I'm still finding them on my body this morning after a day in the hospital.
Once again I was knocked down by a spasming esophagus, scaring all those around me. The pain is unbearable and there's always the fear of a heart attack. I've been doing this off and on since I was pregnant with Llara but there were years between attacks. Now they come more often.
For people like Julia, it's ho hum we'll take her to emergency just to make sure it's not a heart attack. One of my attacks we really appreciated because the doctor that came to the house (yes this is not uncommon in Europe) made George Clooney look unattractive in comparison.
Only yesterday when the attack hit I was at the florist to buy welcoming flowers for Julia, who was on a train down here for a few days of relaxation. The last time she was down here was for support on the death of a friend.
I barely made it to the doctor's surgery and he called an ambulance in case.
I realised that no one would know where I was. He called a friend who said she'd meet me at the hospital. She could also call my landlord and let her know Julia was coming in.
Like all attacks, a bit of TNT makes it go away but that had to be postponed to not mask the symptoms.
Love the French health care system even with Swiss insurance.
My friend arrived. She had her iPad and we listened to a BBC4 with Bryan Stevenson, a truly remarkable civil rights activist. EKGs, and two blood tests, several hours a part and I was told, "Pas de problème avec votre coeur."
"Je vous aime," I told the doctor and added that I was happily married.
We went home with a beautiful pink-streaked night sky highlighting snow-capped Canigou.
Julia had arrived.
My landlady had made wonderful fish soup with salmon and shrimp. She had fruit for dessert.
There was one good part.
When my age was given the ambulance driver and the nurse opened their eyes wide.
They thought I looked much too young to be 72.
There has to be an easier way to get a compliment.
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