Tag: Carte Vitale

Dancing with Fred Astaire–backwards and in French

When we dream of moving to Paris, our heads (my head) are filled with romanticism: the beautiful architecture, the sky unencumbered by skyscrapers, the stores on every street bursting with color of seasonal fruits and vegetables, the cafés where one can order an expresso and then sit for hours, a city full of walkers-everyone walks and enjoys walking. What we don’t think of until we are here and in need is the strictness of French bureaucracy, black and white. Either you accept it or you drive yourself mad trying to figure out ways to make it move faster. And the fact that everyone speaks French. Which, depending on our schooling, when arriving in our adopted country, we come with different levels of fluency.

For the first three or four years, I would take someone with me when applying and reapplying for my one-year residency card, renewable yearly. I kept my US health insurance not realizing that I could apply for the social security and carte vitale after I’d lived here for over three months (That may change. The French parliament is proposing that US retirees pay a fee for their carte vitale). Once I got my Carte Vitale, I looked for doctors who spoke English again not realizing that they charged at least 50% more for that service. But I was too afraid that I would miss something crucially important if I depended on my B2 level of French.

Recently I have been struggling with a few issues: intense vertigo being the main health issue that I worry about. I’ve always had some form of vertigo although it would go away for years. It has returned with a vengeance. After I returned from the trip to Spain in September, it hit on a Monday, more of an attack. By Tuesday evening, I was crawling around on all fours. I’d had some neck pains before I left and thought I’d taken steps to deal with my neck. 

If you have never had vertigo, it is not only awful, it’s frightening, debilitating. The world spins around at high speed making most people nauseous. You start to vomit and can’t stop even when there is nothing left. Vertigo is not a matter of life and death (although I once got it while driving on the freeway from Walnut Creek to Oakland. I had to pull over and lie down on my front seats until it passed). Vertigo is isolating. With this last episode, I have had no idea when it would hit or what triggered it. Lying flat I knew was one culprit. I didn’t go to any of my gym classes. A heaviness like a cycle helmet of concrete hung around my head at all times. I was afraid to move my head from side to side. I probably looked to others like my spine extended through my head and I had abandoned all flexibility. 

How do you like this for a diagnosis??

My doctor, who speaks English, referred me to a Vertigo clinic but I couldn’t get in for four weeks. Everyone I knew who had had some experience with vertigo had advice for me. And I was willing to try anything. Now six weeks after the first onset, I don’t feel very educated on what’s wrong. I know it has to do with crystals in my right ear and getting them to return to their proper place. However, with age, crystals tend to get stuck and refuse to budge making balance a very precious commodity. The doctor at the vertigo clinic induced vertigo then sent me home. I was upset. And scared to do one of the maneouvers that is supposed to budge those pesky crystals back into their proper place.

This is probably what I have.

This week I went to a kiné. A kinesteologist but different from American kinestheologists. They are a combination of osteopath, massage, and physical therapy. Cédric, I was told, speaks English, I was told wrong. And once more I have found myself in the hands of a health professional communicating in French. The first time I went to a health professional who spoke no English, I used my translator, DeepL, to write out in English what the problem was and what I hoped for. DeepL would translate into French and I’d make a word document which I’d take to the professional. Today, I told myself to trust that I spoke fairly good French and just go. I couldn’t help but think of Ginger Rogers doing everything that Fred Astaire did but backward and in heels. That’s the way it feels. I’m going to my doctor. I’m going because I need the wisdom and expertise of a health professional. I’m doing it all in French.

We make our appointments through Doctolib, a wonderful site that makes it so much easier to do this ‘in French’

I’m told by French people that my French is fine. I think that means I get along. I couldn’t possibly go to a French movie without subtitles, enjoy it, then go to coffee with friends and have a discussion. Half the movie would be in argot (slang). The only place I know to hear pure French so I practice is the news. I prefer France 24. But I’m not a great fan of the news at the moment.

So I struggle along. If I were completely healthy, I think living in French is hard work, it’s tiring. I forget that. Now, dealing with vertigo, and living in French, I’m tired a lot. I don’t like being tired. I judge myself and feel old. My Irish doctor says vertigo has nothing to do with age—get over it. If only….

Would I trade all that in to return to the States and deal with that health care system and converse with doctors in English? Not on your life. This is a small price to pay. And truth be told, I need every kick in the ass I can get to keep practicing my french.

A bientôt,

Sara

Health Insurance: USA vs France

I came to Paris, in 2014, for one year. My intention was to better my french then to return to Oakland, go to baseball games and continue learning civics. It didn’t happen that way. Within six months, I knew I wanted to stay; one year was not enough. Not only was Paris beautiful, inspiring and exhilarating, I’d never lived in a city before. Cities, I learned, pulse with life. In Paris, no matter the time of day or night, life was happening. People were out on the street, having a drink in cafes, walking for pleasure or transportation, going to a myriad of events available every evening. For me, it was intoxicating. I loved it.

Then we had an election in the US. I found it hard to be there but not be living there. All my friends were in various stages of depression. At the time, no one thought it could get as bad as it has, that democracy is actually at stake. Some friends are inured. It’s impossible to watch from over here in France and not be shocked and outraged. The US, always somewhat imperialist, is now cruel and verging on terrorism. That is as extreme as I’m willing to state. In the back of my mind was always the question ‘What would it take to move here, to cut ties to California?’ Two things always jumped up. The first was health insurance. The second was home ownership. The wisdom says don’t sell your home in California unless you are 100% sure you never want to move back. I couldn’t afford my own home if I had to buy it.

Health Insurance: I’m 72 years old. I have Medicare and also a secondary insurance. Until recently I didn’t know if I was eligible to get French insurance. The french system may be the envy of the world. It is a single payer plan. A citizen gets a social security number and then applies for the Carte Vitale. With the carte vitale, every time one goes to the doctor, any kind of doctor, at the end of the visit, you hand your card to the doctor. Then you pay your co-pay. The doctor is paid the rest by the government. Some of my friends have a secondary insurance, which is not expensive in US terms, so as to cover any unforeseen problems. And french medicine is NOT expensive compared to the US. When I had my right hip replaced in February of 2017, I received a statement telling me how much the operation, lead-up appointments and post-op appts cost and what percentage of that Medicare paid. The grand total was $65,000. For the sake of personal information, I googled the price of hip replacement in Paris and the average cost was $8,000-$10,000. Same operation, same skill set, same medicine. It’s one thing to know that there is something very wrong with the American system, it’s another to have the numbers. I once ran out of an over-the-counter stomach aid while in Oakland. It had to be prescribed and my co-payment was higher than I paid over the counter here in Paris.

For five of the six years that I have been in Paris, not knowing what to do about health insurance has kept me from committing to moving here. Last fall, I learned that Macron had decreed that anyone who has lived here more than three months is eligible to apply for french health insurance. As with many things that require dealing with the french administration, I felt paralyzed to take action. Friends offered to help. One sent me the web address to get more info. Another actually translated into English what I needed to do and what I needed to produce, document wise, to get my social security #. Then I finally found someone who would go with me to the office. I needed my hand held. We set up a date and ….. the office had moved two years before. There was no longer an office in my arrondissement. My friend is married to a frenchman who writes beautiful french just the way administrators like. He wrote a letter to be signed by me applying for both the number and the Carte Vitale. Yesterday morning, I sent it registered mail. So now I wait.

https://www.expatica.com/fr/healthcare/healthcare-basics/guide-to-health-insurance-in-france-108848

This is not a political post. All the above raises all sorts of questions (that most of us already know the answers to) about why certain American politicians don’t want to make insurance affordable to 50% of the country. That’s not my fight this week. My fight is to grow old with insurance and the best quality of life I can have. I think the quality of my life is far better here in France. I would like to take the actions necessary to commit to living here. I may not hear anything for a year. Such is the snail’s pace of french administration (especially now when they are stepping up their efforts to help the British who live here, get residency cards, get their drivers license, etc). I have taken the action and it is very satisfying.

My next action is to get a French Driver’s License. Much, much harder than in the US.

A bientôt,

Sara