Sadie’s time in Paris, believe it or not, was filled with more than flings with fabulous French men. In her few spare moments she actually managed to spend some time visiting her friend Marcelle whom she’d met while studying abroad one semester. Marcelle unlike most French people, loved Americans – which worked out well for Sadie since, well she was American. Marcelle came and met Sadie at her classic, boutique, 17th century hotel where they sat, had drinks, and caught up. Marcelle was dying to see the suite Sadie was staying in so the two headed upstairs (literally, 7 floors) to the decked out suite fashioned after Luis XVI. It was in Sadie’s room that things took a rather strange and unexpected turn (no no, get your mind out fo the gutter)…while admiring the grandiosity of the room Marcelle fell to the floor and started to convulse. Never really having seen anyone having a seizure before, a millio
n different things ran through Sadie’s mind: call an ambulance, run downstairs to get help, stay and help Marcelle? She chose the latter for the moment. Every medical trick Sadie had ever heard immediately rushed through her head…should she roll Marcelle on her side? – no, that’s wrong, she’s not throwing up. Give her CPR?-no,definitely not right. Put pressure on the wound?-no! There’s no wound, she’s not bleeding. Hold her down? Yep, that’s the one! So Sadie ran to go hold Marcelle down while she continued convulsing. All the while, Sadie has been yelling for help, but evidently the word ‘help’ got lost in translation. I know that’s a hard one. That is until a Frenchman poked his head in the door. After Sadie communicated to him what was going on and asked him to call for help he looked puzzled. He then began flipping through pages of phone numbers. “Ah Sammy”, he yelled. And he began dialing. So who is this Sammy character and does he have his own ambulance? Anyhoo, after a time on the phone (speaking to no one I might add) the Frenchman hung up. So figuring the French were obviously inept, Sadie left a seizing Marcelle and ran downstairs to the front desk for help. The narrow, windy, 17th century staircase, began to get to Sadie around the 2rd floor as she finally lost her footing and went tumbling, ever-so-eloquently, down the rest of the way (all the way down, running through Sadie’s head was ‘seriously?, no elevator? Come one people, you’re supposed to be so refined!). So Sadie gave it one more try this time with the guy at the front desk, “ambulance!”? Nope, no response, clearly doesn’t translate (I know there’s a really big difference between ‘ambulance’ and ‘ambulance’ said with a French accent. Stupid French) The guy at the desk finally said “Ah, Sammy”, again, what’s with this Sammy person? Looking at his magical list of numbers (I’m sorry, do the French not have an Emergency number, and if so, can it be that hard to remember? – I think not). A fire truck?, he asks…ooo, closer, sure give that a try. Sadie rushes back upstairs finally to check on Marcelle. Sadie bursts into the room…and there is Marcelle, sitting on the couch thumbing through a magazine. Seriously? Sersiously? Sadie all worried like asks if Marcelle’s ok. Marcelle’s response – “yeah, why?” OMG, what just happened? Does Marcelle seriously not remember having a seizure like 5 minutes ago? Oh well, the paramedics came minutes later, and a short trip to the emergency room, a $2 persciption of some fancy French drugs, and all is well. Who’s up for Disneyland, Paris…anyone?
n different things ran through Sadie’s mind: call an ambulance, run downstairs to get help, stay and help Marcelle? She chose the latter for the moment. Every medical trick Sadie had ever heard immediately rushed through her head…should she roll Marcelle on her side? – no, that’s wrong, she’s not throwing up. Give her CPR?-no,definitely not right. Put pressure on the wound?-no! There’s no wound, she’s not bleeding. Hold her down? Yep, that’s the one! So Sadie ran to go hold Marcelle down while she continued convulsing. All the while, Sadie has been yelling for help, but evidently the word ‘help’ got lost in translation. I know that’s a hard one. That is until a Frenchman poked his head in the door. After Sadie communicated to him what was going on and asked him to call for help he looked puzzled. He then began flipping through pages of phone numbers. “Ah Sammy”, he yelled. And he began dialing. So who is this Sammy character and does he have his own ambulance? Anyhoo, after a time on the phone (speaking to no one I might add) the Frenchman hung up. So figuring the French were obviously inept, Sadie left a seizing Marcelle and ran downstairs to the front desk for help. The narrow, windy, 17th century staircase, began to get to Sadie around the 2rd floor as she finally lost her footing and went tumbling, ever-so-eloquently, down the rest of the way (all the way down, running through Sadie’s head was ‘seriously?, no elevator? Come one people, you’re supposed to be so refined!). So Sadie gave it one more try this time with the guy at the front desk, “ambulance!”? Nope, no response, clearly doesn’t translate (I know there’s a really big difference between ‘ambulance’ and ‘ambulance’ said with a French accent. Stupid French) The guy at the desk finally said “Ah, Sammy”, again, what’s with this Sammy person? Looking at his magical list of numbers (I’m sorry, do the French not have an Emergency number, and if so, can it be that hard to remember? – I think not). A fire truck?, he asks…ooo, closer, sure give that a try. Sadie rushes back upstairs finally to check on Marcelle. Sadie bursts into the room…and there is Marcelle, sitting on the couch thumbing through a magazine. Seriously? Sersiously? Sadie all worried like asks if Marcelle’s ok. Marcelle’s response – “yeah, why?” OMG, what just happened? Does Marcelle seriously not remember having a seizure like 5 minutes ago? Oh well, the paramedics came minutes later, and a short trip to the emergency room, a $2 persciption of some fancy French drugs, and all is well. Who’s up for Disneyland, Paris…anyone?
