Submitted by Lindsay Kaslow on the 2016 fall semester study abroad program in Paris, France…
Last weekend, we had the opportunity to see Les Châteaux de la Loire with our program – lots of French History and beautiful architecture in all of these castles. Unfortunately, I had some sort of weird pain in my lower back every time I sat down, which wasn’t conducive to the long bus ride to and from Paris.
On Tuesday morning, on my way home from running errands, I couldn’t sit on the metro seats, and I could barely walk from the station to my apartment. So naturally, when my host mom got home, I asked her for help.
New French experience #1: in metropolitan areas, doctors will come to your house. That was helpful until I learned that the doctor didn’t speak English. How was I supposed to describe what I was feeling, exactly where I could pinpoint the pain, the fact that I hadn’t done anything specific? Luckily, there was a physically visable element: a very obviously painful and tender lump. So with Word Reference in one hand, a prescription in the other and my host mom standing by, the doctor informed me that I had a cyst and that if it didn’t open and resolve in two days, I would need a surgeon to cut it open.
Honestly, that whole process that evening upset me more than I’d like to admit – not because I’m scared of having a cyst (because they’re actually quite common), but because when you’re in pain, it’s really frustrating to struggle with communication. I’ve always had sympathy in the States for people with that problem – where I come from, I’ve seen many Hispanics struggle with it, and my heart went out to them. But until you experience it firsthand, you’ll never understand. Little did I know that I would learn that lesson to a whole new extent a few days later.
On Wednesday night, I did not sleep; there was not a single position to lie in that didn’t cause excruciating pain. I got up in the morning to tell my host mom what was happening, and she sat with me as I decided to go to the hospital. This woman, who has known me for only a month, cancelled her yoga session and did not go to work so that she could sit in an ER waiting room for hours while I saw another doctor, explaining the situation on an as-allowed basis.
People often stereotype Parisians as cold, unwelcoming people. If there were one thing that I could teach the world from studying here, it’s that that stereotype couldn’t lack any more truth. Parisians have been some of the most helpful, warm and attentive people I have ever met so long as you don’t give them reason to be otherwise.
All this led to new French experience #2: the doctor couldn’t drain the cyst as it was too deep, so I was admitted to the hospital to await surgery until that night. Explaining my dilemma to the first doctor and various nurses was hard enough – once again, no one spoke English. But everyone whom I saw had lasting patience with me while I searched for the right words, and they helped me fill in gaps where I lacked ability. As they put me in a wheelchair and rolled me up to my room, they made sure I understood what was happening and tried to make sure I was comfortable.
The wait was incredibly long and hard – 18 hours sans food, sans water, some sans company. Pain doesn’t stop, hospitals are noisy and uncertainty can often be your enemy. My host parents came back for several hours in the evening, and one of my good friends came until the nurse kicked her out at 11:00 pm. With new doctors and nurses coming in and out every hour, trying to communicate with me, I could piece together more and more. While I couldn’t always formulate the right answers, I understood everything they told me, and I could help them understand my dilemma. And finally, at 2:00 am, when they rolled me into the operating room, I knew exactly what was going to happen and the staff knew exactly how I felt and what I needed.
Luckily, the next day, my program director was able to come and translate during the complicated exit process. When I finally got home and had time to reflect, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I had learned. My French medical vocabulary had grown. My communication and comprehension skills had really been tested. And the biggest lesson I learned was that when you travel with people or share special memories with them, it brings you closer; you really learn a lot about them, and it changes your life. When my host parents return from their weekend trip, I won’t see them in the same light. I’m indebted to my friend, who sat on the edge of my bed for six hours just so I could have someone to talk to. I’m thankful for the patience of people who know how to work with people who speak other languages, and I can’t wait to be able to help others more when they struggle in the same way I did.
It’s been one month, and I’m so thankful to be in France. Hospital or not, pain or not, frustration or not. Everyone says that study abroad will teach you a language and more importantly, a culture, but it teaches you even more than that. It teaches you to bond with people, how to sympathize with anyone in a world full of differences and it teaches you to trust in yourself and your abilities.