Like many if not all European countries, France has its own national healthcare system. My personal exposure to it during my years here has been minimal. I’ve been lucky in that my medical needs here in Paris have been limited to a single, fairly routine eye surgery, regular dental visits, and regular visits to the dermatologist. (I am of Scottish and Irish descent, and therefore keep a close eye on any spots that appear on my skin.)
All of these experiences have been with medical professionals who work within the pubic healthcare network. The expenses are therefore shared to various degrees (depending upon the procedure) between me and the French government. These costs, especially of prescription drugs, have been much less than those in the United States. The treatment and services I’ve received have been of excellent quality.
No healthcare system is perfect, of course. General practitioners in rural areas are overwhelmed with patients (fewer doctors, older demographics). The French bureaucracy is in full, whimsical, and illogical swing in this department. It took a year of persistent pestering for my wife and I to get into the healthcare system, despite the fact that anyone living in France for 90 consecutive days is eligible for coverage.
Additionally, my wife and I have both had our coverage cancelled without notice at different times. When we protested, the agency explained that they had sent us a letter (they had not) asking us to provide proof that we actually lived in France (which we have, for ten consecutive years.) Our coverage was eventually reinstated each time, but our expenses during the interim periods have never been reimbursed.
While my wife and I were living in the countryside, if I would have needed urgent care, I would have opted to drive 45 miles to the major city of Nantes rather than visit a local hospital in rural France. I just didn’t get the sense that the competence and the passion for caring were there. This may be an unfair judgment on my part, but my limited time inside a medical facility there just gave me that immediate impression. (Caveat: the pharmacists in the small town near our countryside residence were thorough, patient, and kind.)
So that was the mixed-bag sum total of my hospital/medical experience within the pubic healthcare system of France: competent, mostly reliable, reasonably priced. A strong safety net that offers true peace of mind while living in a foreign country. I am grateful for it.
Recently, though, I visited the American Hospital for Paris. Not for myself, but as a chaperone for a friend who lives here alone and needed a little emotional support in a vulnerable moment.
This was a completely different experience for several reasons. First, the staff speaks French and English. This offers a huge measure of comfort to an American or other native English speakers when the conversations involve illness and treatment options. Second, the facility is newer than most I’ve been exposed to here in France. It looks and feels like a modern American hospital. This may have been a false sense of comfort for my friend and me, but it was a sense of familiarity, and it weighed heavily in the ‘peace of mind’ department.
But, as I’ve mentioned, no system or institution is perfect. The American Hospital for Paris is a private hospital, not fully integrated with the public healthcare system. Therefore, you’re pretty much on your own when the invoice is presented. And, according to my friend, the prices for care are not outrageous, but they are premium. File this under the ‘you get what you pay for’ category. It may also be due to the fact that the hospital is located in the affluent 16th arrondissement of Paris and serves many in the diplomatic community (embassies are everywhere in the 16th). Most of the patients are local, and, candidly, they expect top shelf medical care and are happy to pay for it.
The hospital was initially founded in 1906 to offer expats access to American-trained doctors. During World War I, the hospital’s scope of work, facilities, and budget increase enormously. Rehabilitation facilities, ambulances, and surgical teams increased to meet the demands of wounded soldiers. Hundreds of volunteers and millions of dollars from the US flooded into the hospital.
Historians have noted that much of this heartfelt generosity came as a response from the assistance France offered the US during our fight for independence. While many Americans today may have a hard time believing this, it is good to remember this: upon recapturing Paris in 1917, US General John J. Pershing ordered his men to secure the city. He then immediately went to Picpus cemetery on his own, found the grave of the legendary Lafayette–an American war hero himself–dropped to one knee, and whispered, “My marquis, we are here!”
Today, the American Hospital in Paris is supported largely by private donations. Brass plaques on interior and exterior walls hang heavy with the names of Old Money American expats of the 20th century (oil and banking) as well as the French billionaires of today (luxury goods and cosmetics).
Black and white photographs with detailed captions recount the modest, early endeavors of dedicated nurses, doctors, and administrators. They appear with grateful US soldiers, some who would go back home to friends and family, some who would stay, join the team, and settle into Parisian life.
It’s a remarkable story with a surprisingly small beginning. Long may it continue.
- BGT