7th August 2008

After my shoulder injury, I was asked to return to the hospital after 3 weeks. However, because this coincided with the not-to-be-tampered with 14 July Bastille Day celebrations, the receptionist booked me in after only 2.5 weeks. I arrived at the Villefranche hospital in good time and, after a few wrong turnings along corridors full of old men, was duly seated in the consultant's waiting room. He arrived. Bonjour, Madame. Bonjour, Monsieur. My x-ray was produced and scanned. Ahh! he said. Can Madame remove the heavy strapping? I shifted nervously in my seat as I knew that I wore nothing underneath. To the French, this was of minor significance. They remove their clothing at the drop of a hat, so to speak, but we English? Non. I bit the bullet and, with some difficulty, removed the strapping. For some reason the doctor then decided he needed to get up and go out. He walked over to the intercommunicating door and opened it wide, only to reveal two men in deep conversation in the next room. They looked up, I drew in a breath, Monsieur le docteur gave his apologies and closed the door again. He then walked over to the main office door, walked through and left the door open! What can you do? I suppose it could have been worse: he might have been a gynaecologist. I've led a very sheltered life.