The Dehumanizing Effects of a French Medical Exam

In order to procure a "carte de sejour" (this comes after the visa and allows me to work and live here for several months), anyone outside the EU must have a medical exam. The primary point of this exam is the chest x-ray. They do this because they want to ensure that we don't bring TB into the country.

This makes sense, right? Sure. Except for the fact that I've already been here for two months. Had I brought tuberculosis with me, believe me, it would now be too late. This exam is supposedly a preventative measure. Shouldn't we have done this exam at home then and brought the proof with us? One would think.

I can make my peace with the x-ray, but the rest of the exam was fairly humiliating. When we first entered we were given a stack of papers out of a folder with our name and info on it. Then we went through to a nurse man who asked some questions and verified that we were who we said we were. He gave me my papers. Luckily, I actually went through them all and rechecked what he was supposed to have checked. I was listed as a man on the paper. I went back to the nurse man and told him, "Pardonnez moi, mais... je suis une femme."

Of course, he looked blankly back at me. Why was I telling him that I am a woman? I then dumbly pointed to my stack of papers and showed him the error. He later jokingly called me monsieur. Ha.

After this, I sat with several others until we were called into another area where we would go through the initial parts of our "exam." This was another reception-esque area, except for the fact that on the one side of the desk in the center there were bathroom stalls and the opposite side had sinks. This part of the exam would have been absolutely the worst thing imaginable as far as I'm concerned, but I was fortunate. I was not one of the people told to give a urine sample. I felt so so awful for them, though. There could not have been less privacy. While the rest of us were being weighed and measured like cattle, these people had just part of a door separating them from us while they peed into a cup. In order to wash their hands, they had to cross the reception desk to get to the sinks. While the rest of us were measured, there were open urine samples sitting on the side of the desk.

For once, I really don't think that I'm the one being OCD. This is absolutely revolting and completely unhygienic.

After some more waiting (and gagging on my part) I was called into the eye exam. When she consulted my medical chart, the doctor there told me that I have weight issues because I'm American, and that they see this kind of thing all the time. Now, this pissed me off. After they've shown clips from Bowling for Columbine and Supersize Me at the school where I teach, I'm just the tiniest bit disgusted with the sweeping generalizations imposed on my country.

So I explained to her that my family is Greek and they live in America with me and that they are not fat. A lot of my extended family who lives in Greece is fat. Maybe my grandpa, who was fat, passed down a fat gene to me and to some of my other cousins.

After more waiting, I had my chest x-ray (3 different technicians came into the room while I was changing into the hospital gown/robe thing to take my stack of papers). That went on without incident. After some more waiting, I had a "consultation" with another doctor. At my real doctor's this summer, we discovered I have White Coat Syndrome. My heart rate is always artificially high at doctors' offices. It's not really something I can control, but I feel better knowing it. Of course, my discomfiture with the entire horrid situation only exacerbated this.

I could tell that the doctor had seen my weight and judged me. He spent the whole time pushing these "healthy eating" pamphlets at me. I explained that I'd actually consulted a nutritionist before leaving home and was told that Americans don't know about that. Gee. Someone who studied this as their main job must be clueless if she's American. I took them, annoyed. He took my blood pressure 5 times on my left arm and twice on my right. I couldn't tell if he was just incompetent and couldn't figure it out or what the problem was.

At the end, the doctor gave me my chest x-ray, proving I am not a biological threat. He gave me those nutriton pamphlets. And he gave me condoms ("These prevent STDs." Thanks for the heads up. But I guess they don't really have sex ed or health classes here, so that's fair). All in all, I left with a stack of papers and stuff that brings me one step closer to getting another document, proving I'm allowed to be here.

Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take my dignity with me on my way out.