November 20, 2004

French trauma

I punch like a girl. I know this because after stupidly bowing to the peer pressure of two Germans (one who's about 8 feet tall with a booming voice, god knows what's in the wurst they feed them) at a funfair I got the privilege of sitting for three and a half hours in Bordeaux hospital waiting room. From what I'd heard, I should've felt like a dog with two dicks, I was going to be cured by the healing hands of French doctors, those fabled creatures we send our patients to because we have too many. Well frankly I can't quite see the difference. I'm not saying it's crap, I got to keep my X-ray, my mind just didn't quite make the leap to grasp why the french Health Service is remarkably better than ours, as we are constantly told. After the usual examination of does it hurt here? No. Here? No. Here? Yes, Stop! Mr grumpy doctor proceeded to prescribe me a wrist support which cost me 70 euros! But fret not, it'll be reimbursed, well 70%. How generous.
Unfortunately that isn't my only run in with the french Health Service. On ordering a month's worth of drugs for a repeat prescrition, I had to scoop my jaw off the ground when the Pharmacist told me it would cost 260 euros. For one month! I should've got a bit of a hint when she asked me incredulously, after asking for a social security card, whether I was going to pay.
I enjoy France, I like the French but they're Health Service isn't quite the dog's bollocks like everyone makes it out to be. Sorry.

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