Going to the doctor in France.

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We visited two tennis clubs and found out what was necessary to join one of them.  The public one is very inexpensive but  required 2 photos, an application and a doctor's certificate. Upon receiving such news, we felt we might not be playing.  Everyone said, not a problem.

We got some addresses for local doctors and we went to one of them on Wednesday, only to find out they were closed for the day.  The rest of the week were only open a few hours between the long lunch hour.  Some of the days was by appointment and others  by drop in.  None of it seem to work out for us, so we felt it wasn't going to happen.

Jeff decided to brave the telephone (anyone learning a new language knows the phone is the hardest place to communicate) and call the other doctor's name we had.  Jeff was told to call back at 2:30 p.m.  When he did, he was told by the same man to just drop in before 5:00 p.m.  It turned out it was the doctor himself answering the phone but we wondered why he didn't tell us to come in the afternoon when we called in the morning.  Maybe he was waiting to see if he felt like seeing patients in the afternoon.

After a couple of wrong turns and a long walk we arrived at the right building. The intercom did not function well, but we sneaked in with another patient.  Upon arrival to the large but empty waiting area we wondered what to do next.  A tall, very affable man greeted us. It turned out it was the doctor himself. He was Dutch and very friendly.  He spoke English. He was available for house calls everyday.

I worried I didn't have all the names of my meds and if I should have taken a shower before the exam, etc. etc.   I should not have worried.  He took one look at us and determined we were healthy and sound.  Not even a cursory question about our health.  He struggled with his printer and after a few attempts he declared all was well and that he was going to make his signature look pretty.  End of story.