As an American moving to France for only a few months, I didn’t really have a plan for medical emergencies. I mean, six months doesn’t necessitate a doctor’s visit, and trying to navigate the paperwork of the French social security wasn’t worth it. But when my insurance didn’t cover my birth control and I was forced to go overseas without, I found myself in the pharmacy looking for some guidance.
I had read that in France the pharmacists are more like stand-in nurses, similar to what I experienced in Morocco. They can certainly give you advice, and might even vend drugs that require prescriptions in the U.S. So going in for something as simple as contraceptives, I was hopeful. Not so fast. You need a prescription for that.
But it’s true that the woman behind the counter was friendly and knowledgeable and gave me the name and address of a doctor that I could go see. Why not right now? So I walked the few blocks to find the office and a plaque on the door noting that it was closed, given that it was early afternoon. Open to walk-ins Monday–Friday, 11:30–1 and 4:30–7:30. So I returned just after 4:30 as a walk in.
Visit 1
The office is not an office in any regard. In fact, without the small plaque next to the door, you wouldn’t even know that someone inside was taking patients. I’ve learned that most experiences require a bit of detective work, as someone unfamiliar with the simplicity of European life. What I mean is that I walked into an everyday apartment building, only to find no additional signs indicating where the office was. In reading the mailboxes, I found Medioni as number 10. But the funny thing is, there are no numbers on apartment doors in Paris. So while I could assume he was the 10th apartment, I found myself walking nearly to the top floor and missing any evidence that one of these was the office. I returned downstairs, this time paying close attention to every door I passed. There! Third floor, no plaque, and a tiny note on the door frame facing the window that read, ‘Medcin’.
I ring the bell, wait a full minute, and the door is answered by the doctor himself. “Um, I’m looking for a Doctor Medioni?” Yes, take a seat in the waiting room. Oh, okay! Somehow, I am actually in the right place and this isn’t the beginning of a horror film. As I wait, the door rings and the doctor is once again interrupted from his appointment. A mother and son walk in. I strike up a conversation, since, in all reality, I have so many questions about this visit running through my head. Because I forgot to ask at the pharmacy, I ask the mother what this visit will cost. She says usually any visit is between 20 and 30€, while this man charges 30€. I thank her, and as is typical, she begins to ask me questions about why I’m in Paris. Of course, upon learning I’m from the states, she turns to her teenage son and says, “Did you hear that, she’s American. You can practice your English!” I smile, as like most of these interactions, the son is embarrassed, doesn’t really want to talk and continues slouching in the waiting room chair. The doctor comes out to call me in. “Bonne chance!”
He asks for my name, first and last. He asks me where I’m from, and my date of birth. Next question, “What do you want?” Um, okay. I’d like a prescription for birth control. I continue to explain why I am in France in need of a prescription and that I have one in the U.S. but it’s only due to the insurance company that I couldn’t obtain enough before leaving. All of this was too much for him. 100% unnecessary… “Yes, but what do you want?” Oh, umm, like what type? Well that’s easy. So I tell him what I want and that I need 6 months. He writes it for a year, and I leave.
Ten minutes to find the office, ten minutes to wait, a 5-minute conversation with the doctor, and a one-year prescription in hand.
Visit 2
I’m in Limoges, France. It’s 3 hours from Paris by car. I’m with my friend, and I need to go to the doctor. In fact, I first need to go to the pharmacy to relieve the pain. In doing so, I pay the price of the medicine, plus an 8€ fee for it being after hours. The pharmacy is open all night, but there’s an extra charge for that.
In the morning, he calls up his family doctor. “I have an American friend in town who needs to visit this morning, can you fit her in?” Yes, in one hour. The visit goes quite like the first. Identical, in that the office is not an office, and the appointment took 5 minutes, without more than three questions or vitals. In fact, the doctor himself was out of town, so it was the doctor’s wife taking appointments that day. Lucky me.
We discuss the issue, and she gives me a prescription for an antibiotic. But she’s concerned that she should also collect a urine sample for testing. “Ok, where is the bathroom,” I ask. No, it’s nothing like that. I didn’t understand the first time she explained it. When I go to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription, I will also pick up a cup for the urine sample. I then have the option to go home and deposit my sample, or go to the lab and do it there. Either way, I have to visit the lab, which is a couple miles away to drop it off myself. Really? I believe I just learned the price of socialized medicine.
24 hours of pain, 10-minute drive to the office, 5-minute appointment, 25€ (no cards accepted), and prescription in hand.
While the process is quite different and I paid the price of a foreigner, there’s not a complaint worth noting from my experiences with doctors in France. In fact, the full price medicine here is comparable to that which an insured person in the U.S. pays in co-pays and prescriptions. So if you find yourself needing to visit a doctor in France, don’t worry. What I assumed could be my worst nightmare was in fact easier than finding a place to sit on a café terrace.
