Irony is a dish best served intraveinously

Last saturday morning I awoke after a swingin' night at my favorite jazz club with an apparant knife in my side. Now the Café Laurent is not a rough establishment by any means, and since I am not the bar brawling type I searched my mind for a reasonable explanation. As I felt for the offending instrument of my torment which twisted and turned inside my body as I moved to get out of bed, I found the source. As soon as I touched it with my hand I instinctively knew: appendicitis! Merde. Now denial isn't just a river in Egypt, it was a river inside my head. Even as I knew I was going to the hospital I was thinking about cleaning my flat of last night's dinner dishes, picking up my clothes, and making my bed. And who NOT to bother. Where should I go? I thought of dear Dr. P who helped me the last time I was ill, but we haven't been in touch lately and I didn't want to "bother" him. I thought about a couple of friends with automobiles who might be able to take me to a clinic, but I hesitated. Maybe it was just gas! I began washing the dishes and hoped for the best. Fast forward to 6 p.m: After three naps, I was still trying to finish the dishes. I knew by then I had better get some help. The pain in my side had not gone anywhere, and Cleopatras barge had hit a sandbar! My options were: an ambulance (so dramatic and expensive), a cab (but I must have an address to give the driver), or "bother" a friend. I called Damdy. In 20 minutes she had things under control. She drove me to a clinic which had emercency services and fortunately I was the only patient in the house. I told the doctor my diagnosis and after an examination she conferred. It was emercency appendectomy time! Part Deux: The Clinic I was ushered into a double room to be greeted by Madame Simon (pronounced "see-moan"), an emaciated 55 year old Sally lookalike from The Nightmare before Christmas. I had the choice of a double or a private room, but having no health insurance I am responsible completely for the bill so I chose the former. I would live to rethink that decision! I was immediately prepped for an I.V. and sent to the shower with a bottle of betadine and instructed to wash head to toe. Now I am thinking that since they want nothing icky growing on me before a surgical procedure, they might want to clean the mildew and mold out of the bathroom-but that's just me. And to my dismay there were no bath towels. Apparantly in France when you go to hospital you bring your own. Everyone knows that! I was offered a bedsheet to dry myself. Blood tests, pain killers, and antibiotics were administered intraveinously and I settled in for an anxious night to wait for the mornings events. I have to say that the care was great. The nurses were all very nice, most spoke english, the veinipuncturists made a scary procedure easier, and the anesthesiologist was a very masculine and handsome french hottie. I was really impressed with the staff. The building itself however was another story. It was really in need of fresh paint and new linoleum. The shower in my room had been leaking since 1972, causing the floor to have a wet and germy life of it's own. It looked more like the Hotel Sordide than the Ritz, but here I was with a freshly slit belly hoping to avoid a staph infection. Part Three: Madame Nightmare First she attempted to convert me to Christian Science. She insisted that all doors and windows be kept tightly closed at all times. She had a pantry of food squirrelled away that she refused to eat and she snored like a train! By 6 a.m. tuesday morning I was plotting her demise. I decided that morning some things are worth the money, like 200 euro more overall for a private room. There was no curtain to divide us in this clinic, so I was privy to the conversations she had with her soup. I never saw her once get up to brush her teeth or wash during the two and a half days I was there, but I know she was ambulatory. She seemed very concerned whether or not Americans believed in God and if they attended church. She ate all of her chicken at dinner and requested to finish mine as well, yet she weighed all of 80 pounds. The french have a saying, "Pompe l'air", to suck the air out of a room. Madame Simon definately Pompes l'air! Part Four: The Cost Sunday afternoon I received a visit from accounting. They estimate the cost of my little adventure to be between 2 and 3 thousand euro. They asked for a caution of 1,500 that night. The dollar being at its weakest in months this is going to hurt, but I am grateful that I do have enough in savings to cover the bill. This time. If I had securité sociale the bill would be completely covered. If I had purchased a world wide insurance plan when I arrived 3 years ago I would be at just about even. If I had purchased insurance from Cobra after my divorce I would have paid in premiums approximately 3 times what this surgery has cost. In Conclusion: I am home now, resting comfortably and healing my body. It has been an eye opening experience in many ways. While I was lying in a hospital bed hooked to an IV drip I had plenty of time to think. I thought about why I was so reluctant to "bother" my friends. They have been so supportive and kind this last week I realized that it isn't a bother to them, and I must think enough of myself to ask for what I need. I experienced the french healthcare system firsthand, and all in all I would rate it satisfactorily. I received good care, money was the concern second to my well being, and the anesthesia they provided was the best I've ever had! (I think it was propyphol, but that's a story for another day). I am keeping close tabs via internet of the healthcare debate taking place in America and I hope everyday for real reform, and a system that leaves no one out in the cold.

It's all about attitude

As the debate over health care reform in America wages on, I have received many letters from my friends in California asking me about the french system of universal healthcare. And I have had many conversations with my french friends with regards to this issue. I also have been keeping close tabs on the issue in the States via internet, as since my divorce I have been unable to afford health insurance (and I am not exactly in the system here). France is a democratic republic, much like the U.S. with a dash of socialism thrown in for good measure. Socialism is a word that strikes fear and much emotion in the hearts of Americans-many believe that it is a slippery slope toward communism. The french view this differently. Perhaps because of her history of monarchy, where the masses starved and suffered whilst a priveleged few lived in luxury, equanimity is part of the french mindset. Let me give you an example. I have spoken to several friends about my concern that if something catasrophic were to happen such as a heart attack, cancer, or an accident that would require a visit to the hospital what would I do? As I mentioned earlier, I have been flying "under the radar" so to speak- an illegal alien in France! I have a little savings, but surely not enough to cover anything major should a problem arise, and I don't wish to be a burden on the french system. My friends have all replied in the same way, "But you would be covered. You must fill out a special form designed for people here illegally, and the state will compensate." I was shocked, and just a little bit horrified! I explained that it didn't seem right to use a system that I have not contributed to, that I would be using money that they have essentially worked for and been taxed on. Their answer was always the same, "But the money is there, you must use it if you need it!" This way of thinking is so different from the American way that it has taken me a while to process it. Imagine a country where people believe that healthcare for all is a basic human right. Imagine a society that considers the needs of each citizen over the profit margin of giant corporatations. At present, the insurance industry in America is spending one million dollars PER DAY fighting health care reform. The profit margin per year is in the billions. And 128 people a day die in America because they have no health insurance. Meanwhile, the attitude of many Americans is this: "I dont want my tax dollars going to pay for illegals!" (I've got mine, screw you) "I don't want big goverment running health care!" ( The VA and Medicare are government run programs that work quite well). Granted, there are problems associated with the ininsured needing emercency medical treatment, many hospitals in California and elsewhere have been forced to close their doors because of financial issues. As Representative Brian Bilbray pointed out, the federal government mandates that no one can be denied treatment, and rightfully so, but they are not sending the money back to the states for compensation. Meanwhile, in France everyone gets decent healthcare. Nobody has to die because they cannot afford to see a physician. And if their tax rate is a bit higher than what Americans pay it still works out to be less than what the average family pays in insurance premiums, only to be denied compensation, canceled, or denied coverage altogether because of a "preexisting condition". Living in France has been an interesting learning experience, full of suprises and contradictions. I have long thought that the French can take some lessons from Americans, and Americans can take some lessons from the French. There aren't that many differences between us, after all is said and done human beings have the same basic needs and desires. Perhaps the most suprising difference for me has been the attitude of the average citizen, and how the french view social issues such as health care. Last year I was sick with a horrible cold that turned into a sinus infection. I happened to be aquainted with a doctor from whom I rented an apartment whilst on vacation a few years ago. I phoned him for an appointment, stating I thought perhaps I needed a prescription for antibiotics. Not only did he fit me into his busy schedule that day, (he is a specialist widely known in France) but he spent at least an hour on the examination, discussing my symptoms and offering me my first accupuncture treatment. He sent me home with some homeopathic remedies, and he followed up by calling me the next week to check on my progress. The cost? Zero. He explained that we were friends and refused compensation. Imagine! Imagine. It's all about attitude.

Journées du patrimoine

Once every year for a weekend the french goverment opens its doors and offers viewing of places usually closed to the public such as the Palais Elysées, (where President Sarkozy lives and works) The National Assembly, and the Senate. This is called the "Journées du patrimoine". Last year I was walking around town one sunday and noticed people queueing up in unusual locations. Later that week I mentioned this phenomenon to a friend over coctails and she exclaimed, "Why that was the Journées du patrimoine of course!" Of course. Silly me! What is "patrimoine?" I asked. (I knew what a journey was) She explained it was like "heritage" or "inheritance", and that these places "belong to all the people of France as we pay the tax to maintain them." Makes sense to me. This year I decided to brave the crowds and I joined my friend Madeleine for a tour of the Palais-Royal and the Quai d'Orsay, which is the nickname for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. We met at the Palais-Royal, commissioned by the Cardinal de Richelieu in 1634. When he died, he bequeathed the palace to the royal family, and it was occupied thereafter by the Bourbons, represented by Louis XIV, the princes of the House of Orleans, and the Bonapartes respectively. Fire and the revolution took it's toll on the original palace and much has changed since the days of Richelieu, it is spectacular nonetheless and a national treasure. Today it is home to the Ministry of Culture and Communications, the Council of State, the Constitutional Council, and the Comédie Française. I have to say, if you have to work 9 to 5, this is the place to do it! The sumptious architecture of the 15th century overwhelms the eye, the detail in the mouldings, the beautiful carpets woven at the legendary Les Gobelins workshops and uber meters of fabric frame the doorways and windows in traditional french style. As we passed through the salons and offices of the Ministers of State, I was struck by the juxtaposition of traditional architecture, carpeting and draperies with modern art, desk lamps, and furnishings. It was eclecticism at it's best! We entered the office of the Minister of Cultural Affairs to discover a most shocking purple wall and fabulous piece of modern art that demanded ones undivided attention. At least I thought it was shocking, I mean who would imagine a purple wall in the middle of all these marble fireplaces, gilded wainscoat, and crystal chandeliers? Madeleine on the other hand was unfazed.....I must admit once I got used to the idea, and my brain processed the information it was pretty cool! The perfect setting for the Minister of Culture. We meandered through office after office, a dream library with a rolling ladder, and visited the General Assembly Room. The four oil paintings by Henri Martin painted in 1920 depicting Agriculture, Commerce, Industry, and Intellectual Work are stunning. After all this eye candy, we were in need of a break. We wandered into a small garden outside, found a bench in the shade, and watched people stroll by as we munched a ham and cheese sandwich and boosted our blood sugar with a coke. We began the second leg of our journée strolling down the fashionable Rue St. Honoré and windowshopping, then onto Rue Royal toward the Place du Concorde. This is my favorite place in all of Paris-bustling, steeped in history, a 360° turn full of famous monuments. It was a gorgeous fall sunday, sunny with a slight breeze, the light a golden yellow hue that is autumn, the sun warm but the air fresh. We crossed the Place du Concorde and headed west along the Seine toward the Assemblée Nationale and the Quai d'Orsay. We chose the Quai d'Orsay as the queue was much shorter. Known officially as the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, it has welcomed many a foreign dignitary. Kings, Queens, Sultans, and Presidents have wined, dined, and forged diplomatic relations here. The Grand Salon is a celebration of red velvet and gold gilding, with the most magnificent tapestry imaginable, and there is a suite that was installed for Queen Victoria and her husband that boasts a mirrored salle de bain for her, and another with polished ebony walls for him. Wowza! There is a beautiful jardin behind the Ministry, and the offices in the rear of the building have lots of light and a great view. We finished the day relaxing in said garden, a luxury! Next year I would like to visit the Assemblée Nationale and the Comédie Française. What a blessing and a joy it is to have this opportunity. I thank my lucky stars every day!

The Fabulous Flavien

If you take the Metro Ligne 4 to "Odeon" and exit direction "Carrefour de Odeon" you will arrive above ground and be immediately greeted by an air of excitement and activity. College students mill about in groups smoking cigarettes, practicing being cool as they regard the opposite sex casually (or not) and run their fingers through deliberately messy hair. Others are on their cellphones waiting for a date who is running late, and guys with nothing to do lounge on the base of a statue of Danton and bum cigarettes from passers by. There is a man cooking hot crepes and a line of tourists waiting to eat them. The sound of laughter and animated conversation fills the air with the anticipation of a night of fun and uninhibited partying, for this is the "Quartier Latin" (kat-e-ay la-tan), home of night clubs and boutique hotels, interesting shopping and horrible tourist trap restaurants. It was this place, and the metro that would take me back to my vacation rental in the 15th that I was attempting to find as I wandered the streets in exhausted confusion one night about 5 years ago. I had just separated from my husband after nearly 28 years of marraige and decided to take a trip to Paris for a couple of months. I was in the middle of a major nuclear meltdown, and spent many days just wandering the streets aimlessly. I didn't know Paris at all then (in fact I still find myself lost on a regular basis) but I was tired, my feet ached, the sun had set and it was getting cold. I had wandered across the river to the Notre Dame Cathedral then back to the left bank and its maze of narrow crowded streets. I knew there was a metro somewhere nearby, I just couldn't find it! Every turn I took led me deeper inside the labyrinth of drunken college boys, thousands of satchels and tee shirts emblazoned with the image of le Tour d'Eiffel and PARIS, Lebanese fast food and gyros galore! I turned a critical corner and found myself on a slightly more civilized street, filled with art galleries and little clothing boutiques. The streets were wider and cars passed by, unlike the pedestrian streets I had been navigating. This was a good sign, my instincts told me I was headed in the right direction. Suddenly, to my left a door opened. The sound that poured from the doorway stopped me in my tracks! It was the music of the most beautiful piano imaginable, accompanied by the rythym of a contrebasse. My desire to head home vanished as I was seduced by the music of Pan himself, and I entered thus into the magical world of the Café Laurent. Elegant yet cosy, french yet welcoming, the Café Laurent is located on the ground floor of the Hotel d'Aubausson on Rue Dauphine. Formerly home of the famous jazz cave "Tabou" it was frequented by such luminaries as Jean-Paul Sarte and Brigitte Bardot. Three nights a week, from thursday to saturday, you can listen to the talented and always cool Christian Brenner Trio while enjoying an expertly mixed coctail from the bar. That night I was having my favorite drink, a champagne coctail. It was served by the most fabulous man to ever work a room, his name: Flavien. Flavien is elegant, poised, and immaculately groomed. Well dressed at all times, he appears cool in his suit and tie even in the oppressive heat of summer. He is beautiful to observe as he glides around the floor like a panther, his tray laden with drinks appears to weigh nothing at all. He is the perfect host, welcoming you as an old friend, taking your coat, making a joke. He is also strict, if you dare to choose a seat yourself you will surely be moved. It's Flavien's room, and he choreographs the seating with the precision of a Bob Fosse dance. To his credit, he seems to have an instinct for who should be seated where, and I have met many interesting people as a result of his innate talent as a host. Everyone should have someone like Flavien in their life. He fawns over you when you look fabulous, he dances with you like Fred Astaire spontaneously, and he cuts you off when he sees that you are on the way to drink and dial land. He is the heart and soul of the Café Laurent, and when he is away on vacation things just aren't the same! If you are ever in Paris you MUST visit the Café Laurent and Fabulous Flavien.... to see more of Flavien in action and a virtual visit to the CL, go to http://www.christianbrennerjazz.com/ rubric: videos, then click on "le Café Laurent".