Jay has had problems with a verucca for over a year now and has been going to a dermatologist who has tried various treatments.

The last attempt was with an injection  - or rather two - which he said should do the trick.

But it hasn't.

He is a very pleasant chap and invited us to go back to him if there was a problem. Unfortunately his secretaries are highly reluctant to let anyone get near him.

This morning I rang to explain the situation and ask if there was any hope of seeing the Doctor for a few minutes - or perhaps having a word.

No way. He was absolutely full up. The best she could do was  give us an appointment for October 16th.

 "That's rather a long time to wait, especially as he has a long drive to do."

"Your only chance is to see if your GP will get you an earlier appointment".

"Right, that's what I'll do." was my reply and we both wished each other 'Bonne journée' with cool politeness.

So I rang the surgery to find out when our doctor was free.

"She's on holiday. It will be Doctor L." said the receptionist. Hmm. We know the locum doctor quite well as it's always the same one but whether or not she'd want to argue our case with those secretaries was another matter. She's kind of too nice.

All the same, we were given a rendezvous at 3.45 and she listened to the problem and inspected the foot. She decided on two courses of action - one: a homeopathic remedy and two: phone the dermatologist.

First she typed out the prescription saying that she found there wasn't much in the way of allopathic medication for veruccas but the homeopathic approach was often successful - if long. She added that not all doctors approved (our GP doesn't) but she found it very useful.

Then she dialled the dermatologist and was most assertive but in a pleasant way. When she put the phone down she looked up and said with a satisfied smile,

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

While we were waiting at the chemist's Jay wondered if we could get away with pretending to be a doctor next time we want an appointment.

Not with my accent I'm afraid.

CC had a check-up in London just before she came over to stay for good. It was incredibly difficult to find an NHS dentist and they wouldn't take her on unless she took out  Denplan insurance. When she had a problem with inflamed and bleeding gums she was given a mouthwash which stained her teeth.

The same problem reared its ugly head again and so I made an appointment at our local surgery. She was given a form to fill in and a prescription for an x-ray but when they rang to ask if we could change the dental appointment to 8 o'clock this morning there was no time to arrange it.

CC is not at all nervous about seeing dentists: unlike her mum. As long as I can remember I have had a very strong aversion to any dentists' tools coming anywhere near my mouth and as soon as I was old enough to take a stand I would say "OK, you can look but you mustn't touch." 

How I ever put up with having a wisdom tooth out I'll never know but it was a bit loose anyway so it came out quite easily. The worst part was all the bleeding afterwards. Then there was the time when I bit the dentist's finger. . . .

Anyway, CC and I were greeted by the dentist at 8 sharp and we sat down to explain the problem. Then she invited CC to take the chair and began her examination.

To our surprise she took a swab to put under the microscope and called us over to have a look.

She pointed out tiny moving bacteria, just a few of them, darting across the screen.

"That's what's causing your trouble." she explained.

It seems that people who are not prone to decaying teeth often have a tendency to house these little beasties which cause bone 'loss' and consequent receding gums. The bacteria responsible for caries prevent these from reproducing.

What's more a tendency to nurture this kind of bacteria runs in families. Oh dear. My mum had very few problems with caries but she did have receding gums and, in the past, dentists have told me I had similar problems. But they didn't make any suggestions or do anything about it.

Not so with CC's new dentist. She has given her orders to use a special toothpaste which must never, under any circumstances be used in conjunction with any other toothpaste. Then she has a special pokey thing to push between all her teeth every night before rinsing with a mouthwash which matches the toothpaste.

"It will make your gums bleed for the first week or so but it will be alright after that."

Worst of all, she has a course of antibiotics for ten days. When we collected them from the chemist she said,

"Did the dentist warn you that it is absolutely forbidden to have any alcohol with these tablets? Not even other medicines containing alcohol."

Our faces fell. It is Jay's birthday next week and we were planning a celebratory meal - with champagne.

French medical care usually compares favourably with the NHS but recent experience has been rather frustrating.

For some time Whale has been complaining about his back pain and has seen various specialists at the hospital who haven't been able to pinpoint the cause.

Finally, our GP sent him to see the rheumatologist (pain doctor) to see if he could, at least, sort out the cocktail of tablets prescribed by different departments.

Since his latest fall his pain has been worse. We explained that to Dr. Champagne but he just looked at a selection of previous x-rays and decided that Whale should see an oncologist and contimue taking all the tablets.

Hence, this week we have had two trips to the Polyclinique which turned out to be a waste of time - except that the cancer specialist had the sense to send him for an x-ray and thereby discovered that he has a squashed vertebra. This means that he has to go back to Dr. Champagne for an injection of something like cortisone and also some treatment for lack of calcium.

So, thanks to the said Dr. C we have had to arrange ambulances and spend two afternoons at the Polyclinique unnecessarily. Especially since this week Whale already had an appointment for his change of catheter (at the main hospital), CC had a dental visit and Bear went to see our GP for his monthly prescriptions. (With muggins me going along as interpreter every time).

Thankfully the ambulance people were prompt in picking us up yesterday because I needed to be back for the man to service the boiler.

It's been quite a hectic week.

This is the third time I've had a cyst removed from my head.

The first time was years ago when I just happened to ask my GP if he knew what they were. He got quite excited and before I knew it he had found a scalpel and was poking and prodding to remove it.

A bit of squeezing and bleeding later he showed me the results of his labours - a sort of white pea.

When more lumps appeared a couple of years after that I asked if he'd like to have another go but he refused and sent me to have it done at the hospital. The practice nurse later told me that he had had a bad experience with someone else when he couldn't stop the bleeding.

So, yesterday it was off to the French dermatologist, who is the person to see for cyst removals.

The worst bit was the local anaesthetic - quite a long drawn out stinging procedure but the effect soon kicked in and he was quick, efficient and quite gentle. (Not at all like the hospital experience when the doctor had pushed and squeezed very hard and left me with a headache.)

The stitching felt as though he was pulling out my hair but, in fact he did a very neat job. He made me stay on the bed for a few minutes and then asked me to sit up, but remain there for a few minutes longer. There was a mirror opposite and I was able to check that he had rearranged my hair so that nothing could be seen.

The bill was 42.69 euros - a rather strange sum - and I'll be interested to find out how much, if any, will be reimboursed as I didn't have a letter from my 'medecin traitant' (GP).

Update on yesterday's computer problems:

The 'expert' spent another couple of hours here this morning and simply couldn't make it work except by chance.It seemed to be OK by midday so she left. Minutes later it went wrong again. Despite claiming that there is a good connection to the wifi, it says Outlook Express is unavailable and it cannot display the webpage on IE because I'm offline. GRRRRR

She is coming to collect it tomorrow. . . . .

Two things are going wrong in our household today.

First it's the Whale. He is always having constipation problems but it has now come to a head (or is that bottom?) as despite four Normacols in five days he hasn't 'been' for over a week.

Yesterday the nurse said "If this one doesn't do the trick you'll have to ring the doctor.", as she administered the fourth huge enema.

It didn't work so I rang the surgery and spoke to the doctor soon after 8 o'clock.

"Try giving three Microlax at once and ask him  to lie still and hold it as long as possible." she advised.

Of course, we didn't have any Microlax (a smaller kind of enema) in the house. It was raining 'like cow's pee' as they say here so once it turned nine I used the car to go to the chemists. I left a message on the nurse's mobile and gave Whale the box.

A few minutes later he called me:

"How do I take these?"

"They're not for swallowing. You stick'em up your bum."

"I can't do that!" he protested.

"No, it's OK. Vero's coming back".

Our Vero is a bit of a gloom merchant and she was adamant  that the doctor was wrong and it wouldn't work, but all the same she padded the bed with binliners and old towels - just in case.

Two hours later, he had eaten a good lunch but there was no sign of any action the other end so I phoned the surgery again.

The doctor came this time, prodded and pushed and finally used her finger. There was nothing in the lower bowel so the blockage must be higher.

She prescribed Colopeg - a drastic laxative used to prepare patients for a coloscopy.

"He must drink a litre as quickly as possible and, if I were you, I'd have a commode at the ready."

So, it was another trip to the chemist and a forage in the loft for the commode.

Now we wait. . . . . .

Problem number two is my computer.  Ever since the 'experts' tried to connect all three computers to wifi we've had problems. They left us yesterday with everything working fine, but within half an hour they all slowed down, and by this morning they had given up completely.

The lady expert came back on her own and fiddled around for ages before phoning the 'helpline'. She was getting more and more irritated and it seemed the chap on the other end had no idea what to do. He probably knew less than she did. It was probably a good half an hour at premium rate for nothing.

Then, suddenly, it seemed it was all systems 'go' again but she didn't know why. She just took advantage of the apparent remedy to have a coffee and disappear - but there was no charge and a promise that she'd come back if it went wrong again.

Sure enough. It went wrong, bigtime, the third time I used it. Not only did it claim to be offline, it now says it can't acquire an IP address.

Lady expert is coming back on Wednesday, bless her.

Meanwhile, I may or may not be out of action blogwise.