The crutches weren't offering much help, and my left leg was now exhausted after being used as support for the entire morning. As the taxi pulled over, I crawled into the first available seat and sat in between my chaperone and tour guide. The streets of Paris strolled by the car window, but the sights were not enough to snap me out of my horrifying daze. As we pulled over in front of the hospital’s glass doors, I couldn't help but notice the shattered portions of the door. Although I was trying to remain relaxed, the shatter looked to have been caused by a bullet, and this certainly didn’t improve my first impression of a foreign hospital. I stared at the shatter as I slowly limped my way through into the little waiting room. All I was looking forward to was getting out of the hospital as soon as possible, but that didn't happen until after a few hours. After being told to leave my crutches behind, which seemed impossible at the time, I was put onto a wheelchair and pushed into the depths of the hospital.

The nurse kept speaking to me in French, which was no surprise, since I was in France, but my ignorance made me assume that everyone in the world spoke English. In order to at least be respectful, I maintained eye contact and smiled, even though I had no idea what I was being told. We arrived at a door labeled "X-Ray" and the nurse told me something else I couldn’t understand and then she left. I sat there in confusion and started thinking about how this could have all been prevented. If only I had paid attention to where I was walking and this could have all been avoided. I could have been more concerned when I bent my ankle in the first place, I could have told someone when I had trouble walking during the evening, and I could have told a teacher when my ankle became swollen at night. The hindsight was offering no comfort, so I began thinking about the fact that I was alone. Never had I been in a hospital for any injuries- and there I was, my first serious injury in a foreign country and without my mom or dad to offer their support. Before I let my emotions get the best of me, a nurse came towards me and brought me into the X-ray room.

The ankle wasn't broken, which was my only concern at the moment. I was immediately brought into a waiting room where I was placed next to a heater which provided minimal comfort. I sat there, once again alone and bored, but before I could fully close my eyes for a nap, an interesting patient was placed next to me. She was an elderly lady and was lying down on a stretcher and wrapped in thin white sheets. Eventually she began mumbling in French, and my curiosity kept me awake. Her mumbles soon turned to loud cries, and I still couldn't understand except for the words "pee pee" that she occasionally yelled out. Thankfully a new tour guide came to into the waiting and room and offered to translate what the elderly woman was saying. She made it clear that this woman was mentally unstable and that made me uncomfortable.

The doctor finally arrived and asked me to walk while wearing my newly acquired air cast. She also said if the pain persisted then I would need to get an injection, and as soon as I heard that, I found myself walking out of the hospital, and away from the elderly lady who had suddenly become even louder. Maybe it was the city feel, or the strange people, but whichever one it was, I started to feel at home.