Docteur Frenchie

"C'est dans votre tête!" the docteur told me, as I explained my ongoing catastrophic intestines. 

In my head?!  Code Red Emergency running to les toilettes for two months is in my head??? hmmmm...I'm sure poor Copain (very good at speed-walking through Paris and Bali to nearest toilette) would beg to differ.

I tried not to smack her from across the 1940's consulting table.

Well, I've cut out all gluten, dairy, alcohol and café, docteur - and I think that may be helping.

"Quelle bêtise! What a mistake!" she exclaimed.  "Everyone is cutting out gluten and dairy these days - it's very à la mode - it's so in fashion. What you're really doing is lowering your tolerance for the foods! Why would you do that? This is all stress-related - you are nerveuse." 

Hell, yes I'm stressed and nervous - nervous I'm not going to make it to the nearest toilette! (Trying to stay calm and fight for my digestive rights)

"I want to see an allergist," I said in my best "I'm not gonna take your crap" French.

"Un allergologue?? Mais non! I highly doubt you have any allergies. I'll send you to a gastro-éterologue."  

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, she softened.  "It's really no way to live - you can't go out to restaurants, you live in fear of food, why only yesterday a patient told me that she was living on rice crackers and hadn't had a vegetable in months!"

I played to her French "No first, then yes" approach to life (how could I have forgotten!!) - "Oh I know, docteur, and we live in France! Land of wine, cheese and delicious gluten-filled baguette - I can't live like this forever."

As she wrote my prescription for the gastro doc, probiotiques and some other government-reimbursed medication, she continued, "This always happens to us women. Where do we hold our stress? In our intestins of course. It's just terrible. Tell Docteur Gastro that you've come de ma part - he's not an old fogey, don't worry."

And really, why would I be worried after this wonderful medical experience?

Cannes Cannes and La Crève

When your throat starts to hurt, your nose starts to run, and overall you feel like a pile of doggy merde, the French know that you have La Crève. 


If you go to work and tell your co-workers that you have La Crève, not only will they immediately sympathize with you, but they will also mention that you should se couvrir (cover up!), mettre une echarpe (put on a scarf!) and eviter les courants d'air (avoid drafts of air!).

All French people know that not covering up, not wearing a scarf, all while standing in the middle of a draft of air, will immediately bring on La Crève.

This will then call for such medication as Lysopaïne (some kind of sugar-free vitamin-looking tablet thing that is supposed to make your throat feel better), Physiodose (sea water spray that you shoot up your nose and then blow out) and the tried and true Doliprane, Nurofen and Actifed Rhume. (Note from the pharmacienne: Actifed ne sert à rien - isn't worth taking- unless you are also shooting Physiodose up your nose on a daily basis...good to know.)

Lucky Cannes Cannes got La Crève last Saturday - 250 thousand billion trillion million kleenexes and nasty coughs later, and I now look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer's long lost American cousin.  To all of my Frenchie friends,  please note that I am diligently covering myself, wearing my scarf and avoiding drafts of air, all while sucking on Lysopaïne, shooting salt water up my nose and timing when I can take my next Actifed.

My Mom's Russian massage therapist would be appalled. Her advice when the going gets tough: Garlic, Vicks and Vodka - or as she likes to tell me (as she digs her Russian thumbs into my back), Wicks and Wodka! Then you feel better!


Why do the French make things so complicated?