Healthcare - Emergency medical services
The last thing most of us think about when we are choosing that perfect little place in the sun, is what would happen if there was a problem that required emergency medical help.
This recently happened while my husband and I were holidaying in our isolated house in the Tarn-et-Garonne. A bonfire I was trying to light whooshed into life rather too forcefully and I was left thinking: that wasn’t meant to happen, I think I need to go to hospital. My virtually non- French speaking husband attempted the impossible – multi-tasking to summon help while cooling down my skin by dumping me in a cold shower.
The result was I nearly got hypothermia and the directions he was giving the emergency services were somewhat lost in the translation. After a while he gave up trying to explain where we lived and told them we would go to the local leisure lake where he hoped he had managed to summon medical help.
Not only had he summoned the pompiers plus a local docteur, who were waiting for us, but a team of four from the local hospital in Villefranche-de- Rouergue also arrived within about 15 minutes. I had an exciting ride to the hospital and was then treated to the best healthcare I have ever seen.
Caring healthcare
My experience is fairly limited in emergency healthcare; I have managed to reach the ripe old age of 50 with just one incident under my belt when I spent one day in hospital where four impacted wisdom teeth were extracted. But I have spent a lot of time over the last few years visiting my elderly parents in hospitals and have despaired at times at what little seemed to be done for them.
I spent a few hours being closely monitored as I had managed to acquire seconddegree burns to my arm and leg, along with a severe case of sunburn on my face and one of the silliest hairstyles you have seen in ages. I was transferred upstairs to a comfortable single room with en-suite facilities. Welcomed by three angels who I later came to call the Witches of Eastwick, I settled into a restful night’s sleep being peeked in on every two hours!
It was more like being in a private hospital than the national health service that I have become accustomed to. My French language skills are not great, I can read and understand most things, with only a few words looked up in the dictionary, and if people speak slowly I get the gist, but I am hopeless at stringing sentences together.
So, I think one of the things that impressed me the most was having been admitted and patched up, they found a senior doctor who could speak English. He explained what would happen next and what I had done to myself. All very reassuring when you’ve just had a rather scary experience.
I was kept in for nine days on the surgical ward. The infirmières were wonderful, they helped with my French so I wasn’t totally isolated and even laughed at my bad jokes. I was also visited by the French Red Cross and the hospital chaplain asking if they could help in any way, all of which improved my language skills enormously.
Even good food!
Of course, the main highlight of my day was food, as there wasn’t much else to do except listen to the radio. I didn’t have the same meal twice but some of the meals were interesting, to put it mildly. Probably the most extraordinary thing I was given was tinned sardines in a thick mustard sauce accompanied by cold, cooked cauliflower, artichoke hearts and a black olive. All served with the virtually salt-free vegetable soup that came with every meal.
I don’t want you to think that the hospital food was bad. In general, it was so far above the standard of mass-catered food you could almost think it was room service in one of those smaller three-star hotels that populate English seaside towns. It gave me the opportunity to experience what the average French person would eat on a day-to-day basis and I managed to put on weight during my stay.
Thumbs up
So, if the worst happens to you while at your little place in the sun, should you be worried? If my experience is anything to go by the French health service is all it is cracked up to be.
The hardest thing was trying to get out of hospital when I was better. They seemed to think that I should have absolutely nothing wrong with me before I could possibly think of leaving. I was tempted at one point to say I didn’t live in a third world country and that we did have doctors in England!
All in all I think if I have to be sick again I would prefer it to be in France rather than England. Although, I don’t have any plans...