Clinique St Jean

After a delightful lunch, Charles and Pierre drove me to the Clinique in Montpellier.
I have become used now to the incredible formality of French health administration and the fact that here you, the patient, are keeper of all records and responsible for decisions on medical treatment needed.
I opened my bag and presented my weighty pile of X-rays, blood report, heart report, endless forms I had filled, including consent form, and all the details of my mutuelle (the more or less compulsory complementary private insurance – in my case. Following the custom of my mother I had prepared a sheet with the answer to all the questions I thought they might ask: dob, marriage, children, height, weight, childhood illnesses, the ever growing list of medication….. The only thing I did not know was my blood group. Much to my relief nobody seemed to care.
Eventually I arrived in my chamber particuliere – the cost met by my mutuelle.
Then followed the usual pr-op routines: visits by the surgeon (whom I do not warm to) and the anesthetist (who is charming) and the first of the disinfectant showers.

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