PARIS–I had a stroke last month, oh boy.
It’s just that I didn’t know it. Here’s what happened:
Only after three days of flashing, floating visual squiggles — commonly known as ocular migraines that usually last 20 minutes — do I email my old friend Dr. John Krakauer, who helps run stroke recovery at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.
After a few questions he told me to get an MRI scan as soon as possible. In the U.S. that could involve the emergency room (with its hours-long wait) or a complicated process of getting the referral — and then finding a radiologist who would take my coverage. Here in France, it is so much simpler.
But even here, such a lot of bother, I think. My doctor’s away on vacation. Whom do I call? But since I’m now into my fourth day of rainbow hieroglyphics, I bike down to the renowned emergency eye service at Hospital Hotel Dieu, across from Notre Dame cathedral. It has historically served Paris’ poorest residents.
I offer my national health card, and the receptionist brushes it off. All they want is something with a picture ID. Three hours later I’ve been examined by four separate specialists. “You have no serious eye problem,” the retina specialist advises me, “but I agree with your friend at Hopkins. You should get a brain scan,” which they can’t do there. She scrawls out a note to one of France’s top neurology centers.
Back to the bike. I peddle to the Hopital Ste-Anne, a multi-specialty neurology center close to where France’s last guillotine stood.
Sweating, I climb the stairs directly to the glass reception door on the second floor. The head of the clinic smiles, reads the note I’ve brought from the eye doctor and immediately begins some simple tests to be sure I’m not an emergency case.
She taps my elbow, then asks me extend my hands and slowly draw each index finger to my nose. I pass. She asks me when the rainbow squiggles began as she scrolls down her computer screen. It’s 1:15, but I have a lunch appointment at 1:30.
“Go have lunch and come back at 2:30 for your MRI,” she tells me. “Oh yes,” she adds, “you really ought to check in downstairs first.”
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