France is the land of suppositories, even for a sore throat

Fidelma Cook passed away this summer. Were re-running our favourite columns as a tribute to her

IN a corner of the pharmacy, entirely oblivious to the other customers, the young and eager chemist asked: “May I?” before dipping my head and carefully parting the hair and peering at various sections. “Yes, definitely, I can see them,” he said, at which point the aforementioned customers stepped deftly back a pace or three.

I couldn’t really blame them as we were standing by a large display of lice-killing potions – and even the local newspaper is reporting on the massive problem this term in French schools.

Actually, lice are about all that hasn’t happened to me this year but, according to the pharmacist, the psoriasis which has erupted on my scalp and limbs is the result of the stress of summer’s broken bones. Lucky white heather, eh?

By now, the two men and one woman waiting in line for the two other occupied chemists were openly listening to our discussion on shampoos.

Indeed, one young man said: “May I?” and pointed to a specific bottle which had cleared up his problem in no time.

While he and the chemist chatted about the specifics of his psoriasis, the other man and woman felt free to have their own chat about whether the condition was contagious or not. “No, it’s not,” I interrupted huffily. “It’s not like lice, you know.”

They courteously thanked me for correcting them. I then spent €60 on a cream and pills containing organic mare’s milk (look, if it works, it works) which were recommended as excellent by my personal shopper and confirmed by the chemist.

By then I’d been in the pharmacy for at least 15 minutes.When I first arrived, there had only been one woman in the place talking to the female pharmacist. She was still there, and every so often, the chemist would go back stage and come out with a pile of drugs and stuff, or trawl the aisles behind her, plucking out more boxes.

It is not unusual for people to exit the pharmacies with two carrier bags of goodies. Four if it’s something serious.

According to the World Health Organisation, France has the best healthcare system in the world. Plus, more people, per capita, visit the doctor in France than in any other country. And doctors prescribe drugs – loadsadrugs.

But, unlike the UK, our pharmacists, backed by six years of university studies, are almost – almost – on a par with physicians. If you are ill, the first stop is the pharmacy. List your symptoms and he/she will take a decision to diagnose and treat or refer you to the doctor. They can also make up their own medication just for you, without prescription, and even if you don’t buy, they are happy to discuss your numerous ailments, regardless of the growing queue.

For the French – in general – believe there is an answer to everything in life.

Pharmacists believe there is a medicine.

Indeed, most chemist consultations begin with the words: “Il existe un produit.”

They also believe, as do the doctors, that most drugs work best – and there is no genteel way to say this – stuck up your bum. This is the land of suppositories, even for a sore throat; so if you are thinking about living here, do factor that in.

Alongside their medical expertise, they are also there to examine wood-gathered mushrooms if you are unsure which are poisonous or not; rent out everything from blood pressure testing kits to wheelchairs; and advise on the skin and cellulite products with which all French women are obsessed. Oh, and on something called “heavy legs” which has stands all of its own in every pharmacy I have ever visited.

Truly, entering a pharmacy is the closest a hypochondriac will ever get to heaven without actually dying and proving everybody wrong.

I wish I were a hypochondriac, especially now I’ve got my French health insurance card, plus my top-up insurance, which hopefully means I won’t have to pay a centime for treatment akin to the finest of private medicine in the UK.

The knowledge that, within two days of asking, one can be sitting in a specialist’s consulting room is so seductive, however, that I may well be on my way to becoming a hypochondriac, and therefore at one, with my Gallic neighbours.

I’m compiling a list to work through over the winter months: tinnitus (see hearing specialist); osteoporisis (get bone density check); vertigo (get counselling); double chin and turkey neck (plastic surgeon); lungs (confirm still working); Heavy legs (why don’t I have them? Or do I? Find

out.); liver function … no, no, one can go too far here and there are certain things one doesn’t want to know.

I think, if the organic mare’s milk works, I may well just stick with the pharmacists. After all you get group discussion and counselling thrown in as a non-optional extra every time.

Parfait!