First off, I went to this doctor -- who is incredibly, incredibly expensive -- because my insurance recommended him as "english speaking." Which didn't actually turn out to be true. I mean, I'm sure he speaks English as well as any average Joe in France. He knows a few words, like that we call them "sonograms" instead of "échographs." My insurance also recommended doctors in the Passy district, all really expensive places. So these rich doctors must be in cahoots somehow with American Health Insurance companies. I paid 120e just for a consultation, without an "echograph." But I called a place closer to home and they charged 110e for a consultation and echograph. After shedding tears upon learning that I'm spending money needlessly (which I didn't realize would upset me so much), I decided to buck up. If my insurance wants to reimburse me (which they will, by god) for overpriced French consultation, it's all ultimately the same to me.
That said, he was nice enough. I mean, he wasn't charming or accommodating or even English-speaking. He was just no nonsense which is somehow more reassuring to me (esp. since I think he may be the first male gyno I've ever seen). I'm healthy, the baby's growing at a healthy pace, it's heartrate is also healthy. All good.
But let me start at the beginning, if I may. He does everything. He checks my blood pressure. He weighs me. He takes my urine sample. All things a nurse would do in the States. He does have a "secretary," but what she seems to do is to take down appointments, answer the door when I ring, show me to the elaborately furnished and decorated waiting room (which lies on one side of a huge private apartment that takes up an entire floor), and when I search for the bathroom she leads me to it, and when I'm done she escorts me back to the waiting room and shuts the door behind her.
There were two other women waiting when I arrived. I chatted a bit with one of them, since the doctor was about an hour behind schedule. That extra hour, though, really calmed me down and helped me talk myself through the price gap between faubourg St. Germain (the "old" aristocratic hang out) and my own faubourg St. Martin (the "old" working class neighborhood) which was still upsetting me. I finally get called in and am asked to sit at his desk to answer some introductory questions. He's very tan (probably from a recent August vacation) and dressed in a navy blazer (which may or may not have had gold buttons). The first thing he discusses is the concern in France for toxoplasmos (sp?) -- a bacteria carried by cats and un-zapped, undercooked meat. Stay away from both. And get another blood test to make sure you don't have it. At the end of the thorough but swift exam he asked me for the 120e and gave me a receipt for my insurance. All went well, and I feel fine about the whole experience. Although I really, really wanted to finally learn the sex of the baby but I have to wait two more weeks until I can go to an echographist, who will probably charge me more money. But that's okay, no big deal, stop worrying about it, I tell myself, because my insurance is going to pay me back for everything.
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