French? Quoi? Ici?

"Quoi? Oui, un peu."

This is my response to the question that led to my very first (useful and clinical) use of French in medical school, yesterday. In what turned out be a bit of serendipity for my French language skills ego, I was breezing through the gynecology lounge and was rather brusquely accosted by the question, "Hey, do you speak french?"

It came from one the more surgeon-like (read socially oblivious, and a paltry knowledge of first names) ob-gyn residents. Despite being on labor and delivery, I quickly forgot my med-student misery and cheerfully responded "Oui, un peu!"

I was quickly whisked off to ob-gyn surgery holding. One of the more ornery nurses apparently had been holding up surgery because she was not convinced that the patient was properly consented (i.e. knew what surgery she was having that day and the risks and complications associated). The ob-gyn residents flailed their arms and the anesthesiologists grunted in impatient disgust; apparently myself and another quasi-French speaking med student where brought to abate any further loss of OR time. After all, this is gynecology; moreover, this is the Ten Baub.

I introduced myself to a lovely Black woman trying to use the Ten Baub phones in vain; her husband knew English and French. Myself and the other medical student, tried to inquire about her knowledge about what surgery she was to receive and navigate explaining the risks with a limited medical-French knowledge. A lingual hopscotch resulted.

Risk = There exists the possibility that...
Uterus = that with which you may have babies from the vagina...

Get the idea?

In any case, much to the delight of the gynecology resident, we fumbled through the consent; the woman paraphrased all that we had just said, much more fluently of course and with all of the words that slipped our unpracticed minds. Uterus = utérus and more shamefully risk = risque. My high school and college French teachers I'm sure felt unexplained shivers yesterday afternoon.

After all of this we then asked this woman if she was explained by her physicians the aforementioned before, at the insistence of said nurse.

"Yes, of course, they told me all of this yesterday," she flippantly replied.

Needless to say the nurse was on the receiving end of some rather annoyed glares. Imagine that. Although a demonstration of Ten Baub's inefficiency, I'll take its effective luster to my French language skills ego.

QUOI? PLUS?

So today, on labor and delivery, still glowing from my glowing albeit faltering and in the end unnecessary French usage, we were picking patients to follow. It is, as you know, the job of the medical student to follow a number of patients in the delivery ward until they...ahem...deliver. As glamorous as this sounds, I assure you it is not. In any case, today we had a bit of a United Nations on the names board.

Burkina Faso, Morocco, El Salvador, and of course Mexico were all heavily represented. My student team partner, the super cool Galant, blurted, "Oh, yeah they speak French in Morocco. I went there for my honeymoon."

ANOTHER?

Moments later, I felt a bit timid as I was familiarly whisked away to L & D room 8. I introduced myself, and quickly tried again to hopscotch translate explanations and questions of another of the more brusque ob-gyn residents. The patient was very kind. Despite being in mild labor, and unexpectedly having broken her water, she tolerated my efforts. She even managed to relate how she was only here from Rabat to help with a marriage. In any case, this time at least I had 'utérus' and 'risque' at my disposal.

Pain? Vertex? If there are no complication with your child cesarian-section will not be necessary at this time?

Merde.

This one was a bit more difficult, but somehow, we communicated this (she paraphrased back to me much to my relief). Her brother-in-law, who had an excellent command of English and apparently Arabic, arrived later in the morning, equally to my relief.

In any case, before today, FOUR YEARS and I used absolutely no French (there was a rumor of a French-speaking pediatrics patient on my first month of rotations, but that a bit remote). Now I can't seem to escape it! Imagine that. C'est la vie d'un étudiant en médecine.