MUTUAL RELIEF AT THE FREE CLINIC

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So I finally got my act together and was able to make it to the free clinic before it closed (you don’t have the right to get sick between 12PM and 2PM or between 5PM and 8AM when you don’t have Social Security), which is a good hour commute from my work anyhow. But let me set the stage for the experience. I buzz when I arrive and the door is opened for me. I enter. The waiting room is small and bare. There are cheap plastic chairs outlining the room, and there is an office with glass walls to one side of the room, where the ‘assistant social’ is seated, filling out some paperwork. There are crying children everywhere, exhausted mothers, impatient fathers, coughing teenagers, trembling senior citizens. People. Everywhere. One by one, the patients are seen and sent on their way. Finally, after a good two hours of waiting (having gotten there at 2PM), the second to last family before me comes out of the doctor’s office and back into the waiting room.

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The doctor is explaining to them in Italian that they need to go to a different medical building next door for some kind of medical document before being able to come back for the next procedure at the MSL (Médecins de Solidarité à Lille, the name of the free clinic). The woman is confrontational and frustrated. Meanwhile, I am thinking to myself, the doctor is already doing her a favor by speaking her language - and thank goodness that he does, because she doesn’t speak a word of French. The doctor explains the situation several times - enough that even I understand it, and I don’t speak Italian. Finally, she says she understands, and he takes the last woman before me (I’m the last person in there) back into his office. She is speaking with him in Spanish as they go into his office. Meanwhile, the Italian lady, while holding an infant in her left arm and the hand of her five-year-old in her right hand, barges into the assistant social’s office to ask him about what she has to do and why. He does not speak Italian. He knows the name of the document that she needs in Italian, and he points to it, says it, and points to the address on a piece of paper. She is not very nice to him, and finally, after a good ten minutes of her repeating the same question and phrase I don’t know how many times, as though somehow magically after the fifty-third time he would suddenly understand what she meant AND be able to respond, left.

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Then I am called into the assistant social’s office, where the man asks me, upon seeing my passport, if I would like to conduct our meeting in English or French. I respond to him (in French) that I would like to do it in French, since I am in France after all. He smiles, a huge smile of relief, and thanks me in advance for my efforts, repeating a few times how nice it is to see someone making some semblance of an effort. Anyway, his job was to make sure where I lived, that I did not, in fact, have Social Security yet and why, that I knew HOW to get it once I was actually able and had all the documents necessary to complete the dossier, and explain the system to me if I did not understand it. He was really very nice and quite helpful. I could tell that he was just happy to know that I was less frustrated and more language-capable than the lady that had come before me.

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By the time all that was done, the Spanish lady was leaving. The doctor called me back into his office. He greeted me with a very French “’Ello” as I entered the room, and I responded with a “Bonjour.” Looking somewhat surprised, he asked me if I spoke French, and I told him that I did. He smiled and said pretty much the same thing that the assistant social had said to me earlier. He was so happy that someone was making an effort to speak French, and he told me not to worry at all if I didn’t understand something or if there were words that I could not find during the consultation, that he had all the time in the world (even though it was almost five) and that he could help me if I got stuck.

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The doctor was really nice. He was chatty and friendly without being over-the-top, and he asked very direct and simple questions, to which I was easily able to respond. I liked that he asked questions in such a manner that I was not required to use any medical terminology at all (except IUD, which is DIU, and patello-femoral syndrome, which is almost exactly the same - syndrome patello-fémoral, or something like that).

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I found out that I am, in fact, making progress with my health. Whereas before I had a sinus infection, an ear infection, an eye infection, bronchitis, and a general cold, this time I just had a killer sinus infection. He gave me about six different drugs to take over a span of ten days and told me that that should do the trick. And the best part of all? Free. All of it. The doctor’s visit. The medicine. “You’re in France,” he told me. “C’est normal!”

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So, hopefully finally on the way up…

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Comments

[Maman]

How Enjoyable...
Em, I have so enjoyed reading about your travels and discoveries. When I read the entries, I feel like I am walking beside you. I also love your observations about language. I didn't realize how much I miss having someone to talk "language" with. I am envious (in a good way) of your experiences in this realm. If I had chosen a slightly different path, it could have been so similar to yours-I love language that much. You have given me great vicarious thrills... Maman

[Laura]

respect and language
Hello Emily, I met your dad recently through work. We got to talking about travel and you came up. It seems respecting the language was understood as honoring the residents. I'm glad you're in France representing America for us. Keep up the good work ! Laura