Friendly Parisians II
There may be ugly places in Paris, but I haven't found many. Our walks to Olga's hospital were lovely:
A Paris Working Class Boulevard
Panama and Sault Ste. Marie are not the only places with locks:
The Hopital St. Louis was built in the reign of Henry IV to house victims of the plague. When we came to it we found the staff were not much more fluent in English than we were in French. Olga was in a coma, but we knew that she recognized our presence because she tried to speak in English. We were told that she had periods of greater consciousness, and that we should feel free to visit any time during the 24 hours, day or night.
Hopital St. Louis
Although we had to return home, the chemotherapy which was largely responsible for Olga's coma was temporarily discontinued. We had a very nice visit with her. The therapy was so effective that she recovered enough to spend the next six months in an Alpine estabishment (with a woman friend, all courtesy of French Social Security), before she passed away peacefully. This, I am afraid, is the happiest ending which such tales as this can have.