SOMETIMES even ostriches have to reluctantly drag heads out of sand and face facts. I can face lots of things – well, one or two – head on, but nothing to do with my health.

The problem is I consult Dr Google on a fairly regular basis and have become so adept at it that I now even download medical papers on whatever condition I have diagnosed.

A glass of wine by my hand I nod to myself in agreement with Prof X or Prof D in Harvard; mentally dispute initial findings and tests by the team in, say, Geneva, then cross refer to other major research centres.

Did you know that on YouTube you can actually watch a massive variety of operations? No? Oh, I thought everybody did.

In fact, in an emergency, you’d do worse than to have me scrub up for a simple gall bladder removal.

Frankly, I’m a walking miracle with everything that is raging in my body including one or two diseases that I could only have contracted by unseemly practices in which I have never indulged.

However, there comes a point when even I have to bite the bullet and seek a second opinion.

Such deliberate blindness is, as the sane part of me knows, ludicrous when one lives in a country dedicated to preventative medicine, giving almost instant access to testing and treatment.

But as I’ve complained before ‘they’ never give up, never stop until they have prodded and filmed every tiny organ; slid you into scanners, nuclear imaged your bones, inserted probes in every orifice and drawn countless phials of blood.

For while I like to search for what could be wrong with me in the abstract, I have no desire for the practical.

I know, I know – you’re thinking: God, if only we could guarantee such service under the NHS.

I’m quickly slapped down when I say such things to UK friends.

"What, you had an MRI in three days? You can pick your clinic or hospital? Even your specialist?

"You get the results to you and the doctor in 24 hours? You walk into your village nurses’ clinic unannounced for blood tests and the results are emailed to you that night from a nearby laboratory?

"And you’re complaining? Have you any, any idea how long that would take here?"

Yes, but only anecdotally and only what I read.

Believe me I know how very lucky we are to be in the French system, one of the finest in the world, and God knows I have been grateful for it the last few years.

Cancers, for example, are usually caught early enough for life-saving treatment. I know of at least five Britons locally who doubt they’d have been "caught" under the NHS.

That is not a criticism of the work done in that system, merely the recognition of the intolerable burden placed upon it and the staff who battle on.

Anyway, off I went for an initial echography – ultra-sound of all the major bits.

As a fellow professional (from all my internet hours,) I asked detailed and penetrating questions as the organs pulsed on the screen.

"Seriously?" I queried. "The liver’s normal. Honest? Wow. Amazing.

"Try the pancreas now?"

(Don’t judge me until you’ve lived in France for a few years. Bored, in a field. With cheap, good wine.)

All was fine except for what is colloquially called hardening of the arteries – in the aorta. I hadn’t factored that one in to my diagnosis.

I left clutching the "pictures" of the day to take to the doctor, and the clinician’s report was emailed with the suggestion of dye and scanner.

That night, with the doctor’s appointment the following day, I enjoyed a last few hours of life before major surgery.

Yes, Dr Google and I were in no doubt that was were I was heading.

Everything around me took on a sentimental glow as I patted pieces of furniture and thought of filleting my overstuffed clothes drawers before my son had to….you know.

I sent a few brave and knowledgeable emails to friends. Preparing them.

Most responded with: "Get off Dr Google now."

Together, heads down, in the surgery the doc and I looked at all my results.

"Good, good, good," he said, as the intern smiled in agreement.

"Forgive me," I said, "The atherosclerosis in the abdominal aorta?"

"All fine. Normal for your age and your past heavy smoking."

"No meds? No scans? No balloon insertions? No ops?"

Oh, how they both laughed.

"You’ve been Dr Googling again….no and no."

On to the bloods. "Good, good, good…excellent."

"Ah, Dr, but see this liver reading….mmm?"

"Yes, Fidelma," he said patiently. "But see these other ones? All fine. In fact, good.

"You have to read them all together."

Well, I could have danced both around the room in joy. They seemed as happy as me actually.

It must be a relief for them to have a patient who has such a superb understanding of all medical matters.

In fact when I next see him I must tell my doctor about Prof Z who shares with me some fascinating theories about the aorta.

He’ll want to know.