French doctors like to throw drugs at patients

Last week I started writing a blog about the French Health Care System and how impressed I was with it. Unfortunately that was when I thought that I was getting better and when I thought my doctor actually cared if I lived-or-died. So here is where my long, tiring and costly story begins.

2 weeks ago on Monday I started having chest pains, I didn't really think much of it as the temperature was near to freezing so it was no surprise that I couldn't breathe well. After a few days the pain hadn't gone away and I started feeling unwell so I decided to go to the doctor for a check-up. I went to the walk-in centre at St Lazare, booked myself an appointment, paid 23 euros and as instructed, took the elevator up to the first floor to wait. Waiting to see a doctor in France is quite a bizarre experience, I felt like I was waiting to receive plastic surgery or maybe some kind of teeth whitening procedure. Very unlike how you feel in a UK waiting room.

A waiting room in England...

In a UK waiting room the colours are really bland, there is normally green or yellow on the walls which doesn't particularly help if you're already feeling queasy. In France the colours are bright and the room clinically white which strangely makes you feel slightly brighter, even when you feel like merde. Anyway as much as I'm praising the surgery itself the doctor was unfortunately not so helpful. I asked specifically to have a doctor who spoke a little English, if possible. Although my French is good it's sometimes difficult to explain certain things, especially medical terms and I knew my friend Monique had been to the same surgery and spoken to a doctor only in English so I thought I'd be in luck. Unfortunately my doctor had other ideas. I explained that I was English, that I could speak French but might need to speak in English if I had any problems. He just nodded, continued to chatter away in French and when I didn't understand the word souffler completely ignored my question and moved swiftly on to the next. After a quick chest examination, he explained very rapidly what drugs he would give me and where I should go for a radio. He shoved an arret du travail (a sick note) and a prescription in my hand and ushered me out the door. Ten minutes flat and although I had a list of medication that I should take I wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with me.

Finally it was the pharmacist who explained that the prescribed antibiotics meant that I probably had a chest infection (thank you for explaining Doctor, it's not your job or anything). Unfortunately the pharmacist turned out to be not so helpful either, even though she explained what maladie I had she also gave me the wrong antibiotics (for children not adults), which I only discovered when I got home. Fail.com

So finally on Friday morning I got the correct antibiotics and headed to work feeling slightly better. Then it all went downhill from there...Saturday bad, Sunday worse, Monday even worse. I went to work on Monday feeling awful and it was agreed that I wouldn't work on Tuesday so that I could go BACK to the doctors. Something clearly wasn't right...antibiotics should make you feel better not worse! Luckily David gave me the number for his doctor in the 18th who he highly recommended so I hoped to finally get some answers and god forbid...get better!

Tuesday was unfortunately 'sans rendezvous' (no reserved appointments) so I arrived when the surgery opened guessing that would be enough in advance. I opened the door of the waiting room and to my surprise (and shock) there were already at least 10 people in the room. At first I didn't understand how this whole waiting-in-the-room worked. "How would I know when it was my turn?" I thought to myself. After a good 10 minutes of confusion the next person came in and asked "C'etait qui la derniere?" (Who came in last, basically) and I finally realised that when you enter you ask who was just before you and then keep a beady eye on them to know when it's your turn. Simple, non?

I was relieved to see that this rather peculiar system confused even the pro's. The older women in the room kept asking "Am I next?" or "Are you next and then I'm after you?" Who can blame them really, after 2 hours in a room full of sick people, even my head was starting to spin. Yes you read that right, 2 HOURS is how long I waited in the doctor's surgery; it was January, every Tom, Dick and Harry was sick.

Finally when my turn came around I practically dived into the doctor's office. Dr Bocarra however, was definitely worth the wait. He was incredibly nice and 100% professional, making me realise how poor the first doctor I had seen actually was. He asked me about 20 questions before he even started to examine me and even complimented my French :-) He was pretty annoyed when I showed him the antibiotics from the other doctor and said that he never should have given me those. He explained that I had bronchitis and needed strong antibiotics, nasal spray, cough medicine and allergy pills, plus the rest of the week off work. I thanked him repeatedly, paid my 33 euros and off I went to the next stop - the pharmacy.

All the medication I needed came to a grand total of 56 euros which I reluctantly handed over, while the pharmacist explained that it was so expensive because of the antibiotics I needed (he must have registered the shock on my face). So finally 89 euros down, I headed home, broke (je suis a sec/j'ai plus un radis) and defeated.

The grand total - so four days off work (with no sick pay), 15 euros for meds + 26 euros for the first doctor + 89 euros for the second doctor and meds makes Chloe a poor girl!! The French System will normally reimburse about 70% of your payments but in my case, as I'm still waiting for my carte vitale (which would be better called Card from Hell) I get nothing, zero, nada, rien. But don't worry when you finally do get your card you can buy a Louis Vuitton bag with all the money the government owe you.

Mon dieu. Take your vitamins friends!