At 11 a.m. on Tuesday, March 20th, France stood still. For an entire minute. This may not sound impressive if you have not worked with children, but believe me, convincing 700 middle and high school students to stand still and shut up for 60 seconds is something to brag about--especially when the majority of them don't understand the context.
For those of you who haven't heard, on Monday morning a gunman entered a Jewish school in Toulouse and killed three children and a Rabbi. He was believed to be associated with other recent killings in Toulouse, but nothing was confirmed. The police eventually found him, and after a 31-hour stand off at his apartment, the suspect jumped out the window and died. (It is currently unconfirmed as to whether the fall or a gunshot wound caused his death).
Even though I am not French (but God knows I try to be) this tragedy was chilling for me. I feel more integrated here this go-around because I am technically employed by the state, and I am an educator. And the thought that someone could be hateful enough to enter a school--a place of learning, a place to better oneself--and seek some sort of religious/ racial vengeance is absolutely sickening to me. Although I live in the middle of no-where and the chances of something like this happening at my school are slim-to-none, it is jolting to think that if someone wanted, they could walk in and do the same thing.
The majority of the students at my school are not up-to-date on the situation. A greater majority don't seem to care too much. But regardless, there was something moving about all of us standing in silence on Tuesday morning. I am usually irritated by choreographed displays of respect, but this time it felt genuine; it felt significant.
My heart goes out to all who were affected by this tragedy.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Sick of being sick
The past few days have been hellacious. As I've mentioned before, I was sick for the better part of December and January, some strange French illness that could not be identified. In retrospect, it was most likely a cold exaggerated by my hypochondria. In any case, I thought it was all behind me, until I woke up Friday morning with the most intense stomach pains of my life. I was certain I was dying. I tried to sleep through it. I crawled around the apartment. I curled into a ball and apologized to God for every sin I've ever committed. The pain continued. Around 5 a.m., I woke up my significant other and requested an ambulance. Since I was standing up and asking politely, he suggested a mid-afternoon doctor's appointment instead. Oh no. When an American is sick, sound the alarm, call the police, and notify the president. Or perhaps this is just me.
I called in sick to work and tried to muscle through the morning. By 11 a.m., the perpetual pain had left me toute blanche. Go time. We rushed to the doctor and requested an immediate consultation. Luckily, this was possible; Unluckily, the doctor decided to bring out his high-school level English to diagnose me.
So, have you been farting a lot?
No.
Shirt off please.
After a series of equally uncomfortable questions, he told me that I had 'acid of the stomach exaggerated by stress,' charged me 23 euro, and sent me to the pharmacy. I spent a total of 7 euro on four different medications and spent the rest of the day gradually feeling better. The next day, as suggested by the doctor, I went to the lab to have my blood tested just to confirm that there was nothing serious going on, and it was completely free.
Now I really hate to get political in a time like this, but I am still amazed at how cheap medical treatment is in France. There are about a million and one things that are more difficult to do here, but being healed is not one of them. French people aren't afraid to get sick because they know they won't have to take out a second mortgage to pay the hospital. They know that since they pay taxes to the government, that their health will be taken care of. There is no fine print, no surprises. And they think it's hilarious that I make such a big deal about it.
The truth is, just a few days ago, I received three (overdue) medical bills from the US for three separate appointments, totaling to about $600.00. And I didn't even flinch. Nor did I react when I was charged $400.00 for a face cream from the dermatologist. When I learned that an MRI for my leg would cost $1200.00, I calmly decided to wait until I was 45 and could afford something like that.
I realize that I am a novice on the intricacies of the American health care system, and that there is no simple fix. But what scares me the most is that Americans don't feel like they deserve to be healthy. Like health is something only for the rich; a luxury for those with a house in the suburbs and 2.5 kids. Something that must be earned. I just can't wrap my head around it, nor do I wish to come around to this way of thinking. It is a strange realization that a foreign country I have been living in for 5 months gives me more medical benefits than my own.
I called in sick to work and tried to muscle through the morning. By 11 a.m., the perpetual pain had left me toute blanche. Go time. We rushed to the doctor and requested an immediate consultation. Luckily, this was possible; Unluckily, the doctor decided to bring out his high-school level English to diagnose me.
So, have you been farting a lot?
No.
Shirt off please.
After a series of equally uncomfortable questions, he told me that I had 'acid of the stomach exaggerated by stress,' charged me 23 euro, and sent me to the pharmacy. I spent a total of 7 euro on four different medications and spent the rest of the day gradually feeling better. The next day, as suggested by the doctor, I went to the lab to have my blood tested just to confirm that there was nothing serious going on, and it was completely free.
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| The daily dose |
Now I really hate to get political in a time like this, but I am still amazed at how cheap medical treatment is in France. There are about a million and one things that are more difficult to do here, but being healed is not one of them. French people aren't afraid to get sick because they know they won't have to take out a second mortgage to pay the hospital. They know that since they pay taxes to the government, that their health will be taken care of. There is no fine print, no surprises. And they think it's hilarious that I make such a big deal about it.
The truth is, just a few days ago, I received three (overdue) medical bills from the US for three separate appointments, totaling to about $600.00. And I didn't even flinch. Nor did I react when I was charged $400.00 for a face cream from the dermatologist. When I learned that an MRI for my leg would cost $1200.00, I calmly decided to wait until I was 45 and could afford something like that.
I realize that I am a novice on the intricacies of the American health care system, and that there is no simple fix. But what scares me the most is that Americans don't feel like they deserve to be healthy. Like health is something only for the rich; a luxury for those with a house in the suburbs and 2.5 kids. Something that must be earned. I just can't wrap my head around it, nor do I wish to come around to this way of thinking. It is a strange realization that a foreign country I have been living in for 5 months gives me more medical benefits than my own.
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