The compulsory visit to see the anaesthetist prior to the operation did nothing to quell my fears. He listened sympathetically enough, took my blood pressure (200/110 at the very thought of it) and said all I had to do was tell them when I got to the operating room that the thought of a tube stuck up my nose and a mask over the whole of my face was enough to send me into a state of utter panic. Now that, to me seemed like leaving things a bit late, and I was just a tad suspicious.
My suspicions were proved correct when I saw the surgeon a few days before the op (to check the eye that he had already done). I explained my problem, told him what the anaesthetist had said and asked if it was correct that I need not have the mask over my face. He smiled as he shook his head. Sorry, but the mask is a necessity. However, they should be able to make me go to sleep.
Slightly reassured I survived the next three days trying hard to relax, practising deep breathing and checking my blood pressure (doctor's orders) which confirmed that I was still in a state of stress.
The day dawned after a pretty sleepless night. We arrived at the hospital a couple of minutes after the allotted 7 o'clock but had to wait till nearly twenty past before anyone was free to admit me. By this time I was desperate for a wee. We were taken to a double room, despite having reserved a single, but were informed that chambre particuliere doesn't necessarily mean you'll have a room to yourself. After the last time I congratulated myself on knowing that you had to have the Betadine shower the night before so that they could make you have another when you got there. Not this time: there wouldn't be time for the shower, I had to get into the paper nightie as soon as possible.
I explained my panic problem to the nurse once again, and he said they would give me something to calm me down. Three or four 'wees' later I was ready in bed and swallowed the two small tablets which were meant to render me relaxed and sleepy. The minutes ticked by and my stress levels increased. It wasn't long before the shaking began. 'When will the tablets take effect?' I wondered.
They took me to the lift for the operating floor and I was shaking like a leaf. People patted my hand and made reassuring noises but the tablets weren't working and I was beginning to imagine being horribly conscious and fighting for breath throughout the whole procedure all over again.
Outside the theatre I was left in a jellyish heap for what seemed like ages. Eventually the anaesthetist came along and I begged him to render me unconscious. 'Not here' he said, 'there's no-one to look after you. You must wait till you get into the operating theatre.'
Once I was wheeled in and had slid off the bed and onto the operating table the surgeon came in and shook my hand, saying 'Bonjour'- the French are always sticklers for the correct greeting - and then they got to work. The anaesthetist, bless him, carefully placed the tube under my nose and stuck it with tape to my nightie. I was aware of the drops going into my eyes and then NOTHING.
The next thing I knew was waking up back in the room, only to promptly go back to sleep again for a couple of hours or more. The sedative tablets they had given me that morning must have, at last, done their duty.
It's just typical that the day of the long awaited appointment with the specialist dawns and my knee is the best it's been for months!
Instead of hobbling and limping I've been walking briskly, going up and downstairs (a little gingerly) and even risking the odd (weight bearing) bend of knee. Of course, this is all thanks to the fact that CC is here and so I've been able to rest more.
It was rather difficult to explain to the the Doctor exactly how painful it was and what a problem it was to get around. Even when he pulled, pushed and bent the offending knee it didn't hurt that much. I was beginning to feel a bit of a fraud.
But when he perused the x-ray and MRI scan he announced that I had deformed kneecaps - both of them. They were 'made like that' he said, 'from birth'. 'Pity I can't have new ones', I said. 'Oh but you could, he replied, 'I put one in only yesterday. However, you are not ready for surgery yet'.
He prescribed a knee support and ten sessions of physiotherapy to stretch the thigh muscle and said I could have another cortisone injection if it played up again and that it might be possible to inject a gel to support the kneecap.
Little sleep since 2.30 but we have to get up early today. Feeling very shaky - totter downstairs and freshen up in the shower. Jay makes some vanilla tea but I can't eat a thing.
We drive to Belval (We have friends here, who were away when we arrived in France. I didn't write in the diary exactly how we arranged to go there and can't remember.) discussing options and feelings. Maybe I've calmed down a bit now but am not optimistic. Jay is talking about going to see agents in Norwich about renting.
Hubert (our friend's brother who lives next door) opens the door at Belval, holding onto Yaris's collar. Hasty goodbyes with Jay and I go in the house. Did we say goodbye properly? - I remember a quick hug and a promise to ring this evening.
Conversaton with Hubert is strained, although we both try to keep it going. At last he says he must go home and will I undo the door when Marie and Michel get back. I dash to the loo and miss their ring at the doorbell but Yaris is barking. We greet each other and then I try to explain the situation in very simple French.
'Did you realise that Ralph and I have had problems?
'Not at all'
'Well, he has always been jealous of CC and Jay . . . .
Amazingly, they understand readily and are most sympathetic. They volunteer lots of help and telephone their Notaire for advice. He agrees to come round at one o'clock. We have an early lunch - tomato salad, confit du canard, cheese and apple tart - and he arrives before the coffee.
Michel and Marie explain the situation in rapid French. The Notaire is most helpful. He thinks he has a suitable house in Charleville and others in two nearby villages. This makes me feel much more optimistic.
9.50p.m.
Found a house!
Marie and Michel have been fantastic. They arranged a visit to one of the village houses and took me to see it. It is BIG and there are two steps at the entrance but that should be OK with a ramp. The decor could do with a bit of work but it's clean. There's a big lounge, a reasonable kitchen and a bedroom/study plus accessible toilet and bathroom on the ground floor and three bedrooms upstairs - separated by a huge loft, complete with linen line. The stairs are variable as far as safety is concerned and those going down to the cellar are particularly hazardous!
There's a small garden and two garages. The village itself is very pleasant and there are plenty of shops, a doctor's surgery and even a hairdresser. Marie has put a '5 day option' on it for us.
Michel took me to see the house in Charleville. It is directly opposite Match (a supermarket) and on a very busy road. However, the Notaire promised us the keys to visit it at 9 o'clock tomorrow so we're going out of politeness, and, as Marie put it, to make sure there are no regrets.
We came to the conclusion that it would be better for me to stay with Marie and Michel than with Claudine and J.Y in Charleville so we went to explain them and ask J.Y to sign the papers for the bank. It was embarrassing because he was expecting me to stay and was cooking dinner. Oh dear! Hope he wasn't too offended. (It was good of them to say I could have their daughter's room during the week but as no-one is at home till late each evening and there was no offer of a spare key, I'd have to occupy myself in town till they got home.)
The Bear has been in bed since Sunday with aches and pains, nausea and a touch of the runs. After another sleepless night - mainly due to his coughing - I decided to call the doctor in to see what she could give him in the way of medication that wouldn't disagree with the vast quantity of pills he already swallows.
She arrived just before 11, examined the poorly looking creature in the bed and announced that he did NOT have 'flu, as I'd suspected, but she didn't know what it was. She would not prescribe anything to help him sleep because he is prone to asthma but she would give him a cough syrup and something to settle his sickness and diarrhoea.
Once she had gone, Bear appeared much more with it. He decided he could eat some cereal and complained I didn't spend enough time with him. (When I have a migraine or flu I just want to left alone and most times when I tiptoed to look in the bedroom yesterday he was snoring). So, I made the mistake of sitting down beside the bed when I went back to retrieve his breakfast tray.
He started with lots of invective towards the other members of the household. It seems he had peeped into the dining room last night and seen us having a meal and this had provoked a severe attack of jealousy. He maintains he does not want to eat at the same table as the rest of us and accuses me of 'playing happy families' but I'm pretty sick of eating from a tray in front of the TV every day, giving Whale his meal on his desk in the library and watching the kids get their own food and take it up to their rooms.
CC and I decided it would be much better to cook the main meal together and eat at the table.
Bear continued to berate everyone and then became tearful. I did feel sorry for him but part of me remained unmoved (untakenin?) and I couldn't help thinking of times in the past when the situation was reversed. I would weep buckets over his attitude towards the children and to me and he would simply twist the knife in the wound. One night I was so miserable I drove to the Samaritan's office in town. After speaking to someone for quite a time she suggested I should go home where she was sure he would be worried about me. I said I doubted it so she rang him. He was asleep, hadn't missed me, was surprised to learn where I was and told her he'd be waiting to reassure me when I got back. In fact he was snoring when I returned.
Anyway, to get back to this morning, Bear cried that he was so unhappy here he wanted to move out as soon as he was well enough. He didn't want to go back to England because he liked it here in France so he might get a gite or something. He claimed that I didn't understand how he felt about living with them and that I was splitting myself in three - no, two and a half, and he was only getting the half.
The problem is, I do understand what he wants - to have me totally to himself, to wait on him hand, foot and stomach, and not to see other people or have other interests. I've been there, done that, worn the t-shirt, and am not prepared to go there again.
I will look after him but on my terms, and, not unnaturally, he has difficulty accepting that.
Jay has a five mile jog but I stay in the house for a more leisurely start to the day. Buy new matches at the local shop and some eggs to boil for breakfast.
The drive to Charleville is a bit busier than yesterday probably because it's market day, but as we come to the carpark someone pulls out so we are lucky to get a space.
Visit several estate Agents and two Huissiers (A kind of cross between a solicitor and a bailiff. They can let and manage houses but are not 'qualified' to sell them.) and the bank to open an account. We are told we have to use J.Y.'s addess and ask him to fill in some forms and produce a copy of his Carte d'Identite and a utility bill. Won't see him till Wednesday evening so make an appointment for Thursday 10a.m.
The two hour lunch break seems like an eternity. We have coffee and mineral water in a bar and then I buy a slice of Tarte aux Myrtilles (blueberries) and scoff it in the car.
There are lots of people chasing a small number of houses to rent and so long waits at Huissiers' offices. In desperation we pick out two likely looking properties and ask if they are accessible for disabled people. The girl shrugs and suggests we go and look at the outside first. She photocopies the details and off we go.
The one in Rue Lapic is cheaper - 445euros - so we go there first. Quiet area, pleasant enough road but the house is blessed with four steep steps. So, off to property number two - Chaussée de Sedan.
A large, imposing house and NO steps. Off we go to get the keys, leaving my passport and 20 euros as hostage at the Huissiers. The traffic is terrible going back via the 'direct ' route, mainly because they are painting the zebra crossings and digging up the road but here we are - good parking but directly opposite the ralway line!
I struggle to unlock the doot but Jay manages to open it and we are greeted by the sight of a man. Once over our mutual surprise, he turns out to be the owner and shows us round. The ground floor has four huge rooms, a kind of utility room and a toilet with a very narrow door.
Upstairs are four more big rooms, one with an ensuite bathroom, but the kitchen is small and disappointing. It has a sink unit, a gaspipe, lots of electrical sockets and nothing else, except for a most inconvenient pipe sticking out of the floor in one corner.
Then he shows us the attic, (four more 'rooms'), the cellar, which goes on and on, and the garden - a wild and wooded 2000 square metres - accessible via a balcony and STEPS!!! Still, it would be far too rough to push a wheelchair round through that jungle of weeds and trees. At least, we wouldn't have to worry about doing any gardening.
It's lovely apart from
1) The kitchen - or lack of it.
2) The downstairs loo - rather narrow for a commode on wheels.
3)The RENT 990euros.
We go back with mixed feelings of elation and disappointment but I say we're interested and will be in touch when we give back the keys and retrieve my passport and deposit.
On the drive back to Chooz the mood becomes less optimistic.
Can we really afford it? Yes, at a pinch.
What about the loo? Even if we take off the door it's not going to be wide enough.
The kitchen? Well, huge let down, but we could manage with a cooker, fridge-freezer and a table.
We really didn't think it would be so difficult to find anywhere. Jay is due to go back to England tomorrow and return with the furniture on Sunday.
What alternatives do we have?
Plan A - take house and move in on Sunday
Plan B - I'll keep looking, bring furniture over in hopes and resort to storage if necessary.
Plan C - rent somewhere in England until we find a place here.
Arrive at Chooz rather depressed. Jay cooks some crevettes but they are awful.
He makes a spaghetti Milanese but my stomach is tying itself in knots. I can't do it justice and end up admitting to feeling queasy.
Phone CC and use up an awful lt of units. Gerard knocks on the cabine (phonebox) and tells me to ring J.Y. (I'd arranged to stay with them in Charleville once Jay went back to England as I couldn't househunt from Chooz, 40 miles away)
It seems no-one will be home till after 8p.m. tomorrow so I'll have to wander round on my own till then. Great! Tell Claudine about the house we saw - she says 'take it - there's not much choice at the moment'.
Ring the Bear - briefly. Say I'm feeling sick and so get away with a short call. (At this stage I still haven't told him I have left him.)
Actually, I'm feeling really sick now - yuk! Awful evening - try to drink a weak cup of herbal tea and so to bed.
A ghastly night full of panic attacks, butterflies and deep despair, not to mention nightmares involving toilets, tape measures and kitchens.
Church clock starts chiming again at 6. (Many clocks in France chime each hour TWICE. The one at Chooz used to continue all through the night - quarter hours too - but after complaints it was silenced between the hours of 11 and 6) The school bus leaves at 7 to take the older children to Charleville and at 8.30 the square fills with cars as and pedestrians as parents bring the younger ones to the local school.
Jay goes for a run but I have a leisurely shower and then walk across to the shop for some toothpaste, biscuits and yoghurt. When Jay gets back we have a bowl of vanilla tea - water boiled in a saucepan as no kettle, and difficulty lighting gas with damp matches - and go into Givet.
We wander round the small town refreshing our memories of the quaint little streets, the river and the imposing Fort on the hilltop, do essential shoppng at the supermarket and check out train times to Charleville. They are not convenient so we go by car.
Re-explore Charleville, try lots of bars for coffee and go for a walk by the river before climbing the steep roads of Mt. Olympe. We have to kill time before we can go and see Claudine and J.Y. because they don't get home till 8. They have lots of info but we are both rather too tired to take it all in. Leave about 9.30 armed with lots of papers and a long list of things to do tomorrow.
It seems to be a custom round here to 'faire les voeux' - in other words,wish one another a Happy New Year - and make an evening of it.
My neighbour announced that she and her husband would be coming round at about seven, and remembering last year, we put champagne in the fridge, CC made mince pies and Jay went shopping for blinis, cream cheese and smoked trout. I did toasted slices of baquette topped with foie gras.
When they arrived everyone greeted each other with four kisses - or a handshake for two men - then Bear hid behind a book and Whale came through to try out his French. The youngsters escaped to the kitchen to 'do the catering' and left me to make most of the conversation. After a couple of glasses of champagne we all relaxed a bit but, I must say, none of us was sorry when they got up and took their leave just before nine o'clock.
But it wasn't all over. Last week another neighbour telephoned to say he would like to come round on Saturday with his wife. It was very difficult to say no but this 'self-invitation' was met with sighs of dismay all round. CC refused to make more mince-pies, Jay did the shopping but announced he would stay in his room and Bear was not at all pleased.
I misheard the time of arrival and expected them at 7.30 but they turned up at 6.30! CC took over the nibbles, I got out the champagne, Jay found some whisky for Pascal and then disappeared upstairs. The Whale took to his bed claiming a sore behind and Bear produced a newspaper.
It seemed that Florence never ate anything in the evening (that accounts for her slim figure) and so we didn't even use the blinis. After a fair amount of whisky, Pascal became quite vociferous and political and seemed to be very much in favour of Le Pen for President. CC and I were pretty horrified but didn't get involved in a debate.
Thankfully, Florence was sober enough to steer her husband in the direction of home by 8 o'clock.
We are all crossing our fingers that it's too late for any more visits of that nature now that we're more than half way through January.
At the moment there's an awful lot of bad feeling in this household.
There's nothing new in the fact that Bear hates Whale and is always muttering under his breath or even audibly about how he should be somewhere else - dead preferably - rather than blighting Bear's life.
But now there is an extra factor in that CC is here to stay and Jay no longer has his bolthole in London for when the pressure builds to meltdown point so he, too, is feeling moody and his dislike of the Bear is coming to the surface. He and CC spend an awful lot of their time out or upstairs to keep out of Bear's way as he does manage to spread an atmosphere of misery downstairs.
When we came back from appointments with the dentist and anaesthetist yesterday CC was in the kitchen making soup and listening to a CD. Bear immediately switched on the TV, turned up the volume and channel hopped until he found one of his awful American cops and robbers programmes. That's the problem with an open-plan house.
On Sunday, as it was a pleasant day, Jay and CC took the Whale out and the Bear and I went for a drive as well. I asked if he'd like to go and see one of the houses I'd seen last week and he agreed, but on the way there he started moaning about how we never go out together and all the usual complaints that always blight our outings together. By the time we reached the village in question he was of a mind to dislike everything about it so we drove back to the annoying accompaniment of his humming the theme tune to Crown Court - non-stop.
Later, while he snored in front of the telly, CC, Jay and I had a conference upstairs. Their nerves were stretched to breaking point. They had had enough of Bear's bad manners, nasty remarks about them and their dad (the Whale) and the way he takes over the living room so that they feel too uncomfortable to relax there.
A move is essential - preferably without the Bear, but what do I do with an ageing, badtempered husband who is not really capable of looking after himself properly?
No-one else would have him and I've left it too late to leave him yet again or 'throw him out'. But how much longer can we let him ruin everyone else's happiness?
It's a rather pessimistic start to 2007. Dare I hope that things can only get better?
The Carte Vitale is a very precious green card, the size of a credit card, essential for medical cover in France. Once you have one you use it for visiting the doctor, chemist or hospital and, if you are lucky, it results in automatic reimboursement,(as opposed to filling in a form and sending it off to the Social Security office - where it might get lost - for them to pay you back -eventually.
Since Jay is now officially resident in France we have been trying since last September to acquire a Carte Vitale for him. We filled in the required forms, provided proof of residence, photocopy of Birth Certificate and passport, copies of past salary slips, a signed form saying he was dependent on his father and a letter saying that he had paid his taxes for 2004 and took our place in the queue at the CPAM (Social Security Office). When it was our turn we deposited all the papers on the lady's desk and she rifled through them suspiciously but all appeared to be in order and she gathered them up as we took our leave.
A month later, we had a letter asking for a copy of his Birth Certificate! I rang them and explained that they already had it but they insisted on having another. So we took one to the office personally. The lady behind the desk didn't seem to know why we had to produce this second copy but she took it anyway.
Another wait and still no card so my friend, Elisabeth, phoned on my behalf saying that I was having sleepless nights thinking of my poor son out there with no medical cover. I don't know what else she said but a Carte Vitale arrived a few days later.
At the end of November we had occasion to go to the office again to ask for CMU (which would provide 100% reimboursement instead of the usual 70%) as Jay is now in receipt of RMI (a kind of unemployment benefit). As soon as she saw the RMI slip the lady said he should have his own file now, rather than be covered by his dad's insurance. She confiscated the precious Carte Vitale and said he would be getting another one with his own number.
Another wait - no card. Jay needed to see a dermatologist because of a verruca which has been troubling him for over a year so I rang to ask if he could be reimboursed. The girl I spoke to said there would be no problem and even gave me his new number. Seeing a specialist means that you must have a letter from your Medecin Traitant (GP) and so I rang again to check that his form for choosing a doctor had been received. This time, the girl I spoke to insisted that she had no record of any medical insurance for Jay! I explained that they were in the process of creating his own file and she said in that case his 'dossier' would be 'blocked'. Great!!!
I tried the following day and spoke to someone else who admitted she didn't know what was going on (Wow! They usually make it up as they go along) and said someone would ring me back. I missed the call but found a message on the answerphone saying there would be no new 'dossier'; Jay would remain on his father's insurance.
Two days later the CMU form was returned and stuck to it was the OLD carte vitale. There was also a letter exxplaining what I had been told over the phone and asking for details of Jay's dependents. I rang to say there weren't any and it was explained to me that the CMU was now in place. All I had to do was update the card. This is done at the chemist's. You pop the card in a machine a bit like a cross between a parking meter and a cash dispenser and the computer does the rest. According to the chemist the 100% cover was now operational.
We went to the dermatologist's and the card worked. He explained that laser treatment would be necessary. This, being rather expensive, needed special permission from the CPAM and so he gave us a form to fill in and take or send to them.
It seemed safer to go in person in case there was an error in our form-filling which would result in waiting for ages and then doing it all again. As soon as she saw from the Carte Vitale that Jay was on CMU the lady behind the desk proclained that he should have his own 'dossier'. Help! We'd been there before. I tried to explain what had already happened but she looked down her nose at me and said she would have to phone for clarification. Could I remember the name of the person who had written to that effect? All I could remember was Regis, but not his surname. I heard her ask if there were many 'Regis's and she was relieved to find there was only one. It seemed he explained it all to her at great length and, finally I heard her say, 'Well, I've learned something new.' before hanging up with a pout.
Finally, she turned back to us and took the 'permission for expensive treatment' form. I asked how long we would have to wait for a reply and whether it would come to us or go to the doctor. 'You will only be told if it is refused'. she said, 'Otherwise, if you hear nothing in three weeks, go ahead.' It looked as though Jay was well and truly in the system at last.
Then, today, we had a letter asking for an E121 for the Whale so that Jay's cover could be arranged.
It is generally recognised that our open plan house is not really working so we are thinking of looking for a house - or houses - where everyone can have more privacy.
Bear is in agreement with this but got really stroppy when I said we had made an appointment to look at a couple of places on Friday afternoon. Now if relations were friendly there would be no reason why he shouldn't come with Jay, CC and me but the Bear has made it plain that he wouldn't be seen dead in the same car as my son, so, inevitably, he is the one who will be left at home. After all, Jay and CC would be doing the buying so they need to be there, and they take me along to translate. And, anyway, this is just a preliminary investigation to see what's out there.
In addition to this projected trip, I committed the unforgiveable crime (in Bear's eyes) of accompanying Jay to a dermatologist's appointment yesterday afternoon and then meeting CC for a coffee before doing some shopping for the evening meal.
So there was ample fuel for another row.
And it started last night with the usual accusations:
1.We scheme behind his back. (Yes, I admit, we didn't tell him about CC's plans until after the New Year because we didn't want to spoil the festivities for everyone.)
2.I'm so selfish because I expect everyone to tie in with what I want. (This is because I love having friends and neighbours round occasionally!)
3.I go out with Jay and CC but not with Bear. (I have been to appointments with both Bear and Jay this week. Bear was not at all well for a few days after my cataract op. so I thought he'd be relieved if Jay took me to do the shopping. We went for a coffee afterwards. That's a crime in Bear's eyes.)
4. I think more of them than I do of Bear and I always put them first. (This has been his complaint for as long as I can remember. Can't he understand that a mother has the capacity to love her children without it diminishing her love for her husband. In the end, his constant efforts to 'get rid' of my son and daughter killed off my love for him. I admit, I haven't been 'in love' with him for years - at times I don't even like him - but, despite that, I feel responsible for him as he is not getting any younger or fitter and I do still care about him in a strange sort of way. The trouble is, if I start softening towards him, as, for example, when he suffered discomfort all day at the hospital 'just to be with me', it isn't long before his unreasonable attitude resurfaces and my feelings harden again.)
After going round in circles with all the usual accusations and insults last evening and again this morning I found myself blurting out, 'Well, you'd better think seriously about what you want to do, but if you can't be civil to everyone you might as well f*** off back to England!'
He immediately put on his 'really hard done by' act and dared me to tell all our friends what I'd said to him.
