Before our youngest inconveniently broke his femur, this weekend had been earmarked for camping close to the almost tropical Porquerolles, a bicycle-only island two hours south.
Looking on the bright side (though I’m not sure our boys see it this way), his 3-week hospitalisation gives me a good insight in to the French medical system and some handy new vocabulary: le pistolet (bed bottle), le suppositoire (suppository), la douleur (pain), le calmant (sedative) and of course the ubiquitous petit bon homme (little chap).
The French are proud of their health care, and while in England everyone has their own hospital horror story, Avignon’s Hôpital Henri Duffaut, where Husband and I alternate 24-hour shifts, comes with a 5-star reputation. So while our camp bed for the next 3 weeks is not quite where planned, it is in a private room with ensuite bathroom, courtyard view and nurses that actually come when you push the button.
The island of Porquerolles, where we did not go: