The Frog and the Pharmacy

When we were living in France, Maxime became self-appointed doctor to our babies, because half the treatments that were prescribed to our children by French doctors I thought were either unnecessary or medieval and I refused to administer them.

When you go to the doctor in Oz, you get a script for a drug. When you go to the doctor in France you get a prescription for at least six. I had read that the French were a nation of hypochondriacs and popped the most pills per person in the world. But when I moved to France, I didn’t know what they popped and where they popped it. Here are some examples: when poor baby Chloé had a touch of constipation, the remedy was glycerine suppositories. And up we go! One up the bum for the little poppet. If a baby had a runny nose, Maxime had just the thing: a mouche-bébé (fly-baby, so named as it flies up the baby’s nose). A tube is inserted into the baby nostril, a mouthpiece fitted into your mouth and you suck. Just remember, the French like eating slimy things like snails so it’s probably not so bad for them if any baby nostril content gets in their mouth. In fact, snail extract (Hélicidine) is the preferred remedy for cough. The route is oral, although quite frankly I didn't want it by any route.

The problem was that if our babies had a cold, I was usually the one staying home to look after them. 

Maxime would return from work in the evening and ask, 'How many times did you clear Chloé's nose today with the mouche-bébé?'

'Umm, er, none,' I would say. 'It's too gross!'

Maxime would look upset and sigh heavily and perform the task himself, to the accompaniment of howls from the baby. I was sure there must be a better way to treat runny nose than the mouche-bébé. I asked Mum next time I talked to her on the phone.

'What did you do when we were babies and had a runny nose?' I asked Mum. 

'I wiped it,' she said.

'Right.'

Our kids seemed to get sick an awful lot, especially in winter, but they seem to cope well for the most part, thanks to or perhaps in spite of the treatments. In fact when we all came down with gastro when Chloé was one, she handled it the best. She was dancing and singing virtually seconds after being sick, while Maxime and I lay groaning like beached walruses. I got better after a couple of days, and was soon back at work head-butting the grindstone. But Maxime recuperated very slowly, probably owing to his treatment strategy: he invented his own personal cure for upset stomach of duck pickled in fat followed by chocolate. He didn’t have much success with it but he kept trying.

Now we are in Australia, a land without mouche-bébés, snail juice, suppositories and duck pickled in fat. How will we cope??? Really well, I reckon!