A Birthday Colonoscopy

This is a Dueling Blog. To read Rick's perspective: http://lovinglifeineurope.blogspot.com/

 

 Oh, oh, this is not good.

I found myself on the floor of a toilet after an excellent meal at La Table, a restaurant attached to a vineyard outside Avignon. We were on the way to Argelès from Geneva. I was too weak to sit up, but I could reach to unlock the door and called for help.

Two staff arrived and immediately went for my husband. There was a couch in an unused dining room where I lay until three Sapeurs Pompiers arrived. In France they are also trained as emergency medics. One spoke English.

My blood pressure was 88/37, not a good reading. They noticed a bump on my head. Slowly, I began feeling better and although they recommended going to the hospital, we wanted to get home, and the dog, whom the restaurant staff had cared for, would be a problem.

Once home, I felt relatively okay, but during the night I left much blood several times in the toilet. Also not good. We called the local Sapeurs Pompiers, who had a doctor call me. He directed me to one hospital who sent me onto the big hospital in Perpignan.

Because of the virus, Rick was told to wait outside. Chairs had been provided for family members.

“I love you,” he called to my back.

“Comprenez-vous?” I asked the attendant.

“Il a dit, ‘Je t’aime.”

Triage had more nurses and Sapeurs Pompiers than patients. I was given an EKG, blood samples taken and a tube left in my hand for future connections. My rolling veins behaved, so only two attempts were necessary.

I was taken to room 15 where I brought out Sins of the Wolf to read. I learned a long time ago with anything medical, take a book for waiting. The book was set in Edinburgh and I knew most of the places mentioned. I waited and waited and waited and…

I was able to go to the toilet on my own to bleed several times.

Pages 1-48

A doctor, a young woman just out of kindergarten, appeared. Her youth belied her competence. “We need a scan,” she said.

I was able to call my husband to tell him what was happening. It would be the last time because from that point on it was impossible to make a connection.

Eventually, I was rolled out in the corridor and a woman replaced me in room 15.

I could not get a phone connection there and I worried about my husband worrying.

Pages 49-135

A man who looked like an unfriendly, overly muscular Hell's Angel came from the scanner department and took someone from room 14 to the scanner. I asked him about me. He growled that they were busy and stalked off, pushing the woman.

The woman who had replaced me in room 15 came out trying to find a connection on her phone. When we chatted, I found out she lived in the next village from us in Geneva. She was visiting her daughter in Perpignan and was diabetic.

Pages 135-182

It was now late afternoon. From the window next to my gurney, I could see three helicopters bringing in patients.

I had two major worries:

1.     - A friend’s sister had had intestinal bleeding and had been diagnosed with cancer.

2.     - My husband could not know what was going on.

Pages 183-217

Late in the afternoon the Kindergarten Doctor reappeared. When I told her I hadn’t been scanned she picked up the phone. About ten minutes later I was rolled into the scanning room to be greeted by a staff of three. The woman spoke English, but most of the talking was in French. I complimented one of the men on his psychedelic sneakers.

Pages 218-252 The doctor reappeared to tell me I had an intestinal infection and they wanted to keep me overnight, that they would treat with intravenous antibiotics. My immediate worry was my husband and, less than joy, I pictured a ward.

“We will call your husband.”

I fumbled to get his number from my phone, not having memorized it.

“I’ll come back,” she said.

A few minutes later another woman appeared. “We can speak English,” she said. “Your husband is going home to the dog.”

“Will he be able to bring some books for me.”

“He can visit you. I can give him a message.”

“Tell him I love him and can he bring the five books on the nightstand.”

Pages 253-301

I was taken to my room, a private room larger than some hotel rooms. A woman appeared with bullion, toast and cheese. I had not eaten for 32 hours.

The next day, my birthday, a new doctor appeared. She had long kinky-curly hair and spoke French with a Spanish accent. When I asked her to speak more slowly, she did, but lowered herself closer to me. Fast French through masks with or without an accent can be difficult.

The next day

She explained they wanted to do a colonoscopy – no surprise.

After she left, the door opened.

My husband walked in. A beautiful sight even without the books he carried.

That evening a nurse came in to wash out my colon with a giant sack of what looked like Monsieur Propre (Mr. Clean in France).

My birthday

The colonoscopy lasted five minutes. “Votre colon est malade.” But he also said, “pas de cancer.”

My husband arrived with flowers and a special birthday cake from our favorite local baker and artist in frosting and a special 3D card from one of my friends.

All in all it was a satisfying birthday: no cancer, a comfortable hospital room, an incredible cake and incredible husband. However, next year I would prefer only the cake and husband.