Saturday morning Scott and I got up and went into town to get cheaper groceries, we had lunch back at the apartment and then checked out the resort. John and Theresa rode on the carousel and we went to the petting zoo.
I had a headache so I stayed back at the apartment while Scott took the kids to the pool. I took motrin, allergy meds and then tylenol... when James came to the door I still had a headache. The message was "John has to go to the hospital, bring dad his keys and wallet".....so I gathered those as well as my purse and headed to the pool. James had no clue where the first aid station was and we couldn't find anyone to ask and noone spoke English and I didn't know how to say what I needed to say in French... some guy finally understood me and got a lifeguard who brought me to John.... by then the ambulance was there... John's head was bandaged, he had on a neckbrace and they got him onto the stretcher (but they didn't count one, two, three - it was un, deux, trois (can't spell French)..... I rode in the ambulance while Scott followed behind (ambulances in France drive over the speed limit even when it's not a REAL emergency). We were doing fine until we got to a larger intersection and Scott got left behind at the red light. Fortunately he caught up with us prior to our last turn. On the way to the hospital, I talked to John about how this was my first time in an ambulance and too bad my camera was not in my purse or we'd have some great photos. He said "Mom, you're not going to put this on your blog." - Oops, I guess I am. It would have been a great photo op - little boy with bandage wrapped around his head, wearing a neckbrace, on a stretcher in a French ambulance. C'est la vie!
Once we arrived at the hospital, they checked out John in the waiting room and decided they could remove the neckbrace. He was given a hospital gown (mainly because all he was wearing was his wet swimsuit) and transferred to a wheelchair. I then had to pay the ambulance and do the admitting paperwork. It was pretty embarrassing to have my name be Renée and not be able to speak French. When I turned back, John was gone but I was shown to the exam room and they were ready to go. He was given laughing gas (I think - what else would have been given to him in a mask?) before and during the stitching. He required four lovely blue stitches to close the gash on his forehead. Thankfully the medical staff spoke a little English as well as international sign language for things like vomit (which we were warned he may do on the way home). After the doc finished, John lay there for a bit, then sat up, then sat with his legs over the side and then we were told to go to the waiting room. This entire time Scott is nowhere to be found. John and I waited for a bit, then we used the bathroom. I asked for that in French - Ou et les toilettes?? And the answer was "down there, on the left". Waited a bit more and Scott finally showed up. Not only did it take forever to find a parking space on the street (Our rental van wouldn't fit in any of the many parking garages with a 1.8 meter height restriction) but then he couldn't find the ER department at the hospital (he was sent to pediatrics). Turns out we were set to go because there is no billing on weekends so Scott carried John to the car and back to the resort we went. The rest of our vacation was not nearly as exciting.
So John has a souvenir from France - a scar (and a hospital gown).