So ... Why all the free time, Kerry?

I'm sitting on my bed, laptop on my lap, looking at the sun streaming in the window. I'd love to be outside for a run right now, but I know I've got a while to go before that'll be possible. I'm doing OK today, not really feeling sorry for myself or in too much pain. Keeping myself occupied and not too bored.

For those of you not aware, I'm recuperating. Just a little hospital stay (my first ever!) and a surgery to remove a uterine fibroid. ("What's a uterine fibroid?" you say? Just a benign mass that -- without getting too graphic -- causes discomfort and stuff. I was lucky ... although mine was rather large, it was on the outside and attached by a small chord, so the surgery was minimally invasive for my uterus. Still, I've had abdominal surgery, and the recovery process, they tell me, is long.)

Because this blog is about French culture and life in France, I'll tell you a little about my hospital stay. Unfortunately, I can't make any comparisons with American hospitals, as this was my first hospital stay. People here have asked me about American hospitals, and I haven't been able to tell them much, except that they're expensive.

So I might as well start with the money. Here in France, since I work, I am included in the national healthcare system. Philipp and I also pay to have additional health coverage, which is quite common here. Through the national healthcare system (which is called Social Security, by the way), when you go to the doctor, you pay 23 euros. 21 of those (I believe) are reimbursed. Not even my $15 co-pay in the States can beat that. My surgery and hospital stay were covered 100%. Our additional health insurance paid the 50 euro-a-day fee for a private room. I paid a grand total of 18 euros ... the rate for having a TV during my stay. Oh, and I also get a total of 4 weeks medical leave, for which Social Security is going to pay me a part of my salary. (not sure yet how much that will be) Vive la France! (I hope Obama's staffers can some cues from the French system!)

My surgery was last Tuesday, November 4th. (I joked that depending on the outcome of the election, I might be happy to be sedated for a few days!) I had to be at the clinic at 11:00 am. Philipp and I arrived, got checked in, and settled in my room.


Around 2:00, the nurse gave me something to help me relax. A while later, as I sat on the bed reading, someone came and told me it was time to go. I left my glasses on the bedside table, so my journey to the operating room is somewhat of a blur. It was a bit surreal to be wheeled through the halls of the hospital, into the elevator, ... I was parked in an open area, and instructed to scoot from my bed onto another. The guy was very talkative, very interested in chatting about the election once he learned I was American. In fact, everyone wanted to talk to me about Obama, if he was going to win, what changes he would make, etc.

Someone else came to hook up an IV. The anesthesiologist came to say hello, ask if I had any questions, and told me it wouldn't be much longer. I waited, dozed, waited, ... I probably would have looked around at what was happening if I could have seen. But, when I don't have glasses or contacts, and the world around me is blurry, it's easiest to just close my eyes and be still.

Eventually I was wheeled into the operating room. I wasn't nervous, as I thought I might be. Must have been that pill the nurse had given me. I remember a huge circular light above me, and a mask being placed on my chest near my face. "A little oxygen," the anesthesiologist said. Soon after, the mask was placed over my mouth and nose. I'd imagined that, like on TV, they'd tell me to count backward from 100, and I'd decided that I would ask if it was OK if I counted in English. But there was no counting. There was only talk about the US elections. And before I knew it, I felt a rush of warmth spreading through my limbs, and my head felt as if I'd just realized I'd had one glass of wine too many.

And that was it.

Next thing I remembered, I was coughing. I opened my eyes, and was aware that I was in a large room, but my limited vision didn't allow me any more information. A nurse came over to check on me, and I found that I could not speak. I had no voice. I figured it was normal, and simply nodded or shook my head in answer to her questions. Now, looking back, I am aware of a moment when I needed to get someone's attention, and I clearly remember snapping my fingers until someone came over to see me. I'm not sure why I needed help, but I do remember thinking that I felt bad for snapping at the nurses, because I knew it was rude. I also felt comforted that I was warm and sleepy and felt no pain.

Eventually, I was wheeled back up to my room. Philipp, who had had to go to work for a while, soon came back to see me. I was, of course, happy to see him. I also slept a lot. Nurses came and went, checking my blood pressure and oxygen levels, temperature, etc. I'm not sure what time Philipp went home. I remember waking up at 1:00 in the morning and switching on the TV, hoping to find election results, but there were only cartoons. The nurses returned regularly, interrupting my sleep, although I always went back to sleep easily. After their visit at 6:50 am, I turned the TV on again. This time, there was election news. And it was the news I'd been hoping for! I even got to see Obama's speech from Chicago ... live! The American people were still celebrating, joyous in the victory, and I was lying alone in a hospital bed in France ... but somehow, I felt more connected to my country than I had in a very long time. This moment and the coverage I watched over the next few days will surely remain vivid for me, as my hospital stay evolved into a routine of sleep, reading and watching the news.


There were small milestones over the next several days ... finally being given broth (instead of being fed intravenously), going for a walk in the halls with Philipp, reducing the amount of pain medication I needed, ... And the visits from Philipp's family were something to look forward to. His mother came every day, always with encouraging words and support.

In the evenings, Philipp and I chatted, watched TV together, and at the end of the week we went for a couple walks in the halls. In taking a few tentative steps, I was brought back to three weeks ago, when I was hobbling around for a few days after my marathon. Funny, to think that now, 4 meters is an accomplishment, when so recently, I could do 40 kilometers!



On Saturday, I was able to come home. I've spent most of my time in bed, either reading or on the computer. I haven't napped in the last few days, although I've been sleeping at least 10 hours each night. Philipp has learned to cook a little, and his Mom has been so generous, inviting us to eat at their house and sending us home with leftovers.

As I already wrote, I know this recovery process will be long, but I feel myself getting stronger each day. I'm getting a little tired of needles (blood tests, anticoagulant shots every day, ...) but I know that's almost finished. Despite the pain, the hours spent alone, I am grateful for this time to relax, recuperate, ... read!

And I know that ... eventually ... I'll get those running shoes on again, and head out in the sun.