insurance

Make a  telephone call, a strange simple number, only four digits. Turn the dial on the old green plastic dial telephone the correct amount of times, always ready to catch the next number as the dial returns. There is silence in the line, and then a ring tone.

The assistant at the practice answers the telephone, explain to her that the pills keeping the prostate gland in control have run out. No problem, she explains, just bring along the EHIC and get a prescription. All charges will be paid by the health insurance, which is good. There is nothing as sane as compulsory health insurance.

Walk through town in the nine o'cklock morning light.  It being Thursday there are mainly elderly people and maintenance craftsmen about. Also, a crew of men in orange safety overalls with an orange dumpster collecting the yellow plastic bags filled with packaging waste.

Go into the practice, say good morning, and push the European Health Insurance Card into the reader on the counter. The woman opens a file and takes out the prescription form, all ready signed by the doctor. Leave the practice, and on the way back up the street stop at the apothecary. Collect the pills, one hundred in a small rectangular box. There is no charge here either, the insurance pays every cent.

And further on, go into the bakery and buy some pretzels and two nut rolls. These have to be paid for, they are as a supplement to the son's and the wife's breakfast.