Lost In Translation
During the week, the hospital is a hive of activity with hundreds of people coming and going. From about 4:00 p.m. on Fridays, everything seems to slow down and then come to a halt around 6:00 p.m. Only those who are essential to keep the engine running at low speed continue to work. For the next 48 hours, time seems to stand still.
After a crazy week where you had one or two exam per day, your blood pressure taken three times a day, suddenly everything comes to a halt and you have nothing to do, no one to see, no exams, nothing, nada. To top it all off, the RER C train is undergoing maintenance that weekend, so Marie can't visit me. Fortunately, my friend Niko drives down to see me, and my brother leaves his apartment on the right banking of the Seine on his bike, so I spend a rather pleasant Sunday afternoon at the cafeteria.
And then there's the view: a large Star Trek-style bay window overlooking the Val de Grâce and the Panthéon. That's where I settle down, grabbing an armchair from the reception area to make my phone calls or daydream in the night between Saturday and Sunday, because for some reason I woke up around 4:00 a.m. Disappointment: the city no longer lights up its monuments. It's kind of sad.
And now, the same people who dread Monday mornings outside are in the hospital, hoping it will be Monday so they won't be stuck there, like battered boats on a sandbank. It has its little advantages, too, like the nurse who offers you coffee (real coffee, not chicory) and cookies just before you go to sleep. A delicious little treat.
Monday, 7:00 a.m., relief! Blood pressure check, and here we go again for another crazy week!
