The Whale has been complaining more and more about the burning sensation in his bum and this morning we went to the hospital for a consultation. The doctor was very pleasant but had a nervous habit something like a cross between a grunt and a short humming noise as he was reading through the notes and letter from our GP. Fortunately, this was not present when he spoke, or we may have had serious problems understanding his rapid French.
In contrast to the (lack of) care in England, he said it was time for The Whale to have another check-up as it was over a year since his last one and he would arrange all the necessary scans etc and then take him into hospital for a couple of days to carry them out. The Whale hates it in the Reumatology ward and has made a lifelong enemy of one of the nurses so I hope she is not on duty next week . . . . .
After several weeks of suffering with my knee, yesterday, I finally went for the x-ray the GP had prescribed a fortnight ago. It was very hot but I managed to walk from the station where the Bear had parked the car and we were pleasantly surprised to find there wasn't a queue at the reception desk and the waiting room was not heaving with bored looking patients either. It might not be as long a wait as usual.
The Bear went to look at the shops and I sat down with a half dozen or so other hot and sticky people, not forgetting the compulsory 'Bonjour messieurs/dames'
About 30 minutes later a radiographer called my name and I hobbled after her to a little room where I was asked to remove my trousers and shoes and wait for her to let me in the other door. After what seemed like ages, the door opened and she stood me on a kind of platform and announced that she was going to take photos of my left knee. 'No, it's the right knee!' I exclaimed.
'But your doctor has written 'left' she insisted and disappeared to find the piece of paper. Sure enough, it said 'genou gauche' but it was pretty obvious from the swelling that the problem was with the other one, so she proceeded to take three x-rays, moving my platform up and down and from side to side with gay abandon.
That done, she told me to go back into the little room and put my trousers on to walk down the corridor to take more 'photos'.
Sometime later she came to fetch me to take me to a room with a 'bed' to do the 'bent knee' pictures. It was incredibly difficult to hold the position she wanted while supporting the x-ray plate on my thigh and holding it at the correct angle with my fingers. I couldn't control little involuntary twitches and her preparations seemed to take ages.
Eventually, she said she would have to fetch a colleague because the machine 'refused to take the photos'. When she came back she said it was an old machine and had overheated. She would have to leave me for five or ten minutes for it to cool down!!
At long last I limped back to the waiting room to find the Bear sitting there, in a not very happy mood. It was gone half past four, and, according to him, it was my fault he'd been kept waiting so long. When he realised that I still had to wait for the results he became even grumpier.
Ten minutes later my name was called - but to see the doctor - not get the results! She showed me the x-rays and asked a few questions then sent me back to wait while her report was typed out.
At this, the Bear got pretty stroppy so I suggested he went to wait at our favourite cafe and I'd meet him later. Mercifully he went.
It was well past five o'clock when I made it to La Fontaine and found him slouched over a white liquid with ice-cubes and a straw. 'Whatever are you drinking?' I asked.
'I don't know,' he replied, 'it's what she brought me.'
'Well, what did you ask for?' I enquired.
'A St.Landelin' (type of beer) he said mournfully.
'Severine' I asked the waitress, 'What is he drinking?'
'Un verre de lait' she replied - MILK!!!!
I laughed and explained and she fell about laughing as well. Then, she brought the beer and some water for me and wouldn't let us pay for any of it.
