Socialized Medicine

I have oddly enough been looking forward to the day when I could finally have a personal opinion of the socialized medical system. Granted, anecdotes should not be the basis of political opinions, but there are so many numbers and statistics around to analyze that sometimes it seems better just to get a feel for the vibe – just like choosing colleges!

I have already written a little bit about my medical experiences here in France: I had to pass a physical to get my Ultimate Frisbee license, and I've gotten a cold three different times. The physical was remarkable only in how much less paperwork there was than in the US. In the US, every time I went to the doctor I had to fill out a lot of forms with my weight and blood pressure and if I ever felt depressed or gay or like taking drugs. My physical in France was much less complicated, consisting quite simply of taking a few basic measurements (height, weight, blood pressure), asking if I had any health problems and if I do any sports, and having me do ten squats to prove that I wouldn't keel over. Then he declared me quite healthy and sent me on my way.

My colds proved to me that French people really like medication. Here's a chart showing that France really likes antibiotics, as an example:

I tend to think that my body has evolved to take care of itself pretty well, and it often seems to do its job without my messing with it. Research has been controversial over the usefulness of fever, but I prefer to take the safe path: I don't run screaming to the medicine cabinet at 98 ºF, but anything over 101 ºF I will try to lower. Just like hand sanitizer, fever might not be that good for you, but it's a heckuva lot worse for your bad bacteria, and immune responses can be sped up with increased temperature. So whenever I'm sick, I take an ibuprofen or two if I'm too feverish, but never any antibiotics because colds are viral and every time I'm sick it's a cold. Furthermore, I was suspicious of French medication at the beginning just because I didn't recognize it, so I refused to take anything. This left my host family with the impression that I'm extremely anti-medication, which, compared to them, I guess I am.

So those were my experiences of medicine in France up until today, when I got a new insight into French hospitals. In gym class, we finished our running unit (where I had one of the best grades in my class) and the badminton unit (where I had the worst grade in my class) and now we've moved on to gymnastics. I am even worse at gymnastics than I was at badminton, unfortunately. In my defense, I am quite athletic. I go running every weekend through the empty cow-strewn countryside of my commune, and I play frisbee twice a week. But I am not the most coordinated knife in the drawer, and I am incredibly inflexible. Dance is something I've long known to be impossible for someone as awkward as me, and gymnastics therefore combines three things that I'm bad at: dancing, being flexible, and being coordinated.

Long story short, I cannot do a handstand. I told the teacher that I couldn't do a handstand, or a cartwheel, or even a somersault, and that I'll hurt myself or someone else or both (or all three or four, if I'm lucky). But he said “Nooon, tu ne vas pas te faire mal ! Je te le promets.” (Nooo, you won't hurt yourself, I promise!) Which is how I ended up in the hospital today. Because I can't do a handstand.

...Okay, have you stopped laughing? Can I finish my story?

When I do a handstand, I either go too far (and fall over on the other side) or not far enough. For all of us who couldn't do a handstand, the teacher said we should have our partner catch our feet as we go up in the air, so that we'd get a feel for what being balanced on our hands should be like. The first time I tried, I realized I pushed way too hard and was going to kick my partner in the face if she wasn't careful, so I dropped into a rather painful somersault instead of holding my arms rigid. The second time, determined to succeed, I locked my elbows and told them not to bend. Since I can't do a somersault on the mat because I don't tuck my head in (I can do one by pushing up on my arms!), my whole weight fell on my unbent head and unbent arms and it was my back that folded in half, right in the middle where it's not supposed to bend. I'm pretty sure I screamed some inappropriate Anglo-Saxon words that my classmates are probably familiar with despite their low level of English, and I proceeded to lie on the floor for a good half-hour, incapable of movement or breath. Eventually after a few false starts I managed to get up, which I only had the willpower to do because my teacher wanted to call the firefighters to bring me out on a stretcher. I kept insisting that I was fine, and even went to physics class afterward, but they got mad at me for not following instructions and going to the school nurse like I was supposed to, so they escorted me there. The nurse then said I should go to the hospital and get an X-ray, just in case. I knew nothing was broken, but since I couldn't breathe very well, I couldn't explain myself very well either, so I don't think that helped our communication.

By the way, the nurse thought I was German. Not the first time I've gotten that. Generally I'll take that as a compliment since Germans speak better French than Americans.

Anyway, the nurse drove me to the hospital and left me there (since I'm 18, which suited both of us just fine – I hate being hovered over). After 40 minutes or so of time in the waiting room, I got half of a room walled off with a curtain from an old guy having heart troubles. The nurse took my blood pressure and the doctor was not long after, asking me lots of questions starting with “So you're American?” and “But you speak good French?” and segueing right into the medication questions and how much does it hurt questions. He was a very charming and handsome young man – younger than doctors in the US usually are, considering that med school in France is 3 years and you don't need an undergrad, compared to the 8 years of total college needed in the US before you even start residencies. I just felt like this needed mentioning, that the French socialized system managed to provide me with a very aesthetically pleasing doctor. These things are important to the morale of the patient!

So he took a look at my back, checked that pressing on it didn't hurt, and said that obviously nothing's broken and an X-ray would be useless – it's just some painful muscle trauma. So he sent me off with some painkillers and anti-inflammatory pills, as well as a strict note against doing sports for the next two weeks.

“Uhhh... is this negotiable?”

“Sure, I'll make it one week if you promise not to overdo it.”

“I have a frisbee tournament this weekend. If it doesn't hurt by this weekend, can I play?”

“...I really should say no, but if it doesn't hurt, go for it. Just go easy on yourself, okay?”

So he sent me off with some painkillers and anti-inflammatory pills, as well as a strict note against doing sports for the next week that I'm allowed to break if I want to. Woohoo! And next time my gym teacher wants me to do a handstand, I'll just show him my little doctor's paper that says “Contusion dorso-lombaire d'allure musculaire” (which is exactly what it sounds like: a muscular contusion of the mid-back muscles, but in fancy medical language) and tell him I told you so. I TOLD you I would hurt myself.

I got to spend the rest of the day at home in bed, keeping my back muscles warm so they wouldn't seize up. I'll probably be back to school tomorrow, but I am not altogether unhappy with my little emergency room visit, as I have proved once and for all to my teacher that I really truly am incapable of doing gymnastics.

What this allows me to say, furthermore, is that I have now dipped my toe into a socialized medical system, and I have no complaints. I didn't have to wait a long time, my doctor was nice and said exactly what I thought he should say, and it was a generally good experience.

However, I am aware that there are blacker tales of this country's medical care lurking just around the corner. You remember my host sister's broken collarbone? Well, they should have operated right away, but they didn't. So now, since her bone healed in a still angular fashion, chances are that they'll have to re-break it and re-set the bone. She is not pleased at all.

Next up, keep your eyes open for a post about college decisions. That is, the decision is made... it just has to be finalized. *Suspense!*