Today I met a key figure in my life as a Parisian. My doctor. I chose her based on the fact that she practices homeopathy in addition to general medicine, her English is very good, and lastly, her office is minutes away from my apartment. She is part of my arrondissement.
The relationship between doctor and patient is an important one and I dearly miss my doctor from NYC. In addition to solving any ailments, physical and even at moments emotional, I considered him a paramount, even paternal presence in my life. Have I now met his maternal equivalent? Perhaps. I immediately felt at ease in the presence of this elegant French Madame, who possesses the nurturing eyes of a mother. The visit was reassuringly personal. We spoke about my decision to move to Paris, the benefits of yoga versus tai chi (the latter of which she practices with great passion). She even advised on where to buy the most healthy breads amidst our local boulangeries. (Ah, the French diet of cheese, wine and bread!)
I feel much more at ease. Knowing should I need medical counsel, or a soothing voice, it’s only steps away. What’s more, an office visit costs a mere $50, without insurance. And this nominal fee is fully reimbursed with the proper documents. Not to mention medicine costs less than a café au lait. Surely it would not be difficult or costly to become a hypochondriac within this socialized system?
