My physiotherapist at the hospital in Paris was a young man named Cedric. Fortunately for me, Cedric had travelled to New Zealand and Queensland, so he could understand my Australian accent.
I wasted much of my physio therapy getting Cedric to translate French words that I had heard.
Cedric would help me regain control of my left hand that had been effected by the stroke. He would exclaim ” Where is she?” I said the correct English is “Where is it?” Cedric disagreed pointing out that in French, the hand is feminine. “The hand is a woman”
I loved thinking about the different ways the French described objects based on their gender in the language.
Conversely many of the male nurses and physios had what appeared to me ,female names, for example: Jean Marie
I had difficulty calling out a woman’s name to get the attention of a male.
I shared rooms with another patient always a male, usually a man of my age
The room allocation was organised strictly by gender.
Unlike Australian hospitals a man would never share a hospital room with a woman
One day when I was being visited by Mary, another patient, the nurse asked Mary if she was lost because she was in a male only room
Mary spoke perfect French and explained the nurses had asked her to help teach me French
