A week to forget

If you've been keeping up, you know we've had lots of funny experiences. The last 7 days or so have been filled with some more, but a different kind of funny. The latest memories have been a little like French wine. It's really hard to enjoy them when they're made, you have to wait a while to truly appreciate them.

It started gradually. My nagging backache started to go from nagging to complaining loudly to screaming in my face. I made an appointement with someone to see if they could help. I say "someone" because I really didn't know if this person was a chiropractor, a physical therapist, or some sort of tribal shaman. My GP gave me a reference, so I went with it. The amount of faith you have to operate with on a daily basis, cannot be described. That feeling of being in control of your world is not one you have often. It certainly takes some getting used to, but it doesn't happen without flirting with a nervous breakdown

The cause of my back pain wasn't certain, but I had some ideas. At the front of the list was a hard fall on the slopes. I go with a "learn from your mistakes" style while skiing. Not sure what I'm going to learn from that one, but it may be that I should think about not skiing anymore.

So I showed up at the witch doctor's door on Tuesday to find that she was actually a physcial therapist. I was hoping for a good 'ole fashioned back cracker but I wasn't going to turn down anyone who was a) liscensed in some sort medical field and b) willing to try and make me feel better. The ability to speak English was not a requirement, which was a good thing, because she didn't.

After mumbling and bumbling I was able to convey what was hurting and why I thought it was like it was, she finally layed her hands on me. 2 seconds after first touching my back she said "Ooh la la, c'est terrible!" No translation necessary. Great. So she pushed and prodded and had me do all sorts of exercises. This gave me time to formulate a question in my head. For sanity's sake, I asked her if she could understand why it was that I was in so much pain. "Bien sur" - Of course. It was good to know I wasn't dreaming it. I left feeling better, things were looking up.

I'd never been to a Physical therapist before, but after talking with my sister I found that my experience the next day was quite normal. The pain I'd been experiencing was mild in comparison to the day after my visit. I could hardly move. Apparently putting things back into place after 4 weeks of negligence is painful.

I went back Friday morning for another visit, hoping that her hands on work would eventually prove to make things better. Problem was that no sooner than I left her office, I started to feel progressively worse as the afternoon wore on. It wasn't until I noticed my fever that I realized maybe something else was to blame.

The French call it "La Grippe", which may sound more romantic than calling it the "flu". Trust me it doesn't matter what you call it, it's awful no matter which continent you inhabit. The only difference for me this time was that the aches normally associated with such a malady were magnified due to my already aggrivated back. I also had all the other joys associated. I barely slept Friday night and slept only about 10 minutes on Saturday night. By Sunday I was a bit, well, let's call it "off".

Humorist Dave Barry once said, “Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night”. Now I hadn't been taking laxatives, but intestinally speaking, things wouldn't have changed much if I had been. After 2 nights with almost no sleep and a comfort level that didn't seem conducive to getting any on night #3, I was really considering a sleep aid for the evening. I had a decision to make. To Mr. Barry's dismay, I rolled the dice.

I'm proud to tell you that I slept like a stump with no "surprises". My good wife, checked on me periodically during the night. She was concerned since I normally don't sleep like I'm in a coma and because she was aware of my tempt of fate. She admitted to me that she would "sniff" when she checked on me. I asked her if she would have woken me if she'd smelled something. She didn't have an answer.

I'm still not 100% recovered from "la grippe", but since Monday I've been much much better, which is good because I had to deal with the other card that had been dealt us on Sunday afternoon.

Although not wanting to burden me further, Dana came to me on Sunday and said sheepishly, "Ummm, we don't have any hot water". After investigating, we found that our propane tank was just a tank, in that it actually no longer held any propane.

That we should have checked the level, was obvious, but we did have a reason for being oblivious. Our friendly, but apparently inefficient, agent from the relocation company had told us that we had a contract with a gas company that would track, monitor, and fill our tank as needed. We only needed to stay warm, take hot showers, and pay the bill. I had no reason to doubt this as I had the same deal in back in the Red White and Blue. It turns out she was as wrong about the part where they monitor the tank as she was about the part where we even had a contract. The gas supplier had never even heard of me.

Occasionally, I'll do business with someone who speaks some English and they are always willing to use/practice it. Problem is that my French is usually better than their English, which means that their English probably shouldn't be used to conduct business. Such was the case with the woman from the gas company.

Here's what I was able to determine before we hit a snag. I wasn't a registered customer. To recieve a full fill up, I needed to be a registered customer. I could become registered via mail correspondence, meaning it would take at least 5 days or so before I could even order any gas. Not good. But, I was in luck. They will do a set amount delivery to "unregistered" customers. Here's where we encountered our first linguistic hurdle. An amount of propane would be delivered for "4 thousand Euros". As a Euro is worth more than a dollar, I almost swallowed my tongue. It seemed my choices were A) get really ripped off or B) wait who-knows-how-long for heat and hot showeres.

I'd had enough so I switched to French. I started asking how much it would normally be, what my other options were, etc. Suddenly, she muttered "oops". In French "cent" means "hundred"and "mil" means "thousand". She had switched the two making a just a slight 10 fold error. My "unregistered" fill up would cost me 400 Euros and would fill my tank to roughly 22%. I breathed a sigh of relief. I told her I'd take that option and fill out the paper work to become registered.

I then had the audacity to ask when I could expect the delivery. "Oh, anytime between tomorrow and (wait for it)the next seven days". Then she added "We also recommend that you call for a refill when you hit 20%". Are you able to see how funny this is?

Sometime in the next week I will quit using a one room fireplace to heat my entire house and I will quit taking "cup showers" with water heated on an (thank goodness) electric stove, because I will have recieved my shot of propane. At about the same time my paperwork will go through and I will recieve the coveted registration. Meaning that I will be able to call for another fill up of propane at about the same time that the truck from the last fill up is pulling out of the driveway.

Ahhhh, France.