I'm going to start this post off with saying that I am so going to regret putting in some of these words that I'm going to find in the search keyword section of my blog stats tomorrow. Before launching into the madness, here's a little back story, especially for those of you who are just hoping aboard Ship Coquine. Ahoy.
As previously mentioned, I went to my ill nana doctor in New York and in Paris early this spring. We all know that the difference between healthcare and service in France and in America is night and day. I try to avoid falling into the temptation of boasting that one country does something better than the other, because both countries operate as two completely different machines. Unfortunately, having the transcontinental appointments almost back to back, the glaring difference could not be ignored.
In Paris, I made the appointment the day of, arrived at the doctor's apartment/office where he saw me within fifteen minutes. The appointment cost 35 euros which was reimbursed, and my medication cost all of three euros. All in all, a lovely, inexpensive experience, even if we did have an uncomfortable misunderstanding where I thought the doctor was asking me if I was a homosexual when he asked questions about rapport sexuel.
In Manhattan, because I had some operations done where there were talks about a possible hysterectomy, I wanted a follow-up to the appointment in France, and to have my files transferred overseas. Séb and I waited almost two hours in the waiting room, and because I hadn't been to the office in almost three years (shame on me!), my files were in the archives in an office somewhere below 14th Street, and I had to refill out all of my paper work. The appointment itself was fairly innocuous, my doctor who I swear looks just like M.I.A was friendly enough, well for her at least and I was out of there within thirty minutes. This appointment, because it's a private practice cost 235 dollars...not to be reimbursed. Ouch.
It had been about a month since the test results came in and I was starting to get nervous. To ensure that I was contacted, I made painstaking efforts to give them enough information as possible. On top of my address and cell phone number, I gave them Séb's, his address, my mom's address, cell phone and land line, and need be, my Facebook fan page. A month had passed, no news. The only news that I was receiving was more bills. On top of paying the 235, I received two bills from "the lab" that totaled 725 dollars. Holy shit. I can't afford to be an American anymore.
Against the insistence of my mom and Séb, I didn't call to follow up because I was terrified by what I was going to hear. It's like that Seinfeld episode where George stands by his conviction that something always goes wrong when he goes to the doctor. He claims that he's fine all year long, he goes to doctor and suddenly something is wrong. That's me. Sometimes I'd rather not know and started going by my grandmother's belief that no news is good news. I mean if there was something really wrong, they'd go out of their way to contact me, right? ...right?
Last week the letter finally arrived at my mom's house, and wanting to open and read it myself, I had her send it to France. What was a couple of more days at this point? It arrived at Séb's house on my magical Day 365, as I was sipping on a glass of bubbly.
This is what a 960 dollar doctors appointment in the United States gets you:
May 17th, 2012
Ella Coquine
Address in Paris
Town on Long Island, NJ
Dear Ella,
I am pleased to inform you that the results of your recent PAP smear, HPV test, and STD testing for HIV, Chlamydia and Gonorrhea.
If you have any questions, please contact us.
Sincerely,
Your Doctor, who clearly did not proofread this.
Only me, I swear...
First of all, combining Paris, Long Island and New Jersey all in one address? That's just wrong. I'm sure somewhere in Paris, a Parisian lost their wings. Good thing the address on the actual envelope was accurate, otherwise who knows where it would have ended up, in some alternate Snooki and Mary Jo Buttafuoco en route to the Marais universe.
And second, do I have any questions? Yes! What the brouhaha are the results!?!? Although it is implied with the "I'm pleased to inform you" bit that my tests came out negative, but a results letter isn't exactly a forum to be cavalier. Good grief!
I called the doctor who apologized profusely, confirmed that I was healthy, and that no further operations would be necessary and managed to squeeze in one more lecture on how I have to stay on top of this, especially as I enter my 30s. Lesson learned. I will never wait three years to go to the lady part's doctor ever again. How stupid was I?
Between this, paying my American taxes, paying off and cutting up my last credit card, I feel like I'm slowly closing up open ends in the States and it's nothing but liberating. Keeping one toe in America is so 2011 and I'm ready to plant both feet in French soil. For good.
Now for the scary part....since a hysterectomy is no longer necessary, this means that having children may be an option one day.
I need a cocktail. Stat.
