Intravenous Eating in Paris

This isn't the way Pierre Hermé does Glucose

We are still in Paris, but not in a good way. This morning Fred woke up with a fever and a temperature. He was dizzy and couldn't walk straight. I had to immediately cancel our imminent flights back to San Francisco and drive him to the nearest hospital where he spent hours and hours undergoing all sorts of tests. It was as tiresome as being on an aeroplane except the seats were less comfortable. All I can say is thank goodness for Carol Vorderman's Massive Book of Sudoko. [My new addiction].
At around 7pm they told Fred he would have to go and spend the night in another hospital. They gave him a drip and sent him packing in an ambulance without me. So there I was, lost in France, never having driven in Paris before today. [Crazy drivers, believe me.] I had to go home, to the house we are staying in, (our hosts are away in Belgium for a long weekend), feed the dog, and collect together Fred's clothes and toys [ipod, psp, etc], and then find my way to the other hospital. I don't know quite how I did it, but I got there in the end. When someone you love needs your help, the strength you need materialises. After more rounds of tests they decided Fred could, in fact, come home and sleep tonight, as long as he agreed to return for more prognosies over the next few days.
So here we are, still in Paris, having a quiet time, instead of eating and drinking with abandon like we did over the last week. It looks like my dear Fred is going to be ok, but we need to get to the bottom of what caused the problem, so we can fix it and make sure it doesn't happen again.
Je t'aime, Freddo, please get better soon.
Please, can I ask you, all of my readers, to join me in sending my constant and faithful companion, Fred, some get better soon wishes, from all over the world, in English and/or Francais. Thank you. Merci.




PS. Ris de Veau with Morels was the answer to yesterday's little quiz.

Intravenous Eating in Paris