Not part of our planned itinerary...

I studied French in school, from 2nd grade through 12th grade.  You know what they don't teach in French class??  Medical terminology!  I think the most "medical" thing I ever learned to say was "I have my period" (and that was back in 7th grade when I went to camp in Carcassonne...when it was important to know how to say that!  Not so helpful now!)

Gary's foot was getting more and more painful.  Swollen and red at the base of the big toe, I relied on my medical degree from the University of Google, and diagnosed him with gout.  But what to do about it here in Amboise?!?!  We asked the owner of our apartment and she told us where the closest hospital was...so off we headed. (We had already called Kaiser and they told us to see a doctor and we would be reimbursed when we get home...we'll see how that goes!). Anyway, after going a few rounds with the windshield wipers, the 4 of us made it to the hospital. J&B stayed in the car, and Gary and I headed in.  I'll try to keep it brief, but it was quite something...thank goodness for Google translate on our iPhones!  After waiting in line, behind 2 patients on stretchers, and 2 other patients, it was finally our turn to approach the registration window.  I started right in (in French) saying that we were Americans and my husband was in a a lot of pain, we suspected Gout, and he needed to see a doctor.  The mademoiselle behind the desk seemed surprised (must not get a lot of American tourists in the hospital in Amboise!).  After some heavy sighs and pursed lips, she got her phone out and we had a Google Translate conversation.  The main problem is that our American address did not fit into the spaces on her computer...she could not enter Gary's info supplied from passport and driver's license...she could get the city and country in, but there was no spot for the state of California to be listed.  At this point she told me she would take Gary through one door, I was to be led the opposite direction through another door.  My minder took me to the Admissions department and seated me in an empty office and then she left.  Suddenly the Admissions Queen came into her office yelling at me to "sortie!! sortie! (get out! get out!)...I did as she told me and then she yelled something else at me and pointed to a line outside her office door.  As soon as I stopped with toes on the line, she quieted down and then motioned me into her office!  At this point I realized we were going to battle, but I had to be nice to her to get what I wanted.  She refused to use Google Translate, appeared to speak no English, and corrected the pronunciation of my French.  At one point she asked me for Gary's passport which I explained he had in his possession in the other room, and that the other admissions gal had taken photos of.  This set her off on some French tirade, that suddenly made clear to me all the frustrations people have with French bureaucracy!  I was sent out to get the passport from Gary (who of course was with a doctor so actually a nurse had to go retrieve)...armed with the passport, the drivers license, and his Kaiser card I went back to see my "friend".  I waited on the line to be invited in, and gave her the passport.  When she asked for his address, I presented his drivers license, which irritated her...she wanted me to handwrite it on a piece of paper (which she then entered into the computer!)  It was the Kaiser card that really set her off!  Asking what it was, I said "American insurance"...which elicited a big sigh and a "ppfffffftttt".  She also struggled with entering California.  No idea how she got it in there, but she asked if they mailed the bill to us, would we pay it?  I said yes and she returned all the documents and sent me on my way.  Meanwhile Gary had texted me that he was in good hands, with a very nice English speaking doctor, who confirmed my highly educated diagnosis of THE GOUT (or "la goutte").  Gary had to wait for some medicine and suggested J & B and I go in search of coffee and croissant, which we did...waiting for his call to be picked up.  We retrieved our patient (wearing Babette's discarded free hotel slipper on his bad foot)...and we were on our way!

We are looking for "joy and wonder" on our trip, but as my sweet grandson, Henry, says:  "you get what you get...and you don't throw a fit"!