Carte Postale #1: Le 24 mai, 2009

Posted on May 24, 2009

De l’autre côté de la page, dans la réflexion de ce jour dans le miroir d’hier, je vis à l’heure près les effleurements de ta peau contre la mienne. La peau… sus piel. J’ai encore l’Espagne qui résonne dans mes trippes, le coeur qui déchire dans l’absence. Il hurle la France dans les rues étrangères de Munich. Mes muscles se souviennent encore des rochers auquels je m’aggripait. J’y comprends rien ici. Duele mi corazon des couteaux de l’Occitan.

European adventure: The South of France

Posted on May 16, 2009

As I wrote yesterday, I am now staying in Toulouse over at Imo’s beautiful apartment. This morning I woke up to her kitty (Shadow)’s cuddles. He’s a strange cat. Entirely grey and most of the time he’s pretty sketchy, but every once in a while he’ll cuddle the heck out of you. Lovely. Good thing for me I remembered to bring my allergy pills with me.

Yesterday I got officially introduced to the Southern France. We had a mellow day since Imo was getting ready to leave for Australia. The day began with some fresh, still warm croissants and chocolatines. A few hours later, Alain made us a tasty spinach and emmenthal omelet with salad and baguette with Saint-Marcellin. However, that was nothing compared to what I was about to experience that evening. Before dinner, we walked around the “Pink City” and looped around all of its pretty little streets, exploring the mix of medieval architecture and modern additions. We’ll be exploring a bit more today before taking a train to Cahors.

In France, eating is a way of life. You think you’ve been to Paris and experienced what I’m talking about? Think again. It’s in people’s homes and daily lives that the magic really happens. Average meals take about 3 hours to eat. The meal began with a good bottle of wine, dry saussage (fouet catalan) and baguette. Then came the main course. A fabulous and easy to make Poulet Basquez: chicken breasts served with a tomato and fresh pepper sauce and rice.

I thought this was prety great and was so full after this that I didn’t even finish my plate. However, it was far from over. Here, you have to eat a bit of everything. To make room for more, we had a Trou Normand (a shot of Jamieson Irish Whiskey) before the salad and baguette and cheese. By that point, I was delirious. My body felt full and overwhelmed with joy. Then there was desert: a Gianduja (pralined chocolate) mousse.

After that, we left the house to walk it off and headed down to an English Pub where Nathan proceeded to serve us typical French drinks. When in France, you have to taste everything. So, as the good sport that I am, and gastronomy and drinks are and intrisic part of the French adventure, I had a bit of everything. We first had some Perrier to help the digestion, and then had a Zizi coin-coin (Cointreau and lemon juice). Then came Bailey coco (Baileys with Malibu and milk) and another Jamieson. We topped off the evening with a wonderful drink called a Mauresque: Pastis and Sirop d’orgeat.

After that, all that was left to do was tipsy over by the 9th century basillica on our way home. By then I was repaying the local effort of the French experience by speaking some pretty heavy Chiac. Before heading to bed, we had a nice weak cup of Earl Grey. Oh dear, what a night. Apparently, this was a light meal. This is just practice, training, stretching. When we get to Cahors, it’s going to be a different story. I’m bracing myself… getting psyched up to gain a few pounds while I’m at it. Seriously, who gets to be so lucky as to actually experience the REAL Southern France lifestyle. I can’t even begin to tell you how truly special this trip is turning out to be. And there’s more… wow.

Waking up in Toulouse…- Travel log part 3

Posted on May 15, 2009

This morning I’m in Toulouse, France, waking up to a grey, calm morning. Last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve gotten since I got to Europe about 10 days ago. Imo’s appartment is pretty… sort of like a European version of my own nest. I can hear coffee being made in the next room… the open window looks on to a beautiful garden. Alain is leaving to get some fresh croissants. Does life get any better than this?

Yesterday we travelled from Barcelona by train. Crossed the Pyrenees by bus, then got onto the oh so pretentious French train after having crossed the “borders”. Truth is, there isn’t so much as a road sign that lets you know that you’re leaving Spain and entering France. So is the European Union’s reality I guess. You just have to know that you’re not in Catalunya anymore or else you miss the magic that we highlight in Canada with out numerous road signs. The official city limits and the more touristic welcomes to every single village you cross. Here you just have to feel it.

Crossing the Pyrenees was truly magical. Beautiful mountains, steep as walls and green with trees. In the far you can see taller mountains with eternal snows. Every once in a while you’ll see cascades of water rushing through the rocks. The man driving the bus took time to tell me stories and point me towards the most beautiful things to see on our way. Canadians get excellent treatment so far. People seem to love us… of maybe it’s me who’s lovable. Who knows.

Blogging has been difficult in Spain. The internet was unbelievably slow and being creative in public spaces was difficult. The two times I wrote was mainly updates to tell you readers what I’m up to. From now on, it should be easier to communicate the actual experience of being blessed by absolute freedom in Europe. The connection here is fast and the computers work well. Vive la France!

Where I am right now is Imo’s apartment. Imo is Alain’s fabulous girlfriend. Alain is my best friend in the whole world. In the whole world because even an ocean can’t stop true friendship. Last night, we had dinner and talked over a nice bottle of wine. I thought wine in Spain was fantastic whatever the price, but here, it’s even better. It goes down so easy and nice with a beautiful taste. Last night we talked about culture, about identity, about independance and the blurry boundaries involved in those concepts. Conversations are wonderful. It’s too bad that Imo is about to depart for Australia this evening. But the adventure continues…

Now Alain is pointing me towards a fresh croissant and I have to answer the call. Ah, vive la France!

European Adventure: Spain – part 2

Posted on May 12, 2009

I’m trying to remember where I was before I was here, now. So I’ll start by the present. Currently, I’m staying at the third barcelonian hostel in a week. Ideal Hostel is a nice, friendly and modern spot. Cheap as well which is always key when you’re travelling on a very small budget like I am. My first travel partner, Julie, left this morning. At this moment, she should be boarding the plane that will take her to London where she will transfer to Montreal.

Yesterday was my last day with her so we took that day to visit the big touristic attractions that we had been avoiding since the beginning in search for something more special. So yesterday we began by visiting La Sagrada Familia, that famous church with the eight towers to which Gaudí contributed. We didn’t bother paying the fee to visit it inside, but the building itself was gorgeous, though still under heavy construction. Then we took the teleferic up to Montjuïc, which gave us a breathtaking view of the city. There was also a cute castell up there. We walked around a bit then decended back to Passeig Graciá. We saw a few of Gaudí’s buildings and visited the stores we can’t afford.

We ended the evening at my absolute favorite bar in the whole world, Candela Raval. This charming place plays great music, has a gorgeous and simple red and white decor and the locals are mellow and friendly. I’ve been impressed to find out that there’s pretty much no such thing as bad Spanish wine. It’s fantastic everywhere and super cheap. We have been taking full advantage of that since our arrival (with moderation of course).

The day before, we went to explore the beaches located North of Barcelona. We made our way to Mataró by train and then decided to turn back a few stations because the beaches appeared nicer there. The sand was thicker, and the water got really deep, really quick. The colour of it was nicer though. It was pretty much cloudy all day but we were determined to have another beach day. It was nice.

The day before that we took time to walk around the city and do some shopping. Both Julie and I were stunned at the amount of VERY unique stuff they have in Spain. Of course there’s the usual tourist shops as well as a variety of stuff we could probably buy back home, but a few stores stood out with unique displays of Spanish imagination and craftiness. Even though we didn’t buy all that much stuff, it was awesome just to see all of that stuff.

If that was the10th, well that just about brings my blog up to date. What’s next for me now? Well today my great friend Alain is arriving in the early afternoon and I’m meeting him in the middle of a star. Then, Toulouse on the 14th, then… who knows…

Europe Adventure – Part 1: Spain

Posted on May 9, 2009

After having visited the beautiful medieval town of Girona on the 6th, Julie and I headed South to Barcelona. We travel together like the perfect team. Train, metro, walking in a foreing city bigger than our own, we still managed to find a hostel within about 15 minutes of arriving in Barce. We were a bit shocked to see three boys walking into our dorm as we were under the impression that ours was a female room, but as it turns out, we spent three wonderful evenings hanging out with these fantastic American gentlemen.

On the first night in Barce-Barcelona, we had Tapas and Sangria on a terrace. That same night, the Barcelona futbol team won a big game against the Britts and the city went wild withexcitement. Meanwhile, Julie and I walked around the city, desperately trying to book a place to sleep for Friday and Saturday night. As it happens, all of Barcelona’s hostels were booked because of F1 taking place this weekend. But, troopers as we are, we finally found a reasonable one. So good.

Thursday, we went to Sitges, a gorgeous little town South of Barcelona. Unfortunately, as we were eating our sandwiches on the train, my porcelain tooth (right in the front) decided it was time to fall off. So, first mission in Sitges was to find some denture glue. This may appear pretty easy, but trying to communicate what I needed to the nice pharmacist in Spanish is not something I thought I would ever have to do. My lack of vocabulary to explain this peculiar matter made it especially tricky. Finally, I got what I needed, stuck the tooth back on and we headed down to what is probably the second best beach I have ever seen in my life.

The water in Sitges is as clear as what comes out of your fosset. It has a lovely light blue/greenish (sort of like a very very light turquoise) shade to it. It wasn’t as warm as the Carribean, but just as sweet. Lots of waves. Lots of sunshine. Though there was lots of people there, it was a very calm beach. Everything in that town was so mellow and beautiful, we almost regretted having to go back to Barcelona.

After showering that night, we met up with our three musketeers and ended up hanging out on top of a giant cat statue at 3 AM. Both Julie and I have a hard time remembering exactly what happened that night. We’ve just done so much since we got here that it gets hazy which day is which. Plus, Spanish wine is just so amazingly awesome and cheap that it adds a touch of fogginess to our memories. Before climbing the minou, we walked around and ended up under a parasol with a bottle of wine where our friends asked me to tell them my life story. Then, we ended up in an Irish pub, drinking gin tonics, and chatting with some very drunk South Africans. Then, out of places to go, we decided to climb up on the cat.

We didn’t get much sleep that night as we went to bed at 4AM and two hours later an asshole guy who was also our roomate barged in and made lots of noise. Then we slept for maybe another hour or so before it was time to head down to catch the only free thing on this trip… breakfast.

This brings us to … uh… Friday… yes. At that point we were tired, needed to check out of our current hostel to move to another one. We had a nap after checking in. After all, Spaniards like their naptime so much, everything is closed for much of the afternoon to honour the tradition of la siesta. When in Rome…

Then we walked down to the port and had some tapas with vino on a boat. On our way back to the hostel, we ran into a fantastic band that was playing reggae under a palm tree. We watched them a while and then headed to meet the boys in front of the Catedral. This cathedral was built partly in the medieval, by the Romans, and in the gothic era. It was beautiful. We walked around it and there were amazing buskers at every corner. We were hungry so we hunted for a nice spot to eat, drink and be merried. That we found after walking around for a while and taking in hidden parts of the Barcelonian barrios.

Today, we went shopping. Julie and I are both amazed by how special European fashion is. Everything appears to fit us better and the styles are to die for. We are however slightly puzzled by the fact that something along the lines of “Hammer pants” (MC Hammer) seem to be back in style in this city. Seriously, they’re everywhere! So, when in Rome… we’re starting the trend back in Montreal and bringing some back with us, ready for the puzzled looks awaiting us.

As far as the weather is concerned, it’s not too hot, but very pleasant. Julie is heading back to Canada on Tuesday, at which point one of my best friends, Alain, is coming to meet me from the other side of the Pyrenees. We’ll stay an additional couple days and then head to France.

Next, I will be going back to the UK, maybe Ireland if I can find a way to make it cheap, and then I’m going to visit my new friend Chris in Munich. Ah, life is so good!

Live from the UK

Posted on May 5, 2009

Hello folks,

Yours truly is coming to you today, live from the UK. After a short 6 hour flight and 2 hours of sleep, we safely arrived in London and successfully transfered airports without any problems.

People here are very nice. Who knew (this one goes out to Mr. Eld)! The most surprising thing about my arrival here is how everything appears to be covered with some of the most lush vegetation I’ve ever seen. It’s possible that they make it like that so that it makes a good impression on tourists like me, but seriously… it’s beautiful. I can’t wait to come back in a few weeks.

This afternoon, we are departing for Gerona, just a bit North of Barcelona. That should be nice too. A bed will definitely be nice. My body will thank me for it I’m sure. It’s a bit confused with the jet lag right not.

Ah, I still can’t believe such a short flight took me all the way across the pond. For those who are interested, I’ll try to update you regularly on here. So keep checking it out.

Cheerio ol’ chap!

Other People’s Kids

Posted on August 20, 2008

Moving Day Is Almost Here

Posted on June 26, 2008

Friends, a pretty impressive Quebec phenomenon is about to take place this weekend. Canada Day weekend is the weekend when many, many quebecers move. It’s a pretty strange ritual to tell you the truth. I figure that after all the partying of Saint-Jean Baptiste is over, they move on to other things. Maybe Canada Day is not really cause for celebration for most quebecers, so move on they do.

As a child, I used to watch Musique Plus quite a bit. They always did that special episode around this time of year and it was all about moving day. Being from the Maritimes, I didn’t really understand what was going on, because back home, we just moved whenever we felt like it. Here, it’s another story though. You’ll see lots of chairs and tape blocking out parking spaces, near empty appliance stores, swollen truck-rental prices, and just a general mess for a city as densely populated as Montreal. Why would everyone want to move at the same time in a city of almost 2 million people? Beats me. The fact remains, here, that’s the way it’s done. In fact, it’s such an important ritual they’ve even made a movie about it.

I always moved outside of the general time period in order to avoid the shared chaos, but this weekend, it turns out I’ll be moving at the same time as everyone else. Mind you, I’m not moving very far… just across the hall so my landlord can renovate my apartment. I am however determined not to use boxes, tape, or packing paper, and to do most of it by myself. We’ll see how that turns out.

Having moved over 17 times in the last 6 years, I’ve been through all kinds of moves: winter storm driving with a full-load on dirt roads in the woods, trying to move with the strict minimum and going through the anguish of parting with some of my beloved belongings because I’m moving to another time zone, finally getting away from the roomate’s evil cat, being ditched by my truck-driver on the morning of the move because he was too hungover to help me, the list goes on. All the moves were special in their own way, and every one of them had their very own set of kinks. Something always goes wrong, that’s a given.

So what’s your moving story. I want to hear them all. What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you during a move? What’s the best thing that happened? Do you move a lot? Are you moving this weekend? If so, why? I’m sure you guys have lots of great stories to share, so let’s hear them.

My Almost Near-Death Experience

Posted on December 1, 2007

It all started on Wednesday, when my boss suggested I treat myself to a relaxing lunch at a local restaurant. So I went. I didn’t know what to order, so I went for the special. When I put the “gallette au jambon et fromage” to my lips, I felt this strange tingly feeling. As the food rolled on my tongue, something didn’t taste right. It didn’t taste bad. It just didn’t feel like my taste-buds were diggin’ it at all. But I went on eating. I went back to work. My lips were swollen. My throat felt tight. I didn’t feel good at all. It was a strange type of nausea that wouldn’t go away. I felt terribly weak and shaky. I sat downstairs for like an hour, trying to deal with this feeling. I thought it might be a bad indigestion. I thought of food allergies, but for some reason, in my head, I thought it would magically pass and go away. I don’t have any food allergies. It can’t possibly be getting worse. It’ll pass. I puked. Mega-puked. Then I felt better. I felt better, but I decided to cut my day off short, go home, get into my pj’s and relax while watching movies for the rest of the day. On the cab ride home, my head started getting terribly itchy. I took off my toque and scratched. I got home, got into my pj’s, researched my symptoms online, trying to self-diagnose something else than food allergy. When that turned out inconclusive, I called my mom. I was getting itchier. My face was… itchy. My arms. My back. My legs. My belly. Then it all started swelling up like mad. I took a Benadryl. Then I took another. It wasn’t going away. While talking to my mom, at first I was in denial. Then, when I listened to the sound of my own voice, I realized my throat was closing up. That’s when I realized I had to go to the hospital. Like, right away. I was shaking so bad, I had a hard time dialing the number to the cabbies. I managed to dial. I said it was kind of an emergency. He said he’d do his best to send one off my way right away.

As I heard myself tell the cabby “Take me to the nearest hospital right away please”, I felt strange. Felt like I was in one of those movies when the action suddenly starts escalating and the hero is about to die. Every red light we hit felt like it took hours to turn back to green. At one point, I had to ask the driver if it was going to be much farther. I could feel my body swelling by the minute. I finally got to the hospital and started frantically searching for the ER. The Jean-Talon Hospital is renovating, and that turned the ER entrance into some kind of confusing labyrinth. I couldn’t believe it was a the third floor and NOT right behind the doors beside that red sign that said “URGENCE”. In my mind, you shouldn’t have to try and see the signs for turning left or right for the emergency room.

I finally found it. Elevator. Third floor. Ding! Take a number. Nonononono, I can’t take a number. I take a number anyway, just in case they actually make me wait. All these people waiting and no front desk. Where the hell is the front desk! “Information”. I don’t want information. I want to go where people actually go when it’s a real fuckin’ EMERGENCY. I go to the information desk anyway, because it seems like it’s the only place where I can actually talk to someone in this fuckin’ place.

“Yeah, j’pense que j’fais une allergie alimentaire. J’crois pas que j’peux attendre que vous appellez mon numéro. Quois que j’fais?” (Yeah, I think I’m having an allergic reaction to something I ate. I don’t think I can wait for my number to be called. What do I do?)

“Vous faites des allergies à quoi Madame?” (What are you allergic to m’mam?)

“Ché pas. J’savais pas que j’étais allergique à anything.” (I don’t know. I had no idea I was allergic to anything)

“Il devrait y avoir une infirmière là bas. Allez la voir. Elle devrait pouvoir vous aider.” (There should be a nurse over there. Go see her. She should be able to help you)

Okay. So I go to see the nurse. There’s someone in her office. I wait. I wait. I wait. The guy who was sitting there for triage comes out. Her phone rings. She picks up the phone. I wait. I wait. I look next to me. This little old lady of about 85 years old is bleeding from her face. It looks like she got beat up or something. He case looks like an emergency too. I feel bad going in front of her. The nurse hangs up. I go in and tell her my story. She asks me tonnes of questions. I have no idea what I’m allergic to. Everything’s going so fast. She seems pressed and in a hurry. I’m a little panicked.

She tells me to follow her. She calls out: “I have an allergic reaction here. Do we have a free room?” She takes me to a room. I sit there. I wait. I wait. I swell up. I itch. I scratch. I itch some more. I get lost in the overwhelming feeling of itching and scratching. It feels awesome and it feels terrible all at the same time. Then I look at my belly. It’s RED. It’s full of hives. HIVES EVERYWHERE! Bubbly and unbelievably red HIVES! Oh my god. I’m so swollen. My wrists!!! My wrists are like twice their usual tiny size. They feel like they’re about to explode. I open the door. “Ca va tu prendre du temps cecitte? Parce que je suis vraiment en train d’enfler bad icitte moi là.” (Is it going to be much longer? ‘Cuz I’m really swelling up bad over here). I wait. I wait. Then this pretty lady comes in. I thought she was another nurse at first. Then she introduces herself. She’s a doctor. So pretty.

Questions, Questions, Questions.

Answers, confusion, panic.

She takes me to the Shock Room. They tell me to get undressed and to put on the hospital robe. I get undressed and can’t figure out how that damn thing is supposed to go on. I’m shaking so bad. I can’t figure it out. Where the hell are the sleeves on this fuckin’ thing. I feel like I’m about to pass out. Breathe Sarah, breathe. Snaps. Buttons. Yes. They go…. what the hell is this fuckin’ thing! Oh, there we go. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Tie those up together. Yes. There we go. Hop on up. Oh. I’m so cold! I’m freezing. This nurse comes in. Sticks these electrodes on my chest. God, there’s a lot of those. Five electrodes. And poof! I’m on the screen. The squiggly lines going up and down, that’s my heartbeat. Is 130 okay? What does it mean? “Stick your finger in this please.” It’s that same clippy-thingy every patient is wearing on Grey’s Anatomy. They all wear it. Now it’s my finger in the clippy thing.

“Nurse, give this patient a round of epi.” That patient getting a round of epi… that’s me. “Your heart might start beating really fast. That’s normal. It’s like adrenalin.” She sticks it in my shoulder. They hang a bag. Stick the IV in my arm.

I’m laying in a hospital bed. In the shock room. I’m hooked up to a heart monitor. They’re taking my blood pressure. I’m hooked up to an IV. I’ve got the clippy thing on my finger. They’re sitting in the glass room. Staring at my heart monitor. I should probably call my mom to tell her not to worry. I should probably call my date and tell him not to wait up. Tell my mom not to worry? It’s not like I’m being hospitalized or anything. No. I’m just hooked up to the heart monitor. Watching the drop drip from the bag of clear but yellowish IV meds that’s going straight into my veins. No. Nothing to worry about. Do I get to make a phone call? I’m alone. All these people zapping by me. Others sitting and staring at the monitor. No one talking to me. No conversation. Silence. Murmurs. I can’t stop shaking. My shoulders are seizing. My chest is on a wild ride. I can’t stop my shoulders from shaking. I’m so cold. Nurse, can I get a blanket please. There you go dear. I’m still shaking. I still can’t stop shaking. I’m not cold anymore, but my shoulders are still shaking.

The guy on the other side of my curtain fell from a third floor balcony onto the first one. The railing got him right in the ribs. Man that must hurt. The nurses are talking about the idiots who have been calling out my name for the past 15 minutes in the emergency room waiting area. The nurses called the people idiots. I didn’t. That gets a chuckle out of me. Nobody notices the chuckle. They stare at the monitor.

This guy comes by and asks me a bunch of questions. My admittance. I’m being admitted into a hospital. Me. Admitted. Hospital. I can barely think. What’s my mom’s name? What’s my dad’s name. What’s my dad’s number. My address? What’s my address? Person to contact in case of emergency? Do they need to be in Montreal? Who would they contact in Montreal? Who would come to my rescue? … … …. My mom. She’s in New-Brunswick, yeah. Area code 506. … not 514. no.

They’re going to keep me in for observation for a while. Do I get to make a phone call? All I can think about is making a phone call.

They take me to the other room. I’m lying there alone on the bed, looking at the IV bag. Looking at the old Indian-looking man next to me. Surrounded by his wife and daughter. They leave. The doctors come by to probe him. He doesn’t speak English. He doesn’t speak French. His daughter plays translator… but she’s not there. I look around. I’m right next to the defibrillator. You know that thing they use to shock people back to life… right there. Staring at me in the face. I close my eyes. … I try to read. I can’t read. I can’t focus. I try listening to a bit of music. That works.

There’s a girl at the other end of the room who’s puking her guts out. Gastro. Been there. Done that. Eight days ago, that was me. She groans. She whimpers. The sound her her spitting the bitter taste out of her mouth. Calling out for someone. Anyone to help her. I hear you sister.

In this room, they’re supposed to observe you. This is the above observation level observation room. They’re supposed to watch you. But they don’t hear you crying out for help. And us. The rest of us in this room. All four of us. We can’t do nothing to help you. We can’t even stand to listen to your muffled sounds of agony. They closed the curtain. We can’t see you. But the sounds of your disease make us feel worse. All I can think about is getting away from the puking gastro girl. That poor soul. She should’ve stayed home. Can you catch gastro twice in 8 days? I sure hope not.

I laid there for hours. Interminable hours. I got served hospital food. I imagine this as something slightly more luxurious than a plane ride. I don’t get to lay down in a plane. I don’t get free food in a plane. This is where my tax dollars are going. While I’m eating, a doctor comes by to see me. Pokes and prods me. Asks me how many times I puked today. If I had diarrhea. How many times? Tells me they shouldn’t have served me that food. That I’m not going to be able to stomach it. But I tell him I feel like I should eat this food. He tells me that none of this is good for me. Especially not the meat. Damn. And I was working so hard at getting psyched about this roast. Even just long enough to manage to swallow the rubbery thing down. And that’s not good for me? What the hell are they serving this in a hospital for anyway? Oh, so I can eat the gooey string beans and mashed potatoes? But I definitely can’t touch the meat or desert. Well that’s just great. Thanks a lot doc. Way to suck the fun out of the only good part of the ride. Where’s my pretty doctor anyway?! Joy-kill doc tells me I’m going to get discharged after the meal. That they’re going to make me wait in the waiting room for my blood test results and then send me home. Two hours they’re going to make me wait in a cold chair for the results. Yeah. My IV isn’t even close to being over yet. Still dripping, dropping. Don’t I need this? What the hell is going on in this place. Of course, I keep my mouth shut. I can’t find the strength to contest anything he says.

He comes back a while later. Tells me he made a mistake. That he thought I was Nathalie. I assume Nathalie is gastro-girl in the corner. That he’s sorry about the confusion. Yeah. Way to be sorry doc. Where’s my steak now?! Laying in a garbage can somewhere because some hot-shot couldn’t even be bothered to ask me my name before assuming that gastro chart was mine. Sure, I bet I looked like I’d been to hell and back that day. Yeah. Now that I’ve puked once and had diarrhea a few times I’m just hanging around for the sweet all-expense-paid ride in the tax paid hospital bed. Thanks for checking in doc. I’m really enjoying my stay at Hospital Jean-Talon. Thinking about suggesting it to the best friend and the kids for their next vacation.

They finally moved me out of the room with the gastro girl and the weird looking guy. I don’t even want to think why he’s there and what made him take the sweet trip by ambulance. And then there’s another gastro girl next to me. Damn. I’m so glad when the nurse rolls me out of there. Even if it is just to park me in the hallway, right in front of the nurses’ station for close observation. Yeah, I can’t even get their attention to get a glass of water in this place. Way to observe. 15 nurses, and no one is observing my dying thirst. Go Quebec!

Do I sound bitter? Please, don’t misunderstand my sense of sarcasm and think I’m ungrateful for them saving my life or anything. Sarcastic little thing I am.

They finally freed me at like 9:30 that night. Pretty doctor explained things to me. Said I’d have to wait a while to take the tests. Prescribed me a few things. Now, on top of never being able to leave the house without my asthma puffer, I have to lug around an epi-pen and at least 50 mgs of Benadryl at all times. Way to leave the purse home and not get it stolen again. Since we still don’t really know exactly what caused this episode, I have to be careful about what I eat. Their bet is on the nuts. My bet is on the nuts. So off the nuts I am.

« Previous Page