Part 1: I Should Take the Lottery

After having three lung collapses and two surgeries, one on each lung, to correct the issue, I had a 2% of ever having a collapsed lung again -- basically the same as any male my age that is not obese.

Well I won!

On Tuesday, January 27 I woke up normally, ready to go to class. I had been feeling a little under the weather a few days before but it had passed. After brushing my teeth my chest felt a little funny, sometimes I get that as a side-effect from the two surgeries. I ignored it and kept going. I rushed out the house and closed the door behind me. 

I knew what was wrong by that point. It had happened, I just didn't really want to have to deal with it. Trying to calm myself down a bit before class, I walked to my favourite patisserie and grabbed an almond croissant. 

It couldn't wait. I walked back to my house because, while biting into that croissant, I literally felt my lung crunch again like it had three times before. Each step I took, I took a little more carefully. Getting to my room, I looked up the American Hospital of Paris -- knowing that they would speak English there. But first I had to call my insurance to get it approved. Luckily my case handler, the lovely Maria, approved it and there I was, off with my Google map to the American Hospital. 

I slid myself very slowly over to the closest metro station and got the closest stop. I was lost. I don't speak French. This was not central Paris. Seeing a pharmacy, I walked in and asked for directions. I got them (in French) and an estimated walk time: quarante minute. 

4 minutes, not bad.

No. Quarante, the pharmacist replied and she wrote out a big 

40

Merde. I (sort of) ran out, literally feeling my lung flop and the air crunching it smaller and smaller, pushing my heart over to the middle of my chest, with each step. Jumped into a taxi and got there. I had literally just enough in my wallet for the cab ride: 7 euro, 80 cents.

After registering, the ER doctor confirmed what I already knew: my lung had collapsed again. He hadn't seen an x-ray but thought it couldn't be very big considering I was still walking and talking normally (and he didn't even see my metro trek!). The x-rays arrived and my lung was almost fully collapsed. 

There were no beds at the English speaking American Hospital, so I was transfered to a small, private hospital just outside of Paris under the care of Dr. Rene Jancovici: Clinique Val d'Or.

And so concludes Part 1. Stay tuned for more!

Will Ricky survive at an all-French hospital outside of Paris? Will his insurance company drive him wild with rage? Will he be referred to only as "L'Americain" by all hospital staff? 

This and more... next time.