Emergency Strikes

After only a little more than a week in France we are already dealing with crisis.  My previous post described the afternoon where we took the girls knee boarding, and Teah ended up trying to swim to Switzerland.  Well, there’s more to this story.  After we got Teah back on the boat the rest of us were going to try our hand at wake surfing.  Marc’s brother, Olivier, went first to show us how it’s done.  It looked super fun.  You use a surf board, let the boat pull you up on to it’s wake, drop the rope, and literally surf the wake. 

Marc and I were surfers not too long ago and this seemed right up our alley.  After Olivier’s turn Marc went next and I was to follow him.  Marc tried 2 times to get up but getting his balance proved much more difficult than Olivier made it look.  However on his 3^rd try disaster struck.  He quickly fell and the boat circled around.  I’m still trying to console Teah and the next thing I know Olivier is reaching down into the water trying to lift Marc up on to the boat.  What happened?!?!

Oh no!  Marc had dislocated his shoulder!!  This is not the first time this has happened.  Actually it’s the 3^rd time but the last time was almost 17 years ago and I’m afraid to say it wasn’t on the front of our mind.  But with fatigue setting in the 3^rd time the boat tried to pull him, it pulled his shoulder right out of the socket!  The rest of the evening was quite an adventure.

Marc was in an insane amount of pain and trying very hard to not show it to the girls however the girls had never seen their Papa in pain or hurt so they proceeded to start to panic, immediately assuming the worst.  Lola asked if Papa was going to die.  I had to try to explain that although it hurt a lot a shoulder injury would not kill their Papa.  We got him back to the dock and his brother quickly went to get the car.  We helped him into the car and drove to the closest hospital.  With every bump, Marc was wincing in pain.   We get to the hospital and thankfully they immediately wheel him back into the ED.

Now we just had to wait, hoping they would quickly get him out of pain, put his shoulder back, and we could take him home.  Side note: We got to the ED a little after 6pm, we had 6 dinner guests arriving at the house at 7:30pm.  Olivier and I meet with the “charge nurse” and explained that we’re visiting from the US, that Marc is a French citizen, but “No” he’s not working and “No” he doesn’t have emergency medical insurance.  Ugh!!  To get our visas I got travel insurance for me and the girls but Marc didn’t need it to travel and I just assumed he’s be covered by Social Security once we arrived.  Nope.  Not how it works.  He has to be working to start taking advantage of Social Security or has to be back in his country for at least 3 months before it kicks in.  Oh boy!  At this point, I’m just bracing myself to pay whatever the bill is going to be.  It’s not like we were going to bring him home and put his shoulder back in ourselves.

We drive the girls back to the house, quickly change out of our swim suits, grab some of Marc’s documents, and Olivier and I head back to the hospital to wait for him.  Within 10 or 15 minutes of coming back a nurse comes out and tells us that they put his shoulder back in, they’re waiting for him to wake up, and then he can be discharged.  Great!! 

Two hours later we’re finally checking him out.  Unfortunately after we drop him off at the ED and head home a big car accident happens on the freeway and the injured start arriving at the hospital.  Obviously this is taking precedence to Marc’s release, so………we wait.  Finally a nurse comes out and says we can go back with her to get Marc. 

While we were waiting and wondering here’s what was actually happening to poor Marc:

Hindsight is 20/20 …. That was a stupid decision to try to get towed by a boat holding on to a rope with what I knew to be compromised shoulders. I will blame my brother, first because, well that’s what bothers do, second because he DID make it look easy and really fun. OK, it wasn’t that easy and as it turned out NOT FUN AT ALL.

I knew right away my shoulder was out and the game was over. I also knew right away what was awaiting me in the next few hours as this had happened twice in the states before: Painful trip to the ER, some waiting, a nice dose of morphine then a sudden relaxation and mental detachment to my dire condition, an expert ER doc assisted by sweet and supportive nurses going 1-2-3, pop the shoulder back in and done. I also knew that the recovery would be painful, but each time shorter in duration and less intense in pain.

Sometimes, you think you know and, well, you don’t know shit! (Disclaimer: I was under an extreme amount of pain and at some point under some kind of something… so you are getting an account that is probably far from objective, and I apologize upfront if I am offending any nurses, doctors, the town of Thonon or France for that matter.)

Yes the ride to the ER was painful and although from Dionne’s perspective they wheeled me in right away, they did park me for a while, then took me to radiology and eventually strapped a mask helping me breathe some laughing gas. Then a few more nurses helped me move from my wheel chair to an ER bed. OK, I was not laughing, not even smirking. At first I pointed out as politely as I could that the nurses needed to brush up on their joke routine, but it became quickly apparent that the gas had absolutely no effect. One of the nurses realized that the tank was almost empty and decided to start me on a new tank. “Now you are going to feel the difference, it’s a new tank” she tells me. What the f***! I couldn’t even get a happy thought with this stuff. I told her that my dentist had better quality laughing gas back home, and I wasn’t joking.

So until now, I was thinking they were trying to mellow me down while they were getting the “good stuff” ready and at this point I still didn’t have an IV in me. Just then a young MD (intern??) came by, sat next to me and looked me in the eye with that – trust me buddy, I will make it all better in a jiffy – look and that's when I understood that the plan was to put my shoulder back with the help of 2 other nurses with, as far as I could tell, no more than some hospital smelling air blowing through a mask on my face, I wanted to say ”f*** no” but it was happening and within seconds I was in such intense pain I just wanted to pass out. That was the first failed attempt and now my trust in the system was gone, just like that. I took over the situation by establishing what I needed. First I requested one nurse put a towel under my arm and pull up to relieve the extreme pain I was under while the doc was pulling my arm down, second I drop the bomb: I need drugs, not this bad smelling air that did nothing to me if they wanted to give it another try. When I saw one of the nurses setting up an IV I relaxed again as I knew I would be able to take a second attempt to repair the dislocation. I will spare you the ER lingo, which actually makes a lot more sense when you are watching a show on TV, but eventually the cute nurse (the only one) pushes X cc of something that did not sound like morphine into my vein. OK maybe the French have something similar with a more romantic name, this nightmare was going to be over soon.

After what seems like a few minutes, the dream team that had botched the first attempt was back in action. At this point I was groggy from the drug they injected in me, but far from detached and relaxed. I was still very present and aware. The second attempt was just as bad as the first, except that the pain was just ever so slightly more bearable. At this point some bad words may or may not have escaped my mouth and they may or may not have been directed at the people hurting me.

Once I calmed down and the team had resumed traction on the arm and armpit, the “doc” felt like an explanation was “de rigeur” and basically told me that she didn’t have the strength to put it back. They were waiting for some backup and would take care of it. I must say that at that point I was falling into a place where trust was gone, fear of more pain inflicted on me was growing and the drug was strangely warping my experience as if I was out of it, but not so much that I wouldn’t feel the torture.

And just like that I was thrown in the middle of the painful third and thankfully last attempt when the dream team, plus one, took forever to finally put my shoulder back. At that point, all I could do is close my eyes and start the process of forgetting this incredible experience. Apparently I managed to fall asleep and eventually woke up an hour later. The dream team was gone and 3 other nurses were arguing over the trash routine as if I was tele-ported into the maintenance room. The walls were hospital color and had not seen a paint brush in 40 years. I was half expecting to see a few discarded tires in the corner of the room and a car on a lift waiting for an oil change. But I was just where I had been all along, in the ER room.

Once awake, I was wheeled on my bed to the hallway were I joined all the other patients in various levels of health, and various stages of waiting. What was I waiting for? I was out of it and feeling every moan, grunt, and cough from the patients around me so loud in my head. The staff was busy walking this way or that way. And all of a sudden the whole ER got crazy with Ambulances dumping more patients in the system, the place was buzzing like a bee hive. Something had happened, which was eventually confirmed, “we had a big accident and we need to give these patients priority” said a nurse. I would just need to wait longer to do another X-ray to make sure my dream team had not f***ed it up a third time. So I waited. 45 minutes later, I was wheeled to radiology and the nurse there had just started her shift, she placed me on the first machine and it didn’t work, the second didn’t work either. She was getting very frustrated. “Can you walk?” she asked, “I think so” I responded, “then, lets walk to another room because I don’t want to push your gurney around.” I was happy to oblige, we finally located a functioning x-ray machine, she did her thing, I did mine and she parked me into another hallway to be pick-up by someone. I waited. 20 minutes later – I was parked right under the clock – she came out and was baffled that no one had picked me up. She took it upon herself to wheel me back to my original waiting spot, amazingly still available, and I waited some more to be checked and released. I was so happy to finally see my brother and Dionne walk in and talk to me.

In the end the physical trauma left me with more stretched ligaments and bruised muscles, I probably tore something in there as well, but time will help get my shoulder back to my new normal. A few times a day, I have flash backs of the pain I endured during the attempts at repairing the dislocation, and based on my past experience, that will last for a few years.

After working for Kaiser for over 15 years, I do know what a typical United States Emergency Room looks like.  I didn’t take any pictures but let’s just say this was nothing like I had seen before.  We are walking down hallways filled with people on stretchers in various stages of angst.  Marc is on one of them.  Everything looks so outdated and old.  Almost like we’ve been transported into a 1930’s movie.  Super strange.

We quickly grab Marc.  He’s relieved to see us and walk him back out to the waiting room to check him out.  The moment for the bill.  There’s a pit in my stomach.  Olivier goes into the room to take care of it.  He comes out a few minutes later.  So??  What’s the damage, I ask.  A whopping $150 Euros.  What??  You’ve got to be kidding me??  Relief, is the best word I can use to describe how I felt.  Marc on the other hand was pissed.  He would have gladly paid 3 times that if his pain had been better dealt with.

By the time we get home at 9:30pm the party is in full swing and Marc is in no mood to party.  He says hi to everyone, grabs a banana, and quickly heads off to bed.  Olivier and I on the other hand quickly grab a glass of wine and join the others for dinner; staying up until almost 2 am.

The next morning Marc is in better spirits and thankfully not in too much pain.  But now the harsh reality of 2 weeks in the sling followed by 4 weeks of physical therapy still lays in front of him.  No more wake surfing for us.

First Days of School

After a week to settle in, now it was time to start school.  The girls are definitely not excited about this.  At home, they love school, but the thought of starting a new school, in a different country, and without knowing the language.  Let's just say freaked out is probably not adequate to describe how they're feeling.  Marc and I got to “enjoy” the stress of this with lots of melt-downs and tantrums in the days leading up to the first day.

A couple of days before their first day, Marc and I  and the girls met with the principal ("Directrice") of the school, who also happened to be Teah’s teacher.  We met Lola's teacher too and got to take a peek at their class rooms, which were going to be right next door to each other.  Although the girls got somewhat excited about the novelty of having a desk (they don't have desks at their school in California), overall they didn't say much and honestly looked rather depressed.  Although Teah would normally have been in Kindergarten in the U.S., based on her age they decided to put her in the 1^st grade class, CP.  We were a little concerned about this but the teacher felt it would be important for her to be with her peers.  Lola was going to be placed in a mixed 1^st and 2^nd grade class, CP & CE1. This would hopefully be perfect for her as it would allow her to be with her peers but also allow more wiggle room academically as she’ll be initially focused on just learning the language. (Interesting note the French school system actually counts down to their "Senior" Year, so 1st grade would be equivalent to their Junior Year in High School and 0 Grade or what they call "Terminal" would be their Senior Year).  

In accordance with our experience preparing for our Visas there was literally a mountain of paperwork for us to fill out (versus the one-page form we had to fill out before our kids started school in California).  At one point it became rather humorous when we were given yet another form to fill out, which really just seemed like the same information we had already provided but in a slightly different format. It also quickly became clear that we couldn't just "show" up for the first day of school.  We needed new phone numbers, a local bank account, additional insurance (“school insurance” - in case they require medical attention at school), and a laundry list of school supplies.  

The School Loot 

Buying the school supplies actually lifted the girls spirits a bit.

Day 1 (Sept 1st)

The morning of their first day I’m feeling more nervous than I think I was on their first day of Kindergarten and Pre-K.  The girls are totally nervous.  No happy first-day of school photos for us.  They wouldn’t even “pretend” so I could get a photo of them together. 

On our way to school in Tonton's car -- the whole family came for the 1st day send-off 

Walking on to the school grounds; meeting some new people.

Meeting some other new kids who had just recently moved here from Northern France. 

 Throughout all of France, due to Security reasons, parents are not allowed in the classroom or for that matter even on school grounds.  The school is surrounded by a fence and the parents wait on the outside of the fence.  This is very different from our school back home where we’re actually co-oping in the classrooms with our kids each week and there’s a total open door policy.  For the first day, however, we were allowed to walk them on to the school grounds and watch as they walked (in a line) with their class to their classrooms.  Everything feels so much more regimented here.

Lola bravely got into her line; or at least on the outskirts of her line.

Teah was not about to let go of her Papa's hand.  He was allowed to walk her to the door of her classroom where her teacher scooped up her hand and off they went inside.

We picked them up for lunch that first day.  The children get a 2-hour lunch break (11:30-1:30) and many children go home for lunch.  We went to Mamie and Papi's (Grandma and Grandpa's) house for lunch and some play time before heading back for the afternoon.  I was honestly surprised that they were even willing to go back but they did without much fuss actually.  We picked them up at the end of the school day and they were exhausted but not too stressed.

Day 2

Friday drop-off was much easier.  Lola even allowed a morning photo; no Teah though yet.

We had to stay at the fence but they gave us kisses, held each other's hands, and walked on to the school grounds by themselves.  Today they would stay for lunch and have to go all the way until 4:30.  Teah was in full melt-down mode by the time we picked them up.  She had enough of French school and declared that she never wanted to go back.  We managed to end the evening on a happier note with treats, swimming, trampoline, and a movie before dinner.

Unfortunately the week-end was brutal.  Teah was "processing" all week-end with melt-down intensities I've never seen before.  At one point we had gone out on the lake and the girls had gone knee-boarding.

However when Teah's turn was up she was so angry that she literally started swimming away from the boat towards Switzerland!  We had to jump in the water and drag her onto the boat kicking and screaming.  For those of you familiar with "Hand-in-Hand" parenting techniques, our skills are definitely being stretched to their limits.  This is the not-so-fun reality of moving to France and trying to help your children adapt to a whole new life.

Day 3

Monday morning still no love for the camera.  I am determined though to keep at it until I get a morning when they are both willing to give me the Facebook worthy first day of school photo.  We'll see what day that will actually be.  They were however willing to pose for an after school shot.

The next couple days started to get better.  The girls are making some friends, a couple of English speaking girls (one from Russia and one from Gibraltar), and a French girl in Lola's class who she plays with at recess and braids her hair.  Overall the children seem to be kind and willing to help the girls work on their French.  By Day 5 Lola came home and on her own decided she wanted to practice her cursive since the other children in her class already seem to know this and she was proudly able to recite to me in French the days of the week and the colors of the rainbow.  I know it will only be a matter of time for the girls to adapt to their new school and start to feel more comfortable.  Of course once they understand the language better and can really start to connect with the other children this will be a huge help.  In the meantime, Marc and I try to remain patient with their outbursts and melt-downs and hope that in the long-run the trauma will be short lived.

Our First Week

Our first week in France has been spent with lots of family time, food, and wine.  Our first full day included a mid-morning visit with Marc’s parents, lunch with Valerie’s parents (it was her Dad’s birthday), swimming and trampoline in the afternoon for the kids, and then dinner with Marc’s parents. 

 Marc's family!

 Marc's favorite, Flan.  This came after a delicious cheese souffle.

 Lola trying flan with Papa and Tonton (Uncle) Olivier.  Yum!

Teah too.

Honestly, the rest of the week was pretty similar.  Activities scheduled around meals with swimming and trampoline in between.  Plus a special birthday dinner for Marc's mom.

Our breakfast (bread, cheese, olive oil, yogurt, fruit, tea, coffee) - a bit different from home.
A typical French breakfast is usually bread with butter and jam or a croissant.

Fish tonight!  The girls were kinda freaked out that the heads were still on.

The view from our table at Marc's brother's house!  Pas mal (not bad).

 Mamie's (Grandma's) Birthday Cake -- Mille Feuilles (Thousand Leaves)

This was not your ordinary (gigantic) cut of meat.  This meat was bought from a specialty butcher who dry ages the meat for 90 days.  Apparently this dehydrates the meat in a way that increases the flavor and tenderness.  I certainly don't consider myself a connoisseur of meat but it was rather delicious served with a nice dry red wine.

A peach, banana, and grape crumble followed.  So yummy!

After only a few days of all this delicious food, my tummy was telling me to slow down.  Cheese three times a day, dessert and wine with lunch and dinner.  I know it sounds amazing but truly there’s only so much a gut can take.  The cheese, dessert, and wine would have to be tapered back a bit if I was going to survive a year in France.

Not too far from our house there is a sweet little park right on the lake.  We took the girls there one afternoon and within minutes they find the one girl speaking English. They hit it off and we returned 2 days later to go swimming with her. 

 

A little side note about the English girl.  Of all the children to meet this one just so happened to be the daughter of an old classmate of Marc’s.  They live in England now but he grew up in Thonon and he and his sister went to the same school as Marc and his brother.  We discover this after talking with the little girl’s mom and Grandma for a bit.  The Grandma asked what Marc’s last name is and right away she remembered him and his family.  What a crazy, small world we all live in.

La Petite Souris 2

Of course no sooner do I post about Lola's lost tooth, then Teah loses her very first tooth at school today.  Thankfully she managed to save it for the little mouse tonight!

La Petite Souris

To round out the excitement of our arrival Lola lost her 2nd front tooth our first night in France.  

How fun!  The tooth fairy would visit tonight, except they don't have tooth fairies in France they have a little mouse that comes and visits you during the night, exchanging money for teeth.  How strange! A mouse is not nearly as whimsical or delightful as a fairy.  Lola's first reaction was "can't my tooth fairy find me in France?  I don't want a little mouse coming on to my bed during the night."

Her cousin quickly went and got the wooden mouse you leave the tooth in and much to Lola's relief it goes on your night stand, not your bed.  Eventually the girls fell asleep and the "little mouse" arrived in the night to make the exchange.  Except, the hole would not fit any french coins, leaving bills as the only option.  And since this "little mouse" had only arrived in France and didn't have much french money available, Lola woke up the next morning to a 5 Euro bill in her wooden mouse.  These French mice are mighty generous.  The bar has been set rather high for all future teeth lost in France. 

We Made It

After two nights of very little sleep, increasing build-up of stress over the last couple weeks, and a 18 hour journey we arrived exhausted and emotionally spent on Thursday August 25 in Geneva, Switzerland.  We were so lovingly and excitedly greeted though by Marc’s brother and his family that all the exhaustion and stress was stripped away (Sort of ... I still had dried paint on my arms from the day before! - Marc).  With big hugs and kisses all around we had finally arrived.  To say it was surreal would not even be enough to explain the air of disbelief.  We loaded up the cars and drove to our home for the next year; a small village right on Lake Geneva (Lac Leman) called Anthy-sur-Leman.

We are fortunate enough to be living for the next year down the street from Marc's brother and his family and only a 5-minute drive from his parents in Thonon-les-Bains.

Although all of us could barely keep our eyelids open by the time we got to Marc’s brother’s house I was surprised to see the final reserves of energy kick in from the kids as they proceeded to jump on the trampoline and swim with their cousins well into the night.  The best thing about family is that love transcends everything, even language.  It actually didn’t matter that the cousins weren’t speaking the same language they played and laughed and were so happy to be together again.  I think we all finally got to bed by 12:30.  Exhausted for sure but sublimely happy as well.

Departure Day

The days leading up to our departure were a total blur.  Last minute appointments, dinners and good-bye parties with friends, unexpected house repairs, plus frantically trying to finish packing up the house and our suitcases.  The day before we left we had a repair man at the house working on the heater, another repair man working on the septic, and friends coming and going offering their assistance in last minute packing.  Marc and I stayed up until 3 am packing until we collapsed into bed only to awake at 6 am to finish the job.  My parents arrived late morning and it was literally up until the minute we had to leave that we were stuffing the last items into the bags, cleaning the house, and touching up the paint on the walls.  It was a whirlwind of energy expenditure.

On the way to the airport we swung by Good Will to leave, literally, a car-full of donation items.  As if the universe was playing a cruel joke on us when we arrived the gate was closed.  We pulled over and I went inside to figure out if we could still drop off our items.  One of the workers simply waved a finger at me to leave.  Well that wasn’t going to do.  I found another worker and asked the same question.  They had a truck making a pick-up or delivery, I couldn’t really tell, and for safety reasons was unable to accept donations until the truck left.  We were going to have to come back.  "When", I asked?  No reply.  I’m sure I sounded like a total nut-case when I proceeded to tell the worker that we actually couldn’t come back because we were literally on our way to the airport and if we couldn’t leave the items there then we would have to throw everything away.  If that didn’t make me sound crazy my subsequent actions would have totally sealed the deal.  I assured him that I only needed 2 minutes to get everything out of the car.  Without waiting for a response I ran back out to the car and with the help of Marc and my father we proceeded to quickly empty everything out of the car.  They kept closing the gate on us and we kept opening it and running things in to the drop-off section.  By the time we were done there were 3 other workers at this point helping us just trying to get us out of there.  How ironic that in an effort to do the right thing and donate items we obnoxiously forced ourselves into their facility.  I'm sure everyone there was totally annoyed by us by the time we left.

Finally we were off to the airport.  We’re doing pretty good on time despite all the chaos of the morning and at this point only the adrenaline is keeping us awake.  As we park and unload the car I’m really starting to question the weight of our bags.  I have a sinking feeling that we’re going to be over the limit and I really didn't want to have to pay even more money for heavy bags.  Here's some pics of us at the airport with, yes that's right, 3 carts full of suitcases and carry-ons.

We check-in our bags and sure enough one is over the limit.  The gentleman explained that if we couldn't lighten the load we were going to pay an extra $150.  Ugh! We tried redistributing items to lighter bags but couldn't bring it down to the limit load.   We explained that we’re going to be gone for a year and we tried our best to keep it to the weight limits.  After getting (what I assume is) mildly annoyed waiting for us to redistribute items he finally agrees to let the bag go through without the extra fee.  Crisis barely averted.  I’m still concerned about our carry-ons.  I sneakily weighed a few while we were at the check-in counter and they were all too heavy.  I hoped that if we just carried everything like it was light enough we'd be waved onto the plane without any notice.  Thankfully that is exactly what happened.  No one even looked twice at us.  Phew!

We have just enough time to enjoy a little food with my lovely family and after saying our good-byes head off to Security and finally to our flight to France!