was a note which said something about the hours of 14h-16h. In my confused state I read it to say they were only open during these two hours. I know that sounds insane - a doctor's office only opened for two hours a day, but honestly, "work day" is defined so loosely here that despite my thinking it was utterly ridiculous, it did not seem out of the realm of French reality for an office to keep such abbreviated hours.

A week later I made a second attempt. The pressure was mounting not only because school was rapidly approaching, but I also learned Bo would not be allowed to play soccer without a doctor's note. In addition it appears David, too, was going to need this seemingly "all-access pass" in order to play volleyball in an adult league. Evidently French grown-ups are incapable of knowing their own physical limits and need someone else to tell inform them that a history of heart attacks makes them an unlikely candidate for rugby. Hmmm. Come to think of it, I know a couple folks in the US who could use a doctor forcing them to chill a little bit.

If I was surprised at the locked door before, I was completely befuddled to find it locked yet again. I double and triple checked the sign. I looked at the time. I looked for a sign indicating something catastrophic had occurred to force the unpredicted closure of the office. I found a buzzer. I pushed. It buzzed back at me. So I pushed again. It buzzed back at me again. I tried opening the door while it buzzed thinking this may be some special security feature. The door didn't budge. I pushed the buzzer a third time, this time holding it down and shouting at the vicinity of the speaker, "Allo? Allo? Est-ce que vous avez ouvrire?" (Which is really, really poor French for, "Hello, Hello? Are you open?") Nothing. By this point I was utterly flabbergasted and gave one final thrust of the button in attempts to simply assuage my frustration. Finally a woman with rubber gloves approached, looking rather put out and reluctantly opened the door. She said something that included the word "fermer," (closed). No kidding. I asked if she had the number for the doctor, thinking maybe I could attempt something really crazy like calling ahead to set up the appointment. That's when she announced the doctor was on vacation and wouldn't be back until "la semaine prochaine." Really? Next week? And it was impossible to post a notice on the door informing poor saps like me of this valuable information why? I might have been rude enough to actually laugh aloud at this poor cleaning lady.

One mumbled "merci" and one firmly closed door later and I realize I also had misinterpreted the sign from my previous visit. The office is closed from 2 to 4. Not open. So even if the Doc wasn't off touring the French country side with the rest of his people, he wouldn't have been in at that time. It was a "laugh or I'm going to cry" drive back to the house to await attempt number three.

The following week when we arrived, to my utter delight I found the door not only unlocked but wide open! We walked right in with the ease of royalty. And then stood in line for 10 minutes watching the busiest receptionist I've ever seen. She was strapped to a headset, carrying on a minimum of two conversations simultaneously at all times, jumping up from one desk to another, to a printer, and back to the counter with the dexterity and speed of a gazelle. It was like watching a human pinball bounce through the track with printers whirring, phones ringing, computers beeping and her voice changing from "over the phone tone" to "face-to-face tone" and back again (this was the only way to tell to whom she was speaking, so if you don't know the difference between these two tones it is a good thing you weren't there).

Finally it was my turn at the counter, so I spoke. Only it wasn't actually my turn. It was the headsets turn. So I quickly shut my mouth and stood patiently attempting to read a notice on the counter. The poor secretary had to say "may I help you" (I'm guessing that's what she was saying) more than once for me to figure out she as addressing me. I asked for appointments for the children to see the doctor for school/sports physicals. After hopping onto one of the computers for a moment and then hopping back to me again, she wrote down the time and day of the week and the names of, not one, but two doctors. But before I could ask for clarification the headset must have started talking to her again, because she had already moved on. Noticing the appointments were for the following day I figured I could sort it out then and we left.

Success is a short-lived sensation in this time of my life. Just when I think I've mastered things, I make a mistake that proves I really don't speak this language as well as people keep telling me I do. We showed up at our scheduled time the following day only for me to realize I still get the days Mercredi and Vendredi mixed up the same way I did in high school. This proved to be a Godsend though because I was able to take a moment to have the secretary clarify with me why another doctor's name appeared on my note. She explained the doctor I wanted, the ENGLISH speaking one, was out of the office and this other name was the doctor filling in for him. At that moment his office door opened and a lovely Asian woman said goodbye to her patients in French. I contained my laughter as best as I could as I tried to envision her and I attempting to speak very-differently accented French to one another regarding the health of my children. I don't think so. SO, I changed the appointments, indicating I needed the regular doctor because I needed someone who spoke English. I would have thought this receptionist would have been able to figure out how desperately I needed this, given I was there on the wrong day and all.

A week later we arrived the American-standard 15 minutes early and were looked at like we had made another mistake. "You are too early!" She announced. "Only 15 minutes." I retorted. She shook her head and raised her eyebrows and essentially said, "Well, okay. Have a seat if you want. But the doctor is running very, very late."

An hour later I checked in with her to make sure I hadn't make another mistake with my French translations. "You're next." She proclaimed.

And we were. And he spoke great English. In fact his English was good enough to even bash President Bush at the same time as he was marveling over how much money US doctors make. I was sure to comfort him that if Obama gets his way, our doctors won't be making so much for much longer. I don't know if he got my point. But at least we switched conversation topics to the health of my children instead of my country.

And now, all of France can rest assured my children are well and capable of playing and attending school. I should know. A doctor said so and I have a note to prove it.