The German Ambulance Debacle That Cost Me 820 EUR

Emergencies aren’t cheap…

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

I think I have a curse upon me.

It’s like I can’t go on vacation for 6 weeks and not get ill or injured. (Last year I worked in Finland for 6 weeks and got sick twice (!) in 1 month, though for very unavoidable reasons. Before that, I caught a cold in Italy that persisted until I got antibiotics.)

Granted, my “vacation” was actually 6 weeks of intensive dancing — i.e. professional development for me — so my risk of injury was higher than most. I accept it.

That’s why I bought travel medical insurance. Even then, how my trip ended was a rude awakening despite my best efforts at self care.

This summer I went to Berlin and Munich for 2 professional dance training festivals: b12 Festival for Contemporary Dance and Performance Art and Tanzwerkstatt Europa, respectively.

While b12 was freakin’ hard, and I got more black-and-blue bruises than I’ve ever gotten in my life, I miraculously didn’t end up seriously injured in the course of those 4 weeks. So it shocked me when I felt a distinct “pull” under my left scapula in repertoire class one day in Munich, a week later, when the classes at Tanzwerkstatt were much more easygoing compared to the physicality of b12’s.

Chalk it up to travel exhaustion, bad luck, magnesium deficiency, whatever.

I hoped the pain would settle on its own, so I didn’t make a fuss out of it — didn’t even mention it — until the pain became unbearable the next week. Turns out those ensuing nights of trying to dress myself and sleeping with a malfunctioning scapula were just a prelude to a worse pain to come.

That second week of classes started out ok; I felt the achiness in my back, but I could still push through all the way to grand allegro in ballet. I had a sports kinesiologist from the front desk tape my entire shoulder up, and that seemed to help. On the 5th day (and my last day in Munich), however, I lifted my arm to second position for the start of pliés, and I couldn’t move a thing.

My entire arm felt stuck from the deltoid outward, and I shook with piercing pain until the music finally ended, and I excused myself — bringing my left arm carefully down with my right — to ask staff for any painkillers.

I rarely take painkillers. I have a pretty high pain tolerance in general, and I prefer to feel my pain levels, so I can adjust myself accordingly. If I’m voluntarily asking for painkillers, you know it’s a serious issue.

The school staff said they couldn’t legally offer me any, so I tried massaging my back out with a foam roller instead. The only thing that seemed to help was sitting in a hunched-over position, expanding my back, though the relief was minimal.

By this time, the pain was affecting my breathing. It hurt to inhale and exhale.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I hobbled back over to the staff desk to ask, “Would it be overly dramatic to call an ambulance for me?” while holding a forced smile and trying to keep the tears in.

The tears fell anyway, and they washed over my face like a waterfall cascading over a straight cliff. The school staff seemed reluctant to call one.

It was excruciating. I just needed someone to help me. Anyone.

Eventually, someone from the Tanzwerkstatt festival staff came over to see what was going on, and after another half hour of various calls and seeming indecisiveness — Maybe you can see an osteopath instead… Let me call some physiotherapists. Oh no, they’re not available… — they told me if I still wanted an ambulance, they could definitely call one for me.

Yes, PLEASE.

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

So the festival staff got on the phone with the local paramedics; they asked some questions about how old I was, where it hurt, what was my present condition, etc., and finally they agreed to dispatch the vehicle.

The staff had also offered to call me a taxi to the hospital as well as gave me directions to the nearest one if I wanted to take public transit, but I didn’t feel safe taking the bus by myself with my injury. Perhaps I could’ve made it by taxi, but secretly I’d hoped arriving by ambulance would speed up the wait time at the hospital.

The paramedics met me at the school soon. In the time between I’d calmed down considerably now that help was on the way, and by the time they arrived, I was still teary-faced but otherwise doing ok… which, as anyone who’s been in similar situations knows, can be an awkward state when you’re expected to be rolling on the floor in pain.

Which I still was. In pain. But now I could manage it better.

They took my blood pressure and checked my insulin levels with a prick to the finger, and I visibly watched my heart rate go down as we discussed my condition.

They still took me to the hospital via ambulance, but there was no blaring of alarms, no urgency. The paramedic with me in the back explained that here, ambulances have to call all the nearby hospitals to assess vacancy first. They have a system for it; if there’s no vacancy at a certain hospital, ambulances are not allowed to deliver patients there anymore.

I asked what happens if someone needs urgent care, and there’s no hospital available. They said it generally doesn’t happen because there’s an abundance of hospitals; one will be able to take them.

The ambulance delivered me to Klinikum der Universität München, a university hospital. The paramedics handed my form off to reception, reminded them I spoke English, and said goodbye to me.

This is where the most despairing part kicks in.

Once I passed the other form they’d given me to the receptionist, I stood there awkwardly for several minutes as he and his colleague laughed at something on the computer. I was told they were supposed to ask me some questions, so I inquired if there was anything else they needed, and the receptionist brusquely told me to wait.

When he turned his attention to me, I was stricken by his next words.

“Did you really need an ambulance? Are you really in pain?” He asked skeptically.

“Yes,” I said firmly back.

Here I remind everyone (for my sake and others) that pain is not always obvious. Just because I was standing on two legs with a dry face does not mean I wasn’t in pain.

(All the locals I’ve mentioned this to have remarked, “That’s so German.”)

He told me to wait in the lobby with the rest of the patients. Anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, he said.

Thankfully, I was called into a separate office only minutes later, and bam — another whammy.

The nurse informed me I’d have to pre-pay 1000 EUR (!!!) before seeing any doctor because I didn’t have German or EU health insurance. And, after treatment, I’d have to pay for whatever those costs were too. She pointed to a paper sign on the wall beside her. “1000 EUR” stared back at me.

Technically, I had enough on my credit card limit, plus I had more than enough travel medical insurance. But I still had qualms about it. This trip had already drained me of a huge chunk of my savings ($10,000+, in fact), and the last time I sent a claim to my travel insurance, it took them 6 months to reimburse me.

Seeing my reluctance, the nurse went back to chat with the receptionists and came back with some printed directions to another hospital nearby, Elisenhof. She said their fees were cheaper.

I stepped back into the lobby to consider my options.

I tried calling my travel insurance to get advice, but nobody was picking up. During this time, I received a few calls from the festival staff who’d called the ambulance and the festival director herself. They kindly offered me any support they could give, and after a few more back-and-forth’s (with my emotional tension rising again and silently crying in the hallway), the director offered to meet me at Elisenhof.

An insurance representative also finally called me back and opened a claim for me.

I walked the 10 minutes to Elisenhof’s emergency department by foot and gave my previous forms to reception there. Probably she’d seen enough patients to recognize my threadbare state and assured me, “We can help you,” and then, “But you’ll have to come back at 6.” It was 3:30 PM at the time.

Oh, and they were cash only (again, so German).

So be it. At least I could pay after seeing the doctor. I told the festival director not to worry about meeting me.

In the interim, I went back to my Airbnb and picked up my luggage, since I’d be Nightjet-ing my way to Amsterdam (yes, my travels hadn’t ended yet). Then I gave myself a treat at Max’s Beef Noodles to calm my poor heart down.

My scapula wasn’t great, but I was surviving.

Elisenhof surprised me with their punctuality. I actually got back a few minutes late, and moments after signing in, I was called into the examination room.

My luggage got a good laugh out of the nurse.

The attending female doctor pressed down hard along my spine and announced I most likely had a “muscle blockage,” but my neck and spine itself were fine.

A search on Google came up with nothing, but all the prescriptions she gave me were anti-spasm pills and Ibuprofen. She also gave me a cortisone injection (which didn’t actually help a lot) and some diclofenac pills (the active ingredient in Voltaren).

The total visit came to around 180 EUR, paid on the spot, which was an unexpected cultural difference for me. The prescriptions cost another 45 EUR (excluding the Ibuprofen, since I had a similar medication with me already).

I still boarded the Nightjet to Amsterdam and saw the rest of my planned destinations. Thankfully, it was only another 4 days before I went back to Toronto and could see some specialists.

A few physio, chiro, and massage sessions later, and my back is now feeling incredibly better. Not 100% yet, but we’ll get there. It turns out the issue originated in my thoracic spine muscles, probably from being overstrained or too tight, which radiated out as a spasm near my scapula in an effort to protect my body (I know, the body makes itself known in strange ways).

Photo by Lonely Girl, Lonely World.

I thought this debacle was over until, 3 weeks later, I received a letter from the ambulance department, and I realized my mistake.

In my naïveté, I’d assumed the ambulance was free. It wasn’t.

The letter was an invoice requesting I pay 820 EUR for its services.

I’d gotten so used to being covered under my own provincial healthcare in Canada that I forgot I wouldn’t have the same privileges elsewhere.

The invoice said to remit within 30 days, but luckily my insurance said I could send the bill to them first, and they’d review it and pay for me as needed. It probably wouldn’t be within 30 days, but in that case I could ask them to call the hospital and explain.

I also got my reimbursement cheque wonderfully early compared to last time, with a different provider — only a month later on September 13 with a claim date of August 17.

I still think there can be a lot of improvement from all parties (including myself) in such situations. I’ve come across this time and time again, when organizers and volunteers systematically don’t have a clue how to proceed in emergencies, even in dance-related settings.

I will say, however, that despite this setback, the staff at Tanzwerkstatt, once a course of action was decided for me, were incredibly caring and attentive.

And if you need an ambulance, just say you need an ambulance. Whether or not they come is for the paramedics to decide.

For travellers going it alone, especially if you’re participating in risky sports, make sure you have a general understanding of how the medical system works in your destination. Always buy that medical insurance.

Let’s be honest, we purchase travel medical insurance in the hopes of never having to use it. But on the off chance you do, it could save you thousands more than what it cost to purchase it. This goes for budget travellers too; no amount of money skimping is worth foregoing travel medical insurance.

And that, my friends, is the story of my German ambulance debacle. I hope it never happens to you.

Image courtesy of Unsplash.