On weekdays in the mornings, the doctors would do rounds. Usually five or six of them would file in around breakfast time and stand around the foot of my bed, staring at me. Then they’d start talking in French to each other—pointing, more French, gesturing. I’d just lie there watching, not understanding a word they were saying.

Then one would look at me and ask, “C’est bon?” which I think means “all good.”

I’d say, “Well, this is leaking, and it still really hurts here. Is that normal?”

They’d talk in French again and never answer any of my questions. Just “C’est bon?” with a thumbs up, then they’d leave.

I was so frustrated. Should I still be feeling this much pain? How long should it take to heal? Should this be dripping and oozing like this? I had no idea. I was like, “Well, okay, I guess I’m okay because they came and looked and said we’re good, but I guess we’re good.”

I know you’re probably thinking “why didn’t you try Google translate” or something like that. Truth is, every time they came in my phone was out of reach. I even tried preemptively making sure I had with me and ready to turn on and then they changed up my bath schedule so the doctors were coming in right after and I didn’t have anything within reach, or my phone was simply dead. So, alas no rescue by Google.