An Injured American In Paris: Maitaitom's Christmas Miracle Trip
Jan 17th, 2007, 09:24 PM
#43
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Great report...sorry to hear about your crazy knee!
I too scrolled down to read the third installment and it's not there! Ugh! I have to wait until tomorrow?? Sigh.
The magic cream reminded me of my visit to the pharamacist while in Italy....LOTS of mosquito bites, and my legs were starting to ache and swell from all the bites (I felt like scratching myself out of my own skin!!).
The pharmacist gave me some antihistimines (sp?), "magic cream" to rub on the bites, and some drops for them as well.
Nothing like sitting in line at the Uffizi rubbing mystery stuff on your legs with 1/2 the tourists in Florence watching!
Can't wait for your next installment!
Cheers,
I too scrolled down to read the third installment and it's not there! Ugh! I have to wait until tomorrow?? Sigh.
The magic cream reminded me of my visit to the pharamacist while in Italy....LOTS of mosquito bites, and my legs were starting to ache and swell from all the bites (I felt like scratching myself out of my own skin!!).
The pharmacist gave me some antihistimines (sp?), "magic cream" to rub on the bites, and some drops for them as well.
Nothing like sitting in line at the Uffizi rubbing mystery stuff on your legs with 1/2 the tourists in Florence watching!
Can't wait for your next installment!
Cheers,
Jan 17th, 2007, 09:41 PM
#44
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Great trip report! I'm sorry to hear about your knee problems. I sympathize as I have problems w.my knee as well ( & also had arthroscopic surgery in 1991 when I was only 17!). I also used hot water on my knee every night when we went to Paris last year after a full day of walking.n It helped a lot.
BTW-what is the name of that magic cream and is it sold in the US? I'm going to Paris in March and could probably use it!
BTW-what is the name of that magic cream and is it sold in the US? I'm going to Paris in March and could probably use it!
Jan 17th, 2007, 10:10 PM
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I'm hoping to read in the next segment that the kind doctor gave you a cortisone shot that was the miracle.
On one of my trips to Paris I had a funny tingling in my knee as I waited for my flight. By the time I got to L.A. for my layover, I had to see a doctor. Dr. Kevin Earhart, who happened to do the recent surgery on Gov. Schwarzenager, injected my knee with enough cortisone that he said would relieve me of pain for exactly 2 week, after which I was to see an orthopedist on my return home. It was indeed a miracle -- no pain for the entire 2 weeks in Paris! Came home and had surgery on my knee as he recommended.
On one of my trips to Paris I had a funny tingling in my knee as I waited for my flight. By the time I got to L.A. for my layover, I had to see a doctor. Dr. Kevin Earhart, who happened to do the recent surgery on Gov. Schwarzenager, injected my knee with enough cortisone that he said would relieve me of pain for exactly 2 week, after which I was to see an orthopedist on my return home. It was indeed a miracle -- no pain for the entire 2 weeks in Paris! Came home and had surgery on my knee as he recommended.
Jan 17th, 2007, 10:17 PM
#46
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This is just not fair - due to time difference, I'll have to wait till tomorrow to find out what happens (assuming Maitai is up for another installment). The tension is just too much to handle. Reminds me of waiting to find out the results of the elections last year !!
-Kevin
p.s. - yes, the French and their creams. They have one for just about everything. Balck and blue mark - here's a cream. Runny nose? try this cream. Indigestion? Rub this stuff on your lower arm. I've got no clue how, but they actually work !
-Kevin
p.s. - yes, the French and their creams. They have one for just about everything. Balck and blue mark - here's a cream. Runny nose? try this cream. Indigestion? Rub this stuff on your lower arm. I've got no clue how, but they actually work !
Jan 17th, 2007, 11:01 PM
#47
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In the future, for those of you who need a doctor urgently in Paris, call SOS Medicins, 01 47 07 77 77. They make 24-hour emergency medical house calls (and my understanding is that, even for foreigners without French medical insurance, the cost is not exorbitant).
Jan 18th, 2007, 06:20 AM
#48
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Great report -- sorry for all the hassle and certainly hope the story gets better for your sake -- it must! Obviously, we are all sitting on the edges of our collective seats waiting for the rest, but take care of yourself first!
Fortunately, the "look" hasn't died!
Fabulous, descriptive, funny writing --you're wonderful!
Fortunately, the "look" hasn't died!
Fabulous, descriptive, funny writing --you're wonderful!
Jan 18th, 2007, 06:34 AM
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What a fun thread to read, thanks!
Yes, what is the name of the cream? We bought some in London a few years ago that worked like a charm...wonder if its the same stuff. Good reminder to buy more when we go to Paris in June!
Yes, what is the name of the cream? We bought some in London a few years ago that worked like a charm...wonder if its the same stuff. Good reminder to buy more when we go to Paris in June!
Jan 18th, 2007, 06:38 AM
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MaiTai sets the hook and intentionally leaves you wanting more...
I will add his finished post to my stored collection of great journals.
I was wondering when he'd have time, and of course, we wait for pictures...patiently...maturely...calmly
AAAAGGGH...I've never met these people but I feel as though I know 'em and all the holiday I actually wondered, I wonder how Tom and Tracy are making out?
I will add his finished post to my stored collection of great journals.
I was wondering when he'd have time, and of course, we wait for pictures...patiently...maturely...calmly
AAAAGGGH...I've never met these people but I feel as though I know 'em and all the holiday I actually wondered, I wonder how Tom and Tracy are making out?
Jan 18th, 2007, 07:14 AM
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<i>In the future, for those of you who need a doctor urgently in Paris, call SOS Medicins</i>
Good advice from Kate - however, when you call SOS Medecins you will usually be asked to describe what is wrong so that they can evaluate how "urgent" your case is, so it helps if you can speak reasonably good French (or can get a French person to call for you). I'm not sure whether they speak English.
Good advice from Kate - however, when you call SOS Medecins you will usually be asked to describe what is wrong so that they can evaluate how "urgent" your case is, so it helps if you can speak reasonably good French (or can get a French person to call for you). I'm not sure whether they speak English.
Jan 18th, 2007, 08:25 AM
#54
I'm betting Tom comes back with his injured leg way bigger than his other one. This "cream" he's started taking sure sounds a lot like the "cream" Barry Bonds admitted taking and look what it did to him. Tom, unless you want the Feds giving you a "look" that will make Tracy's seem friendly, you may not want to divulge any more details!!!
Jan 18th, 2007, 08:44 AM
#55
<<This "cream" he's started taking sure sounds a lot like the "cream" Barry Bonds admitted taking and look what it did to him.>>
I doubt that. French drug certification is much stricter than the U.S. and it is almost always the French who bring back "forbidden" products from the U.S. than the other way around.
I doubt that. French drug certification is much stricter than the U.S. and it is almost always the French who bring back "forbidden" products from the U.S. than the other way around.
Jan 18th, 2007, 09:16 AM
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>it is almost always the French who bring back "forbidden" products from the U.S. than the other way around.<
We always bring back a couple of bottles of tylenol and codeine - Rx only in the US.
We always bring back a couple of bottles of tylenol and codeine - Rx only in the US.
Jan 18th, 2007, 10:41 AM
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"Our good friends, who we traveled to Italy with in 2005 (I didn’t drink all the vino trip) have a son who dates a girl whose dad is a doctor somewhere outside of Paris."
I know the man! He'd be my mother's sister's cousin on my neighbour's uncle's side, the retired orthopaedic surgeon who was the house doctor for the U of T hockey team. (This last I am not making up. That man had ways of making you walk.)
MaiTai's Magic Cream. This is going to be rated for a family audience, isn't it?
I know the man! He'd be my mother's sister's cousin on my neighbour's uncle's side, the retired orthopaedic surgeon who was the house doctor for the U of T hockey team. (This last I am not making up. That man had ways of making you walk.)
MaiTai's Magic Cream. This is going to be rated for a family audience, isn't it?
Jan 18th, 2007, 11:25 AM
#59
Original Poster
<b> DAY THREE: ALL I KNEED IS A MIRACLE, THE BEST LITTLE CHURCH IN THE WORLD, DINING LIKE ITS 1699 AND THE SHOT HEARD ‘ROUND THE WORLD </b>
The good thing about waking up in the morning is that your body goes into action before your brain can react (Hey, this is G-rated). As I attempted to get out of bed, before you cold say “Magic Cream”, I was sitting on the side of the bed with my knees bent and feet on the floor. Had I attempted this feat 12 hours earlier, I would have been screaming loud enough to awaken residents in the sixth arrondissement. It still hurt, but not nearly as much.
Before going out, I rubbed some more of the Voltaren Emulgel (aka Magic Cream) on my knee. I had taken Voltaren pills (a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug) in the past for my RA, but I never knew there was a cream.
I knew I was better moments later when I tripped over a little crack in the street, and I only muttered a four-letter word instead of yelling it out. Tracy and I stopped in a little place down the street and had croissants and café, so I now I was feeling a little more Parisian.
The good news for me was I could walk better. The bad news for Tracy was that I could walk better. After our coffee, we picked up a chocolate and vanilla éclair along with some sort of delicious apple pastry and walked along the Seine. I was limpin’ but not really gimpin’.
It was another glorious day, so we were soaking up the sunshine (well as much as you can soak up sunshine when it is only 37 degrees outside).
We crossed the Seine and visited St-Germain l’Auxerrois (it so happens we ended up visiting a lot of churches I had never been to before on this trip)
After seeing the giant organ at that church, we wandered over to Les Halles and popped into St-Eustache, the place where Richelieu and some other famous folks were baptized. I took a picture of the marble tomb of Jean-Baptiste Colbert, who was some mucky-muck under Louis XIV. I thought I could put that picture at the top of my blog and call it The Colbert Report, but Tracy told me that name had already been taken.
The most famous painting at this church is Rembrandt’s “The Pilgrimage to Emmaus,” but I swear the church had it marked incorrectly, attributing it to another artist whose name, of course, we forgot to write down. I have not seen that mentioned anywhere, so I am assuming (1) we were looking at the wrong painting, (2) I was having a Vicodin flashback (although Tracy saw it, too) or (3) we have discovered something bigger than the Da Vinci Code.
We took a little detour in the Les Halles area and went through one of the passages, and then we decided to make our first metro attempt, since the knee was feeling better.
We had already picked up a carnet of tickets and went to the nearest metro, where I attempted to use my ticket. I put it in, walked confidently and the door would not open.
Inside the little booth, the lady was screaming (yes, screaming) at me. Now before you think this is a case of blatant anti-Americanism or that I did something foolish (not so far fetched an idea), a couple of French speaking people tried to do the same, and the lady in the booth screamed even louder at them.
Suddenly a bunch of guys came over and started putting tape over the turnstiles, and we realized the metro station had been closed for a reason I never found out. I kept looking for a French CSI agent, but Tracy said we had more sights to see.
We meandered (love that word) down to my favorite little church on the planet, Sainte-Chapelle. We just love this place, so much so that I even brought some tiny binoculars on this trip to look at the scenes in the stained glass windows.
I actually climbed the little round staircase with little or no pain to the chapelle haute that contains the beautiful stained glass, and once again it was merveilleux. The sun was shining through some of the windows, so we felt quite fortunate.
Even with binoculars, the scenes are a little difficult to discern. Tracy asked how, without binoculars, anyone could have ever figured out in the old days what was portrayed in any of the scenes in the stained glass windows. I told her that Parisians used to eat lots of carrots.
Speaking of food, after taking some photos at Notre-Dame (which had a giant Christmas tree in front), we walked over to Ile-Saint-Louis for a bite to eat at a place called I’ll Try To Find Out Later For You. Beef bourguignon hit the spot on this chilly afternoon, and the restaurant cat, Charley, reminded of us of our tabby, who was probably already plotting a revolt with our tuxedo cat when we get home.
After lunch, I finally got on the metro, and I gimped down the stairs as best as I could, hoping no one was in a rush behind me.
DIGRESSION: I have always been one of those guys to rush and catch the metro when I hear it coming, but on this trip (since running really wasn’t an option), I found that is really pretty stupid during the day, because there is always another metro a couple of minutes later. I guess since we weren’t running, Tracy and I were able to stop and smell the urine (hmm, not as nice a ring as that other phrase). More of my metro impressions (I love the Paris metro system) will be forthcoming in another post.
We zipped over to the Eiffel Tower, took a few pictures, met a couple from Philadelphia who had escaped the London fog for a day, and took the metro back to the de Varenne, because it was now time for a new episode of Hotel Surgery.
Right on time, my newest favorite person on earth, Dr. Save The Trip, arrived with his nurse (aka Mrs. Save The Trip). We went to our room, where he put a nice, new cloth down on the bed, where I sat as he got out the syringe. He put the medicine (which for you old Laker and Chick Hearn fans, I called “Don’t Hurt No More”), put on his gloves, sterilized my knee, put a little mark where the needle was to be inserted and stuck that baby right below the kneecap. I hardly felt a thing.
Had I been able to, I would have gotten down on my knees to thank them, but I thought that might counteract the injection. Instead I thanked him profusely and asked him how much I owed him.
“Nothing,” he said. “Any friends of (our friends back in California) are friends of mine.”
Try as I might, there was no way he was going to accept anything, so I gave them my undying thanks (I’m also in the process of getting them a nice gift, now that I know their address).
He said, “Your knee will get continually better and should be fine in a couple of days (which was good because we had a Friday walking tour scheduled with Michael Osman).” Then like the Lone Ranger and Tonto, it was “Hi Yo Argent, awaaaaay!”
After they left, Tracy and I said it was pretty amazing that a doctor in my hometown wouldn’t take five minutes to help me, but a complete stranger in Paris took a good six or seven hours out of his busy life, didn’t charge me a euro and, basically, saved our entire trip to France.
But discussion about the American medical profession and its shortcomings had to wait, it was time for something much more important…dinner.
We walked down to 36, rue de Grenelle to La Petite Chaise, which is one of the 100 restaurants in Paris that claims to be the oldest. We sat downstairs in a cozy little room. For those that care, there was only one other table (that we could hear) of English speaking persons, but we didn’t see very many Americans for the entire week.
The dinner included my favorite (escargot), a delicious canard, a carne agneau (rack of lamb that was delicious and an incredible chocolate cake in a crème anglais. As usual, we also had an apertif, a bottle of good vin rouge and some café. The bill ran a tad over 100 euros.
When we got back to the hotel, our friends (who set in gear the saving of the trip) had sent us a bottle of champagne. Coincidentally, that was where we were headed the very next day. After putting on more magic cream, I had the most restful night I had enjoyed in almost a week. Vive la France!
<b> COMING UP – DAY FOUR: CITIZEN CANE, THE TRAIN TO CHAMPAGNE AND THEN SOME QUICHE LORRAINE, UNBUTTON YOUR DAMN COAT AND THE APPLE(S) OF MY EYE </b>
The good thing about waking up in the morning is that your body goes into action before your brain can react (Hey, this is G-rated). As I attempted to get out of bed, before you cold say “Magic Cream”, I was sitting on the side of the bed with my knees bent and feet on the floor. Had I attempted this feat 12 hours earlier, I would have been screaming loud enough to awaken residents in the sixth arrondissement. It still hurt, but not nearly as much.
Before going out, I rubbed some more of the Voltaren Emulgel (aka Magic Cream) on my knee. I had taken Voltaren pills (a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug) in the past for my RA, but I never knew there was a cream.
I knew I was better moments later when I tripped over a little crack in the street, and I only muttered a four-letter word instead of yelling it out. Tracy and I stopped in a little place down the street and had croissants and café, so I now I was feeling a little more Parisian.
The good news for me was I could walk better. The bad news for Tracy was that I could walk better. After our coffee, we picked up a chocolate and vanilla éclair along with some sort of delicious apple pastry and walked along the Seine. I was limpin’ but not really gimpin’.
It was another glorious day, so we were soaking up the sunshine (well as much as you can soak up sunshine when it is only 37 degrees outside).
We crossed the Seine and visited St-Germain l’Auxerrois (it so happens we ended up visiting a lot of churches I had never been to before on this trip)
After seeing the giant organ at that church, we wandered over to Les Halles and popped into St-Eustache, the place where Richelieu and some other famous folks were baptized. I took a picture of the marble tomb of Jean-Baptiste Colbert, who was some mucky-muck under Louis XIV. I thought I could put that picture at the top of my blog and call it The Colbert Report, but Tracy told me that name had already been taken.
The most famous painting at this church is Rembrandt’s “The Pilgrimage to Emmaus,” but I swear the church had it marked incorrectly, attributing it to another artist whose name, of course, we forgot to write down. I have not seen that mentioned anywhere, so I am assuming (1) we were looking at the wrong painting, (2) I was having a Vicodin flashback (although Tracy saw it, too) or (3) we have discovered something bigger than the Da Vinci Code.
We took a little detour in the Les Halles area and went through one of the passages, and then we decided to make our first metro attempt, since the knee was feeling better.
We had already picked up a carnet of tickets and went to the nearest metro, where I attempted to use my ticket. I put it in, walked confidently and the door would not open.
Inside the little booth, the lady was screaming (yes, screaming) at me. Now before you think this is a case of blatant anti-Americanism or that I did something foolish (not so far fetched an idea), a couple of French speaking people tried to do the same, and the lady in the booth screamed even louder at them.
Suddenly a bunch of guys came over and started putting tape over the turnstiles, and we realized the metro station had been closed for a reason I never found out. I kept looking for a French CSI agent, but Tracy said we had more sights to see.
We meandered (love that word) down to my favorite little church on the planet, Sainte-Chapelle. We just love this place, so much so that I even brought some tiny binoculars on this trip to look at the scenes in the stained glass windows.
I actually climbed the little round staircase with little or no pain to the chapelle haute that contains the beautiful stained glass, and once again it was merveilleux. The sun was shining through some of the windows, so we felt quite fortunate.
Even with binoculars, the scenes are a little difficult to discern. Tracy asked how, without binoculars, anyone could have ever figured out in the old days what was portrayed in any of the scenes in the stained glass windows. I told her that Parisians used to eat lots of carrots.
Speaking of food, after taking some photos at Notre-Dame (which had a giant Christmas tree in front), we walked over to Ile-Saint-Louis for a bite to eat at a place called I’ll Try To Find Out Later For You. Beef bourguignon hit the spot on this chilly afternoon, and the restaurant cat, Charley, reminded of us of our tabby, who was probably already plotting a revolt with our tuxedo cat when we get home.
After lunch, I finally got on the metro, and I gimped down the stairs as best as I could, hoping no one was in a rush behind me.
DIGRESSION: I have always been one of those guys to rush and catch the metro when I hear it coming, but on this trip (since running really wasn’t an option), I found that is really pretty stupid during the day, because there is always another metro a couple of minutes later. I guess since we weren’t running, Tracy and I were able to stop and smell the urine (hmm, not as nice a ring as that other phrase). More of my metro impressions (I love the Paris metro system) will be forthcoming in another post.
We zipped over to the Eiffel Tower, took a few pictures, met a couple from Philadelphia who had escaped the London fog for a day, and took the metro back to the de Varenne, because it was now time for a new episode of Hotel Surgery.
Right on time, my newest favorite person on earth, Dr. Save The Trip, arrived with his nurse (aka Mrs. Save The Trip). We went to our room, where he put a nice, new cloth down on the bed, where I sat as he got out the syringe. He put the medicine (which for you old Laker and Chick Hearn fans, I called “Don’t Hurt No More”), put on his gloves, sterilized my knee, put a little mark where the needle was to be inserted and stuck that baby right below the kneecap. I hardly felt a thing.
Had I been able to, I would have gotten down on my knees to thank them, but I thought that might counteract the injection. Instead I thanked him profusely and asked him how much I owed him.
“Nothing,” he said. “Any friends of (our friends back in California) are friends of mine.”
Try as I might, there was no way he was going to accept anything, so I gave them my undying thanks (I’m also in the process of getting them a nice gift, now that I know their address).
He said, “Your knee will get continually better and should be fine in a couple of days (which was good because we had a Friday walking tour scheduled with Michael Osman).” Then like the Lone Ranger and Tonto, it was “Hi Yo Argent, awaaaaay!”
After they left, Tracy and I said it was pretty amazing that a doctor in my hometown wouldn’t take five minutes to help me, but a complete stranger in Paris took a good six or seven hours out of his busy life, didn’t charge me a euro and, basically, saved our entire trip to France.
But discussion about the American medical profession and its shortcomings had to wait, it was time for something much more important…dinner.
We walked down to 36, rue de Grenelle to La Petite Chaise, which is one of the 100 restaurants in Paris that claims to be the oldest. We sat downstairs in a cozy little room. For those that care, there was only one other table (that we could hear) of English speaking persons, but we didn’t see very many Americans for the entire week.
The dinner included my favorite (escargot), a delicious canard, a carne agneau (rack of lamb that was delicious and an incredible chocolate cake in a crème anglais. As usual, we also had an apertif, a bottle of good vin rouge and some café. The bill ran a tad over 100 euros.
When we got back to the hotel, our friends (who set in gear the saving of the trip) had sent us a bottle of champagne. Coincidentally, that was where we were headed the very next day. After putting on more magic cream, I had the most restful night I had enjoyed in almost a week. Vive la France!
<b> COMING UP – DAY FOUR: CITIZEN CANE, THE TRAIN TO CHAMPAGNE AND THEN SOME QUICHE LORRAINE, UNBUTTON YOUR DAMN COAT AND THE APPLE(S) OF MY EYE </b>
Jan 18th, 2007, 11:36 AM
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Volataren cream was indeed the cream I was given when I broke my ankle in Germany. It does not, of course, mend broken bones, but is supposed to help with the swelling. I still have some of it in my medicine chest.
