Fun with German Insurance

My husband, who is a native German, has been having trouble getting us on the state run health insurance (Gesetzliche Krankenversicherung). Because of a loophole we will need to go private, and the private insurance wants each of us to have a basic health form filled out by a doctor.

So I marched down to the doctor’s office my first full day in Germany with my five year old on his scooter. I practiced words like versicherrung (insurance) on the way. If you say it fifteen times it just rolls off your tongue. I was nervous to try my german out but also channeling some of that foolish cockiness of my youth!

I made it through the receptionist ok and the nurse helped me out with a bit of english. She even measured me when I didn’t know how many centimeters I was. Why does the US still go by feet and inches? Even the Brits adopted metrics! I was feeling all brave and fluent as they lead me into the doctor’s office. He was sitting at a desk very business like. Ok, that’s different for me right there. It was so formal. I explained that my German was a little rusty and he didn’t crack a smile. Hmm, this was strange for me, people usually warm up to me.

So he begins to ask me the first question from the form. I hear the first question as if I have never spoken German before. My mouth is hanging open and I am stunned. I squeak out a little, “What? Could you repeat that?” (in German) He rolls his eyes and throws the papers up in exasperation. Well, I thought; this is off to a good start. He tries again to move down the list on the form. We are kinda moving along well I think, I try to crack a little joke, nothing, nada, not even a hint of a smile from him. My charms on him are dead. We struggle with my German and his impatience. He examined my eyes, ears, and throat. I felt horribly uncomfortable. I was just glad to get my form and go.

And I leave there wondering if that was a cultural misunderstanding or was he an insensitive jerk. I think a little of both. I mean I’m not in Texas anymore right, people aren’t going to be sugary sweet. But no matter the culture, I think someone in the healing profession should try and make his patients comfortable.
I’m thinking it’s all behind me and next time I will just go to another doctor. Then Markus comes home and tells me the paperwork is not correct and I must go back. Whaaa! No way, no how, I’m not going back to Dr. Smiley. What’s wrong, I ask. “Marie, he was supposed to do a gynaeklogie exam.” I’m staring at Markus dumbfounded and its slowly, dawning on me. Let me get this straight Markus, “In order to have insurance in Germany I need to show my vagina?” Markus looked a bit nervous but got brave and answered, “It looks like it Marie.” I went off on a tirade and was ready to pack my bags and go back to the states. Poor Markus. It wasn’t even his fault but he stepped in it. Then Markus looks defensive and tired and says well I had to pull down my pants too! And Max did as well. Ok so let me get this even straighter, “I have to take one for the team?”
I realized I was getting all Francis Macdormand on my husband and tried to chill out before I stormed the insurance office and burned it down.
Then the best part came, my husband decided to take me down to the Dr’s. office himself and try and straighten this out. I felt kinda proud “Okay, yeah, Dr. Smiley, I have a native speaker with me now!” And if you know my husband, well then watch out! If we were a cartoon I would have been depicted with fist bumps behind Markus shouting “Go Get EM!” Markus argued back and forth as the office staff were trying to send me to a gynecologist, just to check off the form to confirm that I have a vagina. Seriously! So we finally get in to see Dr. Smiley and it turns out he is kinda on our side and doesn’t really want to look at my vagina anyway! But nonetheless, he won’t check off the box that says “genitale” because that is not his specialty.
It remains to be seen still if I will have to have a gynecological exam just to be insured in Germany. Poor Markus is trying to figure that out. As it turns out I will need to show proof of insurance to get my Visa. So all feminism aside , I might be pulling my pants down faster than you can say Krankenversicherung.

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