Mum had a thing cut out of her lip today. It wasn’t anything major. I think she called it something like an ‘angiehomer’ - that's what it sounded like anyway. I tried to listen in when she was talking to her friend about it yesterday but they kept reverting to this gobbledygook lerrfransay language, which, after a bit of ‘Googling’ and after having a chat with Claude the yellow Labrador, I’ve learned is actually called French – the same name as the folk who live here in France. So Chloe, if you’re reading this you were WRONG. It’s not lerrfransay after all it’s FRENCH.
Anyway, I’m digressing. Mum went to this clinic and had this thing cut out of her lip and when she got back she looked a bit funny and I wanted to laugh, but then I felt a bit cruel because it wasn’t her fault that she looked funny. I’m sure the swelling will go down eventually. It's just a pity that the doctor was such a crap sewer. Mum had a few medical procedures in quite a few hospitals when she lived in the UK. Maybe it’s something to do with her being a bit of a ‘highpokondriak’ as Uncle Hugh calls her. Lately though mum’s been really scared of getting a little bug called MRSA, which apparently is hugely popular in the UK, so now she only has things done if they’re absolutely necessary.
She’s a bit of a conundrum my mum. On the one hand, she was quite happy to let people inject a deadly virus into her face to stop her from frowning (when she could afford it) and yet on the other hand she’s terrified of a few little bugs.
Due to this MRSA thing, mum decided to try a clinic over here in France instead of going to the UK. She'd been a bit reluctant due to what she calls a 'language barrier' and the fact that the French really like to go on strike "...but it's only small - it'll not take long so there's less chance of them downing tools mid procedure..." As it happened she was pleasantly surprised. I heard her telling Uncle Hugh about it ‘…it was as if I were having open heart surgery. I was submitted to rigorous questioning…"Have you brushed your teeth? Have you showered with the antiseptic wash? Have you had a rectal douche?” - obviously I lied at that stage and said ‘yes’ – I mean what has my bottom got to do with my lip? I'm not a cat for goodness' sake. “Have you had any other procedures? Have you any allergies? Have you eaten? Have you had anything to drink?” - I decided not to tell them about the two croissants and the seven cups of coffee, after all, I was only having a 'local'. They weighed me, measured me and then I was taken to a little room where I had to remove EVERYTHING, even my knickers, and don a disposable gown, slippers and hair bonnet. I got worried at that stage in case they’d got my notes wrong. I had visions of being put to sleep and waking up with a kidney missing or a leg or something. I kept pointing at my lip and saying “‘c’est ça, c’est seulement ça!’” Then a hospital porter wheeled me to the operating theatre despite my protestations that I wasn’t ill and could walk quite easily. In the theatre, everyone was gowned and masked. It felt very ominous as they covered me with a sterile green shroud - then all they did was numb my lip and whip the little thing out. It took all of ten minutes – if that. I’ve never known such a palaver. Not for outpatients. In fact not even for proper surgery - not in the UK. The last time I had a procedure in outpatients in the UK it was a case of the doctor asking me to “hop on here, love” fully clothed - including my muddy outdoor shoes at the time. I’m not criticising the French at all – it’s a credit to them. I wish it were as efficient and sterile in the UK then perhaps there wouldn’t be such high instances of MRSA.'
Oh no! She was impressed! Does that mean she’s going to start finding things wrong with her again? Then again, she’s short of plastic these days and her new worry is this falling pound business, so perhaps not. Phew!
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