Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

‘Bonjour, monsieur! Douleur?’: My night in a French hospital

As my room mate made his way to the lavatory, he grasped my toe to steady himself

I hailed my new room mate genially. Response nil. Credit: ricochet64 
issue 28 November 2020
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I regained consciousness on a trolley in a recovery ward. A masked porter wheeled me from there back to my two-bed room on the fifth floor. When I’d left the room earlier, the bed next to the window was vacant. Now it was occupied. Lying on his back under a blanket, his face half covered by a surgical mask, was an old man.

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