Vous Etes Anglaise?

Here goes, my first real post written on my new netbook woop de doo! That sounds sarcastic but it isn't. I have quite a few updates for you, oh and the good news is that I've managed to shake off la grippe and am now much better (all gravy, one might say).

Being somewhat flued up last time we spoke, I have yet to retell my first encounter with a French doctor. I failed with this task before having really begun it. My host family gave me the name and number of their local doctor, who I promptly called only to be informed, en français, that the doctor was currently on vacation and would be available for consultations from the 1st of May. Yes, a full 4 months later. The French take their vacations very seriously but this was an extreme even to me after living here for almost half a year. I suppose doctors need more time off than us average folk.
Having huffed and puffed along the 20 minute walk to a doctors which was indeed open, with a fever of 39 degrees, I eventually arrived at a rather nondescript looking door and stumbled within, only to find a deserted hallway and what appeared to be a deserted waiting room. Such things are unheard of in England, it was refreshing not to be met with an array of germ-infested children and their parents at this time of year. However, the lack of recognition of my entrance was a little bit disturbing! An interesting sidenote is also that here a "docteur" is not someone equipped to give you medical advice but instead a very intelligent PHD graduate. Doctors are referred to as Le Medecin, not to be confused with les medicaments. Which can actually get very confusing at pharmacies, waiting rooms etc.

My English politeness forbade me to make my presence known other than by the reoccurring and involuntary coughing and chest wheezing. This had the desired effect though as shortly a door was opened and a loud "Oui" echoed along the corridor. The doctor was an elderly gentlemen who raised his eyebrows as I appeared; no doubt disgusted by my obvious contagiousness.

The consultation itself was less painful than perhaps thought. After promptly recognising "vous etes anglaise?" the doctor proceeded to bark English orders at me, which included  "do you know what this is?" whilst holding a new-age thermometer at my head, followed by "it is a gun! hahaha". You've got to love French comprehension of English humour, especially when one is ill, feverish and slightly disillusional. The consultation ended with a charge of 33 euros along with a prescription for several expensive medicines and a firm refusal to shake my hand goodbye "you never know, with this flu, I do not want to become ill, especially as it is not French flu no, it is the English flu! Much worse." I assumed he was joking but in retrospect am no longer too sure.

Voila, there ends my tale of French medicine. I went home, bought the meds, took the meds and got better. Nothing too special about that but it was overall quite an expensive and confusing experience which I can now chalk down to knowledge of French culture and way of life.

I will post this now and continue shortly with a description of my other more fun adventures.

A bientot mes amis xxx