Dr Fang

On Friday, just as J was starting her trip from England to Kenya, she’d left me with instructions to take Kitty to the doctors. I duly turned up at the appointed hour of 11am and at 11.30 he appeared in the waiting room and looked at me quizzically – ‘who ah you?’ ‘I’m Mr Evans’, I said (it’s easier being somebody I’m not with this doctor). ‘Ah – come in’. There seemed to be a glimmer of recognition. Anyway, once in his room, I was just about to question his timekeeping when he spotted the cigarettes coming out of my pocket as I looked for the Carte Vitale (Health card) and he started lecturing me on smoking. It took me back to the last time I was in his surgery – 18 months ago when I blogged about it thus …….

Ever since I challenged J to get back into her wedding dress there’s been a marked change in the household. She now walks to the village (4 miles) when she used to take the car to the post box (50 yards). We now are fed Weetabix, without sugar or milk, for breakfast and we have muesli for dinner. I will not divulge what the Wii said when she stepped on it for a weight test but it was along the lines of, ‘one at a time please’. She nags me for having two saccharin in my mug of tea and the kids go to school looking like undernourished refugees. All the exercise she is doing is making me look like a retired, lazy executive, which I vainly profess to being.

So it was with some degree of shardenfreude on my part that she returned from a walk the other day with a poorly ankle. Having set out to walk 100 yards to the nearest bar, her friend proceeded to take her up a near vertical climb to a place called Gourdon (see picture – you might have to zoom in to see it). Despite the fact that she was wearing flip-flops, she made it to the top but on the way back down, she fell over a wild herb which had grown across the path and she sprained her ankle. Luckily a French doctor was travelling in the opposite direction on another climb but by waving her bra in the air she managed to attract his attention. I wouldn’t say that J has a big bust but EasyJet pilots and astronauts on the space station also saw this distress signal so quite a rescue operation ensued. To his credit, the French doctor carried her down the mountain and then presented her with a bill (which is what they all do) and as usual insisted she take all her clothes off to examine her ankle.

After an afternoon resting with a bottle of champagne beside the bed (yes – those of you who know her will recognise the post operative care she demands) she decided to call the local doctor to get a brace. I was told (not asked) to go to the doctors the next morning at 9am sharp to pick up a prescription for the said brace and to be on the safe side I got there at 8.50am. There was a rather tasty woman in the waiting room so the usual wait to be called was not too onerous. I kept thinking about how lucky the doctor was if she had ……no – let’s not go there.

Anyway, at 9.25am I was called in. Doctor Fang is Vietnamese and speaks a little English so he was a bit surprised when he called Mrs Evans’ name (she’s not decided how long she’ll stay with me so hasn’t changed her name yet) and I stood up. ‘Ah you Mr Evans’, he said. ‘Nope – I’m Mr Cupples’, I replied. He called out ‘Mrs Evans’ again and I explained that I was her carer and had come for the prescription.

He ushered me into his little room (just big enough to swing a cat and no more) and immediately laid into me. I won’t bother with the quotes but here goes… You Engrish – you come ovah here an sink you can juss order us docors alound. You sink you can juss phone up an order plescliptions like you do in Engrand and we just han them over. All you want is this bit of paper (pointing to his prescription pad) so you can get leimbursed. I don know what sort of injuly Mrs Evans has – I could give her wong fing and then you sue me. This is not light – not collect plocedure. I could see his English was struggling at this point so I started on him.

Risten, I’m only the carer so don’t have a go at me. If you are not comfortable don’t do it. I’ll drag the poor rady in here so you can see for yourself. And another thing – I’m not Engrish so don’t go there. If you don’t want to lite a plescliption don’t do it. And another fling – if you so much as ask her to take her crothes off I’ll come down here with my rawyer – ok ?

He replied – ‘you taking the piss’. I smiled and reft….sorry….left.

Later that morning J had to go back to his surgery where she had to take all her clothes off to have her ankle examined. He gave her a prescription for a brace. C’est la vie.