Anya Schiffrin: The French way of cancer treatment:
When my father, the editor and writer Andre Schiffrin, was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer last spring, my family assumed we would care for him in New York. But my parents always spent part of each year in Paris…. I… didn’t know what… French healthcare… would be like. I… assumed… better access for the poor and strong primary care. Not better cancer specialists. How could a public hospital in Paris possibly improve on Sloan Kettering?… My parents flew to Paris… found an English-speaking pancreatic cancer specialist and my dad resumed his weekly gemcitabine infusions…. In New York, my father, my mother and I would go to Sloan Kettering every Tuesday around 9:30 a.m. and wind up spending the entire day. They’d take my dad’s blood…. The doctor always ran late… so we’d sit in the waiting room and, well, wait… rush across the street, get takeout and come back to the waiting room… bring books to read… use the Wi-Fi and eat the graham crackers… talk to each other and to the other patients and families… Eventually, we’d see the doctor for a few minutes and my dad would get his chemo. Then, after fighting New York crowds for a cab at rush hour, as my dad stood on the corner of Lexington Avenue feeling woozy, we’d get home by about 5:30 p.m. So imagine my surprise when my parents reported from Paris…. A nurse would come to the house two days before my dad’s treatment day to take his blood. When my dad appeared at the hospital, they were ready… often someone else in the next bed but, most important, there was no waiting. Total time at the Paris hospital each week: 90 minutes.