Two Days Left in Paris

I've barely left my apartment in the few days I've been back in Paris. I've been separating my life into three piles: 1-stuff for Africa 2-stuff for the UK and 3-stuff for Fort Worth. Yesterday, Mike and I went to the French doctor to get a prescription for Malaria pills. Mike and the doctor spoke French, while I listened with big ears to pick up what I could..."Swaziland, allergies, problem, drink, diarrhea." Walking to the pharmacy, I suggested we find someone who could fill in the communication gaps. Was the doctor saying that if we get diarrhea, we should take this medicine? Or, that this medicine might give us diarrhea? Or, that diarrhea is a sign of contracting Malaria? After almost two years, I've acclimated to being somewhat lost in translation nearly all the time. I order (what I think is) chicken, and the waiter brings me a cheeseburger... It's ok, I'm not a picky eater. I buy Chapstick; it turns out to be sunscreen...No big deal, I'm light-skinned; lips can burn. But somehow listening to directions on taking Malaria pills in French makes me want an English-speaking doctor. Thank goodness for Wikipedia.