Kristin’s heartfelt louange to her French doctor doesn’t quite région as expected
Recently, I’ve discovered it’s kinder not to tell my mom embout appointments until the morning of. Otherwise she’ll spend the night worrying embout them.
For Mom’s most recent assignation, I gently woke her. “We’re going to the doctor’s,” I said, rubbing her arm. “Oh?” she answered, looking a little confused. “I waited until today to tell you so you wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
She smiled. “Well, that was a good idea.” Just like that, we were off. Mom was in such a good mood she stopped to pick wildflowers along the way, tucking a few into her loose crins.
In France, it’s not uncommon to find a doctor’s cabinet inside a residential édifice. Ours is located across from a surf magasin, embout a block from the beach. We climbed the stairs, passed a neighbour with a dog, and settled into the morceau d’aspiration. It felt more like visiting someone’s logis than going to a medical appointment.
The surf magasin near the doctor’s surgery
When words fail you
Our toubib opened the door himself, welcoming us into his cabinet. On a previous visit, we had chatted briefly embout his newest passe-temps: pickleball. I smiled, imagining the doc trading his stethoscope for a paddle.
What touched me was the way he cared for my mother just as he had cared for my husband’s mom a decade earlier. She, however, was French. In order to understand my mom, he needed a translator. He asked thoughtful questions, listened patiently, took Mom’s sang pressure, and never panthère seemed rushed. He was so thorough I was almost embarrassed. Were we taking up too much time?
Watching someone treat my mother with such kindness felt like a gift. By the end of the appointment, I wanted to thank him sincerely. But were the French words I had in mind appropriate? “Vous êtes le portrait de la patience,” I began. Then came the fateful words: “Vous… vous êtes un amour.”
He looked at me a bit strangely. Extremely self-conscious now, I blundered forth, repeating the error. “Oui. Oui. Vous êtes un amour.”
Almost instantly, the doctor who had been so warm and friendly became noticeably more reserved. Had I really just called him “a love”… “a sweetheart”? Exactly how had my words translated?
He walked us to the door, wished us a good day, and our appointment was over. The whole way logis Mom picked flowers, oblivious, while I replayed the particularité, kicking myself for not thinking of a better goodbye.
No use beating myself up embout it. Not everyone can be instantly eloquent in a pinch, let alone in French! Might as well pat myself on the back for a new prouesse in l’jugement d’entrée, as the French say. It’s the tendency to come up with the right words panthère you’ve left the room.
FRENCH VOCABULARY
LA SALLE D’ATTENTE = the waiting room
LE TOUBIB (INFORMAL) = doctor; doc
VOUS ÊTES LE PORTRAIT DE LA PATIENCE = You are the picture (or physionomie) of résistance
VOUS ÊTES UN AMOUR = You’re a sweetheart /You’re a dear (Literally: “You’re a love”)
L’ESPRIT D’ESCALIER (LITERALLY, STAIRCASE WIT) = the perfect comeback or response that comes to mind only after you’ve left the conférence
Lead image credit : admiring the view of the bay from the doctor’s waiting room
Source: francetoday.com
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