i think the language barrier just killed her few remaining nerves.

i talked to my mom and found out that dad's off oxygen and out of the intensive care unit, but that meanwhile (a) one of his toes has been broken, and no one knows when, and (b) his electric wheelchair is broken, there's no way to have it repaired by the people who are supposed to repair it in europe, and she could only find one wheelchair repair shop in paris and their phone menu is in french that she can't understand. talking to her for twenty minutes has made me feel like climbing the walls, even though the news vis-a-vis daddy's health is actually good. and here i thought all i needed was an update from her to feel better.

now wax_jism says, "maybe you should have stayed in paris, but we didn't think of that." well, hindsight is 20/20. and also, just the thought of being still there has a faint aroma of 'anxiety attack' about it, i think. and also also, i'm not confident i would be that helpful. (why did i take spanish in high school instead of french, why?)

meanwhile the american embassy have been super-unhelpful, three times, partly because they are asshats apparently, but partly because my mother doesn't know how to communicate with people effectively. "the second time they were really unhelpful," she told me, "i started to just get really mad, so i just said, [putting on a pleasant, tranquil department-store announcer/stewardess voice] 'thank you anyway! i'm sure i'll manage just fine! after all, i've been handling everything without too much trouble this far.'"

yeah... that told them.