Churches (tick), museums (tick), gardens (tick) and now hospital (tick)

I am now officially on the register of out-patients at the hopital du Dax.

It all started off many hours ago. In fact 2 weeks When I decided to start my fitness regime and maintain that sports personality type figure that I have been so blessed with over the years. I went for a run. Many of you will know that I have run a double a marathon in the past, well actually it was over a four year period and was 4 half marathons. So running is in the blood.

My first run and less than 20 minutes in (common theme?) I managed to twist my ankle quite badly and had to hobble back to Chez Skinners ( the camping car).

So 2 weeks later my ankle is still swollen and I am still in pain. I had been bandaging it up and putting a bit of ice on it, but for little benefit. The walk up europe's largest sand dune yesterday probably didn't help either.

In the pharmacy buying more bandages the pharmacist advised me to go the hospital as I may have broken the ankle. Quelle horreur. And unlike me, I actually took the advice and registered at the A&E.

I waited for about 45 minutes in the waiting room. When I turned up there was a young lady in absolute tears with her mum quite angry with the staff. I had arrived to world war 3.they left after 15 mins and there was a guy and me waiting for our names to be called out. He was a friendly guy and tried to strike up a conversation. I used the normal 'mon francais n'est pas bon - he got the general idea. I asked how long he had been waiting. - 2 hours. I thought here we go.

As I say it took 45 mins for my name to be called out. Not bad eh. It was a bit of a disguise as a nurse took me into a room asked a few questions asked me to take some clothes off - don't worry only the shoes and socks - and then left. I waited another 20 mins for the doctor.

He was a nice guy and was thrilled to see me. Not because of the injuries, but because my French was shite and english was going to be the way forward. He explained that he was one of a handful of doctors in Europe that were getting together next month to discuss treating English speaking people in foreign hospitals in europe. Every explanation of pain/feeling I gave he would type into his iPhone and get the translations. He was bemused with swollen as his iPhone didn't seem to register it. So he typed it in (all part of the service). I reckon he was playing a game with the other doctors of how many unknown english 'symptom' words they could get in a week.

Anyhow, this is beginning to become a novel...so be it.

He too one look at the ankle, didn't even ask me to move it to find out when the pain occurred. After the 20 minute consultation he told me it was a sprain and that I needed to get physio (another worded not in his phone). This was obviously going to be hard to put in place. Which I explained to him in English of course. I asked how he knew it was not broken - he could see that I was concerned and needed to know and offered to get it X-ray'd there and then. Just wait here ( in the cubicle) and he left - the door wide open.

It was another 15 mins before someone else came to see me. Whilst lying on the bed semi naked with the door wide open, I saw other people in full blown stretchers and life support machines wheeled past, the people in the main waiting room could see me when the main doors opened and shut. It made we thankful that I hadn't sprained other parts of my body!

So an orderly arrived - with a wheel chair. I felt a bit of a fake and said it was OK to walk. He explained that it was a long way off, at least 100 metres. His English was not so good so I succumbed to being pushed like an old man (some would say that I am) through the corridors of the hospital.

I tried to make chat and explained that I felt like how I did only 2 days ago driving around in the bumper cars in Bordeaux. He didn't understand, but I had to smile as we went round the corner and he struggled with the 'natural' law of momentum trying to move forward round a corner pushing a heavy (ish) weight. Luckily there was not much traffic on the wards. Although I did note that he was happy to drive on the right and the left. I liked his style.

The xray was all quick. I had to smile (again). My foot was on a pedestal, and I was given a protective lead sheet for my lap to avoid any unwanted xray machine damage to the family jewels - there was no protection for the rest of my body! I decided not to ask about that one.

Another 10 mins waiting and the orderly returned, cruised me in the wheelchair again ( I could get used to this - not sure Esther would be as obliging though!). Back to the doctor he confirmed his initial prognosis - no breakage - but at least I knew for sure and said I was free to go. Just a matter of payment - 45 euros.

So in 2 and a half hours I had managed to find my way to the right part of the hospital, got registered, got seen by a nurse then doctor, taught the doctor a thing or two, had a fun fair ride in a wheelchair (times two), been x-ray'd, diagnosed with future advice, paid the bill and walked (well hobbled) out of the hospital. Not bad. In fact it took be the same time to do the above as it took Esther and the kids to do the grocery shopping, with a few bonus purchases but I will let her tell you about the pyjamas.

No photos this time.

Laters
Alex