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View Article  Session with the neuropsychologist
 Today Bear had his appointment with the neuropsychologist.

As we hadn't received a letter about this rendezvous I rang the hospital yesterday to find out if we had to present ourselves at the 'bureau d'admissions' first since we'd been told to do this at the last outpatient consultation.

The lady on the phone didn't seem to know so she gave me some Mozart to listen to while she made enquiries. About 50 bars of music later she returned.

“Yes, you do need to come here first.” she assured me.
This afternoon we duly waited our turn behind two other people only to be told that we should go straight to 'tests de memoire'

We followed the directions, took the lift to the first floor and came to another waiting area where a group of three people were chatting.

“”Excuse me please, do we have to see a receptionist on arrival?” I asked the lady nearest me.

“No, they just call you in.” was her response.

They continued chatting but when they mentioned the doctor it was not the one we were due to see.

“Do you know if this is right for Dr. G? “ I asked.

“No. I don't think so,”she said. “Is it for a memory test?”

“No, not this time. I'd better ask.”

There were voices coming from the room marked 'consultations' and the door was open so I tapped and enquired.

“Yes, you're in the right place.” was the response.

Sure enough, at precisely 14.00 a door opened and a young man came forward to ask for us.

He looked about 18.

I could sense Bear's lack of confidence in him immediately.

He invited us in but when he realised he was going to have to cope with someone who was reluctant to speak French he seemed a bit taken aback.

“Some of the tests are a bit complicated. Oh well, we'll have to do the best we can and avoid the verbal ones where possible.”.

First of all he showed us a series of 25 pictures – small modern art type drawings – and said Bear had to try to remember them for later.

Bear made it clear he wasn't going to take it seriously. He was joking about 'what 7 year old child could have drawn this rubbish' and he kept turning round to make comments to me instead of studying the pictures. So it was not surprising that when the time came to pick out the ones he had seen when they were presented to him in groups of four – only one of which he had been shown before – he didn't score very well.Mind you there were one or two that I wasn't sure about either!

He was asked to copy a geometrical drawing to the best of his ability, but he didn't try very hard. After some other tests involving copying hand movements he was asked to draw the same picture again from memory. He made a mess of that.

“I get the impression he doesn' t really want to do these tests” said the young doctor.

“Yes, he's behaving like a naughty schoolchild, isn't he?”

Then he produced a board with about fifteen blue cubes stuck on in a random pattern.and asked Bear to touch them in the same order that he did. He managed quite well until it came to five at a time. Then the Doctor said he wanted him to touch them in reverse order. Bear did two and three with no problem but once it got to four he gave up trying.

This doctor had not been given the results of the MRI scan Bear had done a couple of weeks ago but he asked about them at the office when he saw us out.

The secretary produced the envelope and Dr G had a quick look through.

“Ah, Dr T. will explain all this to you when you see her on February 6th”, were his parting words.

It's difficult to know who was the more relieved to say goodbye – Bear or the young doctor.

P.S. This is also being posted on another site. Have a look and see what you think. Keith is still working on it but we'll have to decide whether to stay here or move on.

View Article  The cardiologist

All we had to go on was the scrappy piece of paper we had been given by the doctor on our last visit to the hospital.

He had written the address and time - 9.30, but not the name of the doctor.

Since Bear still refuses to go in Jay's car we booked a taxi - the new oneman business, recently started up in the village. The driver was playing with a SatNav.

"Is that a Christmas present?" I asked him.

"No, I don't know where to find rue Kennedy." he replied.

Fortunately I was able to explain where it was, as the computer generated voice was rather irritating and I could see Bear bristling.

The driver was quite impressed that I knew and I was rather surprised he didn't. After all, he lives in Charleville!

Anyway, he dropped us off with fifteen minutes to spare and we went inside.

'If you have an appointment go straight into the waiting room. If not see the receptionist.' said the sign.

As there were some doctors on the ground floor and others upstairs we had to go and ask which one we were to see.

Just our luck; he was upstairs.

He called us into his consulting room and started asking questions. It was a bit odd to start with. He was addressing Bear but I was answering. I think he found it quite amusing.

Anyway, he did an ECG and various other tests and decided that everything was fine. But, he did casually mention that if Bear had any severe chest pains I was to phone 15 (emergency doctor) immediately; if it was just a case of an occasional bout of discomfort we were to go back and see him. I don't think Bear understood this so I didn't worry him with a translation. After all, he'd just been given a clean bill of health heartwise, hadn't he? At the end of the consultation I handed over the Carte Vitale and fished out the chequebook.

"Tout est reglé"  (It's all paid) said the doctor. It's funny how sometimes you have to pay upfront and wait a few days for it to be paid back in to your account and then, at other times it goes straight through like this.

We emerged into the grey, rainy day just after ten and made for La Fontaine for a coffee. It's ages since we've been there and we were greeted with kisses and New Year wishes. Bear had hoped to stay in town for lunch but by 11 o'clock he had had enough and I rang for the taxi to take us home.

Needless to say, Bear has hardly moved from his armchair since.

View Article  Medical Follow-up

Bear has been poorly since November and is still very much under the weather.

He spent five days in hospital after his fall and then came home nursing an infected hand (where they had inserted the canular) and a fractured shoulder (which they couldn't do anything about except give large doses of paracetamol).

This was followed by a bout of bronchitis and  he is still coughing and wheezing.

It was with considerable difficulty that he dragged himself out of bed for his first hospital appointment yesterday. I ordered a taxi because he still refuses to accept a lift in Jay's car and we arrived at the main reception office in good time.

However, having done all the necessary paperwork we had to find the right department for the consultation. It was not clearly labelled and in the end a friendly nurse informed us that we had to backtrack, go out (into the snow) and then we'd find the O.R.L. (E.N.T.)  out-patients in another building. We found it a few minutes before our allotted time of 10 o'clock.

By this time Bear was cross, nervous and grumbling but we didn't have to wait long before we were called in to see a very affable doctor. He briefly examined Bear's eyes and ears, asked how he had been since his stay in hospital and then declared that from his point of view everything was fine.

BUT he had a list of further specialist appoinments.

"Really? We only have a letter about the MRI scan on the 18th."

"Oh, haven't you been informed? There's the cardiologist on the 9th, the neuropsychologist on the 29th and the memory test in February."

He kindly copied down all the details, handed me the paper,smiled broadly, shook hands and ushered us out with a 'Bonne Année.'

It was not quite 10.15. when we emerged and I called the taxi. Pretty good timing compared to the NHS I reckon.

When we were back home I looked up neuropsychologist on the web. It seems they deal with all sorts of mental illness including 'mood disorders' and 'personality disorders'.

I wonder what they'll make of Bear. . . . . .

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