Sunday
It was a most beautiful autumn day, so I went walking and Nick went for a bike ride with the cycle club, as usual, but had a problem with his bike, so came home, swapped bikes and set out to meet up with the rest of the club. He spotted them coming towards him on the road and, incomprehensibly, it seems as though he pulled out to do a U-turn without checking behind him, so was unaware of the car overtaking him. He was thrown up in the air, ricocheted off the car, buckling the roof and wing and crumpling the windscreen before landing in the ditch on the far side of the road. The guys in the club were convinced he couldn’t have survived such a collision, but he’s a Yorkshireman, made of tough stuff.
Luckily for Nick, the passenger in the car was a medical student who’s just done 6 months in A&E in Toulouse and the next person on the scene was a retired sapeur pompier (fireman-cum-paramedic). The emergency services were called, as was another club member who’d gone home early. Jacques called me and arranged to pick me up; he knew Nick was conscious but that was all.
We arrived to find half the road closed and full of sapeurs pompiers and gendarmes’ vehicles. Nick was in an ambulance, able to move his limbs, in a lot of pain, but completely unaware of what had happened. They took him to the local small hospital and that was where the wonderful French health care system took a nose dive, in our experience at least.
When I got to the hospital he’d had x-rays, showing that he’d broken his right shoulder pretty badly. In the course of the next hour hour I asked three times for pain relief for him; I’ve never seen him in such pain, even when he broke his hip. but the nurses were more interested in gossiping than looking after their patient. At last the surgeon arrived, furious that, not only was he not on a drip for the pain, but they hadn’t even immobilised his shoulder. He looked at the x-rays and explained to me (Nick was in no state to understand anything) that he’d have to insert a pin the length of the humerus, along with three screws and a band around the bone. He couldn’t operate till Tuesday because they’d have to order the parts.
Eventually Nick was admitted, still in a lot of pain, but the nurses on the ward were efficient and caring. Finally I got home, had something to eat and slept fitfully.
Monday
I got to the clinic in time to help Nick with his lunch as he couldn’t feed himself on Sunday; I was so pleased to see him showered and sitting up, able to feed himself and looking more comfortable.
From there I had to go to Maubourget, a halfway point between here and where the car driver lives, to fill in some insurance documents. I met Jacques partway and he took me the rest of the way and we filled in the forms. The young lad who was driving brought his parents with him; I was dreading the meeting, but they were so kind, not a word against Nick, just “Well it could happen to anyone”. They said the gendarmes should have filled in these forms, but that if they don’t, they don’t have to include this accident in their statistics, so it’s a means of massaging the figures.
Then back to the clinic; by now it was dark and raining and the road markings were almost invisible so I didn’t enjoy the miles I had to drive.
The anaesthetist had been to see Nick, but had postponed the operation till Thursday, because the metalwork hasn’t turned up yet. In addition to this, his ankle was hugely swollen and bruised, but no x-ray had been done, his neck hurt and though they had x-rayed that, they’d done nothing more. Three lads from the club came visiting; they were appalled and made me promise to see our GP the following morning, to insist that something was done, and done very soon, a prospect that filled me with dread.
I got home feeling a bit wrung out, only to find that the wind was in an unusual direction and all the firewood I’d cut on Sunday was soaked. A cold, miserable end to a long, hard day.

Tuesday

When I phoned to ask when I could speak to the doctor, the receptionist promised to ring me back, but of course didn’t; so I went to the surgery to wait. A friend who’s a retired nurse came with me, to help explain where my vocabulary ran out. The doctor saw us, listened to my complaints and reassured me that the surgeon is excellent; he phoned the surgeon to ask what was being done about Nick’s ankle and neck and we were promised that an x-ray would be done of his ankle.

From there we went to the insurance office, where I got a list of stuff I have to take in tomorrow. I was so pleased to have Marie-Neige with me, to explain in simple terms, slowly, what was said. The more I hear, the more I realise how much French I lack.

I bumped into the surgeon on my arrival at the clinic; he didn’t think it was more than bruising, but was sorting for an x-ray of Nick’s ankle to be done; it turned out that it is broken, so he will screw it back together when he does the shoulder on Thursday. I feel vindicated.

The next task was the cycle club insurance; Jacques and Gilles came round, but of course, things are very complicated and when they left after two hours, we hadn’t actually managed to fill in any of the forms, but at least we know what’s required now.

Now I have to write a report of the accident for one lot of insurance; in French, of course, to take to the office in the morning. My head’s spinning!

Désolée, mais je suis trop fatiguée de faire une traduction.