Testing the French health care system

Camille seems very persistent to not leave Paris without some sort of mark on her body forever reminding her of our year here. In the first few weeks after we arrived she chipped her front tooth on a swing set in the park next door. But given that it was her milk tooth, which will be out anyways in not too long, I should have suspected that the quest for more permanent mark will continue.

She has reached her goal last night as she was trying to climb up on the kitchen counter. To prop herself up she stepped on a little shelf (of off which she fell number of times before!) which being not permanently attached couldn't support the weight of a 5 years old and flew up. Losing her footing, Camille came crashing down, on her way meeting the edge of the counter with her chin and splitting it open.

First stop: the local Pharmacy. I have read somewhere that the pharmacists in France are trained a bit differently than in Canada. For example, they are trained in recognizing mushrooms! So if you go mushroom picking and are not sure if you should be eating what you found you can bring it to any pharmacy and they will tell you. I figured if they can tell good mushrooms from bad, they can surely tell if I needed stitches to put Camille's chin back together.

Second stop: the local clinic. The pharmacists deemed that stitches would be needed. She called a local medical clinic to ask if a doctor there could do it, and 2 minutes later we were on our way. The doctor at the clinic confirmed that stitches would be needed. Unfortunately, it was not a pediatric clinic and so they did not have the laughing gas and Camille was nowhere near laughing at the idea of needles going into her chin without the gas so off we went to test the 'urgences pédiatriques' at the nearest hospital.

Third stop: Hospital, urgences pédiatriques. Well, this was gonna be fun! It was 7:30 pm (prime time for the classic: 'I spent 6 hours in the ER wait room' that gets told at work the next day by exhausted parents), and all I had to present to the good people at the registration was our Québec 'carte soleil'. I kept my credit card handy just in case. Nobody even blinked an eye at the lack of French documentation. They took photocopies of our cards, info on addresses and we were told to wait for the nurse. The triage nurse came an hour later, the doctor another half hour later. A good dose of laughing gas, some very shaky hands of a student doctor and three stitches later we were in a cab going home and it wasn't even 9:30pm yet!

Fourth stop: ??? where to go to get the stitches out? Again, local pharmacists must know! Indeed, she gave me a few phone numbers of nurses living in the area that could do it. One phone call later we are scheduled for the nurse to COME to OUR APARTMENT to take out the stitches next Tuesday evening. Damn! Thank you, French health system!

Injuries from the Parisian battlefield

*UPDATE: A wonderful nurse, with more patience than I could ever imagine possible, came to our apartment and spent an hour(!!!!) trying to convince Camille to let her take the stitches out. And "no, it won't hurt at all." The actual taking out of the stitches took about 23 seconds. With no french health insurance to present we had to pay for this one hour visit... a WHOLE 12.60 Euros!!!! Damn! I think that's less than the min wage in France!