Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thank you all so much… yes we are back, tanned and jetlagged!
A Cut, SAMU, Emergency Hospital and Les Bleus
Tuesday was like any other day in the playground, except that David and I both ended up in the children’s emergency hospital instead of having a warm bath at home. After more than two hours of running around, building castles and screaming at kids stealing his toys, David slid, lost his balance and hit his head on a seesaw. It was so fast! I was just standing right beside the slide where he just went down and ran, the next thing I heard was his scream an old woman’s voice shouting “a boy is hurt!” As I whisked him over to check where he was hurt, blood was already dripping all over his face. Surprisingly I didn’t panic. As I cradled him on my lap, a mother was already looking for a paper towel, another mother searching for a bottle of water to clean the wound. Another mother asked me if we have to call the SAMU (Service d’Aide Médicale Urgente, the ambulance, if you like). As I checked David’s forehead I saw a tiny cut but wide open so I thought this might need some stitching so I said yes to the woman who quickly dialled the number. After a minute, the same woman who called the SAMU, said to me that the emergency guys are on their way and that her friend who just arrived is a paediatrician and wanted to see David’s cut. She sprayed some disinfectant on the wound and advised me that he should be brought to the hospital to have him generally checked in case there’ll be some trauma. David was all this time screaming to hell.
As the SAMU car arrived, a grandma was already picking up David’s toys scattered in the sandpit, asking me which ones was his, put them all together with his bike and told me I’d rather bring them to the hospital as well as they’ll surely will get stolen if left behind. I picked up all the bloodied tissues on the ground and the paediatrician dismissed me saying she would do it herself.
Inside the ambulance, on the way to the hospital, David’s scream continued even stronger, louder, none of the SAMU’s could touch or check him. Although the leader, I guess, since he was the one who gave orders did manage to put a bandage on the kid’s forehead.
As we arrived at the hospital, we were received by two nurses and the SAMU ‘leader’ explained to them what happened, on top of his voice since the David was even more screaming seeing all the guys in white robes. The nurses took personal information of David and registered them on the computer. I was asked for a personal ID. I had no ID, no money, and no bank card. I don’t usually bring them with me since the playground is just across our building. But the medical service guys didn’t seem to care. As soon as we were finished with the admin stuff, we went to another room and David was checked: weight, blood pressure, temperature and all the physical examination. David was of course very “amenable”. With the male nurse screaming in my ears “il chante bien!” (he sings well!). David was just terrible. I mean I was not worried about his wound, I was more worried he would pass out due to mere exhaustion.
After the physical examination, we waited another five minutes in the waiting area where David just suddenly stopped screaming as he saw all the toys and big cars gathered in one place. He wiggled away from my grasped and went directly to the biggest fancy car and shouted “vrooomm, vroooom, vroooom, mama look, like dadou!” with tears still wet on his cheeks! Can you believe that!!! I was like grrrrr kid, we were inside the big SAMU car and you should have displayed the same enthusiasm.
Anyway, as I heard his name called by another girl in a white robe, I told David it was time to go, which was automatically replied with an intense scream. As I checked the badge on the girl’s chest, it said her name and below it “intern nursing student”. We followed her passing several empty hospital rooms and got inside a room similar to the others, with a long bed and a big bed light hanging over it. David was horrified and I thought, this must be where the stitching is going to be done. There were two more female nurses there, one the head nurse and the other another intern student. David was clinging to my neck, to dear life, shouting, “finished, finished, out mama, out, out, out!”
The nurses were immobile for a minute thinking how they would go on with a hardly 12-kilo boy wiggling madly. I plucked David’s fingers off my neck and laid him on the table. I held down his whole body tightly it must have hurt him while the head nurse verified the wound. Another pause. Another hushed conversations among them, of which I understood as “how are we going to fix the wound, he is moving wildly!” The head nurse decided to put an oxygen mask on him, I thought maybe just to calm him down. I’ve tried those masks before when I gave birth and man, that definitely makes your head go funny. I was feeling less and less alert during that time that I took it off from my face. I wanted to be alert during the pushing. So well, they tried it on David, and the nurse said, “it actually smells like apple”. Well, the mask was green. But even if it was strawberry, orange or chocolate, David won’t just have it.
One mask wasted, the oxygen tank went off. I thought it took them forever to decide what to do. And hell, I was sweating profusely! Finally the nurse said, we’ve got no choice but to hold him down tight. And I thought, “yeah like a pig about to be castrated, that’s fine with me, as long as we are out of here quick!” So we did. She didn’t stitch the cut, she said it was really small. Instead she used some sort of glue, I could see the opened cut closing off. Then she put a plaster on it, and instructed me afterwards of what to do. Then we were released. Without being ask to pay.
You might wonder did I do it alone? I mean did anyone was with me aside from the unknown medical team? Answer is YES. In fact, if only I had cash with me enough to pay for a train ticket, I would go home without telling dadou and lola. Only, dadou, while we were in the stitching room, called and he heard David screaming. I told him very quickly of what happened and that we were in the hospital, if he could pick us up on his way home. I guess that horrified him but then I know my Dadou pretty well. He hates anything related to sickness and hospital and much more if it’s all about David.
So while all these things were happening, I thought the last thing I would do is call him. He would freak out for sure, and I don’t want a freaking father on my right ear and a screaming kid on my left with my face totally blank deciphering what the nurses were saying. I told him on the phone I’ll explain everything when he arrives. Which I did. Received with a sour mood and some questionable arguments of how did it happen that David, staying 14 days in the Caribbean didn’t have a single scratch and just three days back to Paris, managed to get a cut on his head. I didn’t even want to answer that argument but I had to supply him some information thinking he was just worried and this was his way of coping. Hmmm.
David is under 48-hour observation, if anything unusual such as vomiting, clumsiness, his eyes lopsided, pupils dilated, etc.. happens we should go directly back to the hospital.
So we arrived home past
7 pm tuesday night. Took out some Chinese food. David was munching on some chips and was running all around the place like nothing had happened. The time for the soccer game has started. I put David on his blue soccer t-shirt with France written on it and told him, this will bring good luck to the French team. I started chanting “allez les bleus, allez les bleus!” David was catching up with the excitement and he started chanting as well, jumping, running and kicking ball around showing no sign of trauma. 24 hours have gone and thank God, David seems fine.
Yesterday as I took him out, mothers who witnessed the incidents asked me how’s David. I mean, these are the mothers I see almost everyday and all we say to each other is “bonjour”. And the accident seemed to bring a subject for our elaborated conversations. They shared their own pieces of similar anecdotes.
Three mothers, four SAMUs, three nurses and two nursing students assisted us, that’s a lot of help for a small cut. We were treated without having presented an ID. We left the hospital without paying a single penny. Although when dadou came he supplied them with our health and Mutual Cards. Still, having treated without some identification is the opposite of what had happened when David was admitted to a hospital in the Philippines. This is one aspect I love about France.
As the SAMU car arrived, a grandma was already picking up David’s toys scattered in the sandpit, asking me which ones was his, put them all together with his bike and told me I’d rather bring them to the hospital as well as they’ll surely will get stolen if left behind. I picked up all the bloodied tissues on the ground and the paediatrician dismissed me saying she would do it herself.
Inside the ambulance, on the way to the hospital, David’s scream continued even stronger, louder, none of the SAMU’s could touch or check him. Although the leader, I guess, since he was the one who gave orders did manage to put a bandage on the kid’s forehead.
As we arrived at the hospital, we were received by two nurses and the SAMU ‘leader’ explained to them what happened, on top of his voice since the David was even more screaming seeing all the guys in white robes. The nurses took personal information of David and registered them on the computer. I was asked for a personal ID. I had no ID, no money, and no bank card. I don’t usually bring them with me since the playground is just across our building. But the medical service guys didn’t seem to care. As soon as we were finished with the admin stuff, we went to another room and David was checked: weight, blood pressure, temperature and all the physical examination. David was of course very “amenable”. With the male nurse screaming in my ears “il chante bien!” (he sings well!). David was just terrible. I mean I was not worried about his wound, I was more worried he would pass out due to mere exhaustion.
After the physical examination, we waited another five minutes in the waiting area where David just suddenly stopped screaming as he saw all the toys and big cars gathered in one place. He wiggled away from my grasped and went directly to the biggest fancy car and shouted “vrooomm, vroooom, vroooom, mama look, like dadou!” with tears still wet on his cheeks! Can you believe that!!! I was like grrrrr kid, we were inside the big SAMU car and you should have displayed the same enthusiasm.
Anyway, as I heard his name called by another girl in a white robe, I told David it was time to go, which was automatically replied with an intense scream. As I checked the badge on the girl’s chest, it said her name and below it “intern nursing student”. We followed her passing several empty hospital rooms and got inside a room similar to the others, with a long bed and a big bed light hanging over it. David was horrified and I thought, this must be where the stitching is going to be done. There were two more female nurses there, one the head nurse and the other another intern student. David was clinging to my neck, to dear life, shouting, “finished, finished, out mama, out, out, out!”
The nurses were immobile for a minute thinking how they would go on with a hardly 12-kilo boy wiggling madly. I plucked David’s fingers off my neck and laid him on the table. I held down his whole body tightly it must have hurt him while the head nurse verified the wound. Another pause. Another hushed conversations among them, of which I understood as “how are we going to fix the wound, he is moving wildly!” The head nurse decided to put an oxygen mask on him, I thought maybe just to calm him down. I’ve tried those masks before when I gave birth and man, that definitely makes your head go funny. I was feeling less and less alert during that time that I took it off from my face. I wanted to be alert during the pushing. So well, they tried it on David, and the nurse said, “it actually smells like apple”. Well, the mask was green. But even if it was strawberry, orange or chocolate, David won’t just have it.
One mask wasted, the oxygen tank went off. I thought it took them forever to decide what to do. And hell, I was sweating profusely! Finally the nurse said, we’ve got no choice but to hold him down tight. And I thought, “yeah like a pig about to be castrated, that’s fine with me, as long as we are out of here quick!” So we did. She didn’t stitch the cut, she said it was really small. Instead she used some sort of glue, I could see the opened cut closing off. Then she put a plaster on it, and instructed me afterwards of what to do. Then we were released. Without being ask to pay.
You might wonder did I do it alone? I mean did anyone was with me aside from the unknown medical team? Answer is YES. In fact, if only I had cash with me enough to pay for a train ticket, I would go home without telling dadou and lola. Only, dadou, while we were in the stitching room, called and he heard David screaming. I told him very quickly of what happened and that we were in the hospital, if he could pick us up on his way home. I guess that horrified him but then I know my Dadou pretty well. He hates anything related to sickness and hospital and much more if it’s all about David.
So while all these things were happening, I thought the last thing I would do is call him. He would freak out for sure, and I don’t want a freaking father on my right ear and a screaming kid on my left with my face totally blank deciphering what the nurses were saying. I told him on the phone I’ll explain everything when he arrives. Which I did. Received with a sour mood and some questionable arguments of how did it happen that David, staying 14 days in the Caribbean didn’t have a single scratch and just three days back to Paris, managed to get a cut on his head. I didn’t even want to answer that argument but I had to supply him some information thinking he was just worried and this was his way of coping. Hmmm.
David is under 48-hour observation, if anything unusual such as vomiting, clumsiness, his eyes lopsided, pupils dilated, etc.. happens we should go directly back to the hospital.
So we arrived home past
7 pm tuesday night. Took out some Chinese food. David was munching on some chips and was running all around the place like nothing had happened. The time for the soccer game has started. I put David on his blue soccer t-shirt with France written on it and told him, this will bring good luck to the French team. I started chanting “allez les bleus, allez les bleus!” David was catching up with the excitement and he started chanting as well, jumping, running and kicking ball around showing no sign of trauma. 24 hours have gone and thank God, David seems fine.
Yesterday as I took him out, mothers who witnessed the incidents asked me how’s David. I mean, these are the mothers I see almost everyday and all we say to each other is “bonjour”. And the accident seemed to bring a subject for our elaborated conversations. They shared their own pieces of similar anecdotes.
Three mothers, four SAMUs, three nurses and two nursing students assisted us, that’s a lot of help for a small cut. We were treated without having presented an ID. We left the hospital without paying a single penny. Although when dadou came he supplied them with our health and Mutual Cards. Still, having treated without some identification is the opposite of what had happened when David was admitted to a hospital in the Philippines. This is one aspect I love about France.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Dadou’s one-day fame!
I know this is kind of late to post for dadou’s father’s day. But Blogging Baby celebrates the whole month of June as Father’s Day. And on June 15, dadou got featured in the blog. Thank you Irene. I was honestly actually hoping that one of his photos will be chosen (amongst the many, many photos shared by others). That was one of the ways I wanted to show to dadou how great he is to David! Thank you for making it happened Irene.
Belated Happy Father’s Day Dadou!
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Monday, June 5, 2006
Roland Garros’s Penis
I’m one of those mothers who teach their child calling body parts by their proper names. Including that of breasts, vagina and penis. The first time I said it to David, dadou wasn’t so happy with the idea. He prefers giving it a nickname. I insisted on my idea. Now that it’s the season of France’s Roland Garros, I wonder if teaching David “penis” is a smart move after all.
Today, he pointed at the télé (which was off) and exclaimed;
“Mama penis!”
“What did you say?” me bewildered.
“Penis, loupé (missed) penis, loupé, loupé, penis, penis, penis!” with a heightened excitement as he swung his arm around.
I was lost for a minute and tried to figure out what he was saying.
“Penis, penis, loupé mama!”
“David, I don’t understand what you are saying, what is this penis on TV!?”
“Oui, oui, comme dadou!” (yes, yes like dadou!)
“What!!!” me horrified!
“Regarde (watch) penis mama!” now with both arms swinging madly.
“Oh David, it is not penis, it is tennis!” me laughing.
“Oui, oui, penis, c’est ça, like dadou!”
“No, it is not penis, it is called tennis, tennis, tennis!!! So much for body parts. Now I’m horrified with the idea that he might start telling people, “you know, mama and I watch penis on TV!” Loupé (louper = to miss). Lola and David were watching Roland Garros over the weekend on TV and every time the player missed the ball, they shouted “ah loupé!” I had no idea the piglet has internalized the word. I’d much prefer it to be “tennis”.
Today, he pointed at the télé (which was off) and exclaimed;
“Mama penis!”
“What did you say?” me bewildered.
“Penis, loupé (missed) penis, loupé, loupé, penis, penis, penis!” with a heightened excitement as he swung his arm around.
I was lost for a minute and tried to figure out what he was saying.
“Penis, penis, loupé mama!”
“David, I don’t understand what you are saying, what is this penis on TV!?”
“Oui, oui, comme dadou!” (yes, yes like dadou!)
“What!!!” me horrified!
“Regarde (watch) penis mama!” now with both arms swinging madly.
“Oh David, it is not penis, it is tennis!” me laughing.
“Oui, oui, penis, c’est ça, like dadou!”
“No, it is not penis, it is called tennis, tennis, tennis!!! So much for body parts. Now I’m horrified with the idea that he might start telling people, “you know, mama and I watch penis on TV!” Loupé (louper = to miss). Lola and David were watching Roland Garros over the weekend on TV and every time the player missed the ball, they shouted “ah loupé!” I had no idea the piglet has internalized the word. I’d much prefer it to be “tennis”.
