Last month, I went on a four-hour hike through the snow in Chambéry, France. I put on my oversized jacket, layered up in every way, and put on my best wool socks. Equipped with a pair of leather, wool-lined boots, I thought this was going to be a walk in the park (or the woods). What I didn’t account for was the snow melting as soon as it touched my boots and my feet sitting wet for hours in the cold. The next night I discovered a small open wound had appeared by my toenail. By the next morning it was undoubtedly infected. 

Instead of immediately booking a doctor’s appointment, as I had just seen my doctor the day before the hike, I thought it would be fine if I tried to treat the wound myself. Given the title of this article, you can probably guess that wasn’t the best idea. 

By day two I was miserable, by the end of the week, I was in severe pain. No number of Manuka honey presses, green clay masks, red-light sessions, or bleach baths was healing me. So by the time I finally came to my senses on Sunday night, I realized my only option was to go to the hospital to get immediate care, only four days before my international flight to go home for the holidays. 

My French friends (pretty much family), advised I go early, so I arrived at the ER in my town at about 8:20am on Monday morning. There were 4 people waiting to be seen ahead of me. I approached the window to address the intake nurse. When she called me forward, I explained my injury. She took my carte vitale and told me she would return it after I was seen to complete payment. The carte vitale is the social healthcare card in France. It tracks healthcare visits and prescription fills, facilitating reimbursement when eligible. As a language assistant for the French public school system, I was provided one, first digitally, and eventually in card form once all my paperwork was processed. After I answered a handful of questions, I took a seat in a waiting chair. 

I was called back after about 15 minutes, this time met by a male nurse and a female assistant. Both looked relieved when they realized that I spoke French. I explained my situation and when I showed them my foot, they were immediately compassionate. They gave me a wristband to be processed as a patient and told me the doctor would call me back shortly. I returned to the waiting room for about 30 minutes. Soon enough, I was called into another room. There, a friendly young doctor of about my age explained that she would be doing an immediate procedure to remove as much of the infection as possible and to cut back the side of my ingrown toenail. 

I should probably preface this by saying that not only was this my first trip to the ER in France, but it was my first trip to the ER — ever. I took a deep breath and lay back on the operating table. We started with just local anesthesia, but the pain of the infection was quite intense, so another nurse was called in to give me laughing gas. Soon enough the procedure was over and I was able to sit up to receive my care instructions. 

I received my paperwork documenting the procedure and prescriptions to fill at the pharmacy. The doctor spoke slowly and I asked for clarification for the one word that was outside of my vocabulary. Limping back to the intake nurse to see what the damage was, she asked if I had a mutuelle, an additional private healthcare insurance to complement the social system. I replied no. She looked disappointed by the news, so I braced myself for the worst. Then she said, “That’ll be 19.98 euros,” the equivalent of about twenty dollars. Cue my sigh of relief. 

My prescriptions at the pharmacy came to another 30 euros, making my total expenditure about 50 euros. As an American, these numbers were simply astounding. I have never been so grateful for the French healthcare system. 

I won’t fool you and say it was all blue skies and rainbows from there. The following days, the pain returned and I was put on an antibiotic that contained pork and gluten — both of which I am allergic to. Passing through Paris with my suitcase and post-op foot was also not the most fun I’ve ever had. By the time I made it back to the States, I visited a doctor and received another antibiotic for $150. I guess that’s the difference between French and American healthcare, about 200%. 

My toe is fully on the mend and you can bet I’m watching my nails for any signs of ingrowth like a hawk. What a memory made! Though I’d be glad to have missed out on this experience altogether, I’m quite proud to have proven my French proficiency equal to the occasion. Have you ever gone to the ER or sought healthcare while in France? We’d love to hear about your experience. Cheers to firsts (and hopefully lasts)!

Photo taken by yours truly on the hike that started it all. Was the view worth it?

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