Hitting a (French) Roadblock
So it’s happened. My body has given up on France. After finally settling on a (temporary) visa fix and”getting used” to manic hours, a constant language barrier, and unbelievable levels of stress I thought I was finally in the clear to take a breath. At least for a couple of weeks. But alas, my previously strong, I-would-say-toned-but-the-French-say-chubby body disagreed and now I am on bedrest for a whole week, maybe 2. It all started with a little button on my left side which manifested into a huge infection and ended with me in surgery at the Georges Pompidou Hospital in Paris. Without a carte vitale. If you dont know, that’s basically French health insurance.
It’s a mess. I have nurses come everyday to change my bandages and from the talk I hear, it’ll take at least a full extra week to heal. At first, in the hospital (as sort of a joke) I almost felt like I was at a spa. Finally a break from work and 24/7 IVs to stop dehydration? Its almost a cook’s dream! Then i realized …probably only a joke people who work in kitchens understand. Also not that funny- as someone who doesn’t work in a kitchen pointed out to me.
Anyway, the past few months working my first post in a well-regarded French restaurant has taught me a few things. I don’t know if it’s working in a tiny place where each person holds so much responsability or if it’s just being in a foreign (often times racist) environment, or if it’s both combined with a fun bundle of fatigue and stress but this is hard. Yea, duh everyone knows working in a kitchen is hard, but “you just gotta tough it out!” No. I thought I was pretty tough, resilient at the least. Tons of others would probably say the same about me. But what no one told me was “hey, maybe this isn’t the job for you.” Which may have been good to hear. Not to say this career isn’t for me but all this time in bed has made me realise that what started maybe as an amazing opportunity and experience is now just making me break out in infections. Point is, maybe it’s time to throw in the proverbial, French towel and maybe that is ok. Plus if one more French guy asks me if I am at a party because I was hired to be there as a “masseuse” based on the logic that I’m Asian, I am leaving this country and never coming back. Anyway, not giving up yet but have decided I will give up before my body actually gives out and crumbles to the floor.