Meningitis Diary - Paris, Monday March 3rd, 01:30

I ask "L" to phone the emergency services, but she does not know how. (I later discover this information on a notice board in a corridor near her apartment; tsk! kids eh?). The first miracle is that I remember the name of a hospital not too far from her apartment. I find a number on the web and phone it. After a very long and confusing conversation, I eventually learn what to do (for medical emergencies in Paris, dial 15). I cannot do this for her, from the UK, so I phone her back and give her the information. I also ask if there is any friend she can call to be with her, because she is sounding very ill again. Worse, her confusion is increasing.

Luckily, she still remembers how to use a phone, and calls her friend "Z", who comes straight away ("Z" is to prove a great asset, and I will always be in her debt). From this point, all my phone conversations are with "Z", because, as the night passes, "L" is increasingly unable to think straight or make decisions.

Now time passes as they wait for an ambulance (or so we thought). As the apartment building has code-locked street doors, "Z" & "L" have to wait in the foyer. It's cold, and "L" has to be wrapped in a blanket. "Z" chases for progress on the “ambulance”, and finds they are waiting for a travelling doctor to visit and assess them. Each time she calls, it is the same answer ... “the doctor will be with them soon”. All "L" wants to do now is go back to bed, but "Z" keeps her focussed on the need to meet the doctor.