Early in 2015 I was sitting in A&E in Durham, bow in hair, waiting to find out if my wrist had been fractured after catching a teammate while cheerleading.
It had been an afternoon of training, a couple of kicks to the face, some dance practice and a run-through of our routine. It was in this final stage that I heard a crunch in my wrist as I caught my flyer, a girl who I’d just thrown into the air, and the next morning I was hospital-bound.
I filled in the forms, sat down, and watched 2½ hours slowly slip away. Finally, I heard my name called: at last I could find out if my wrist would last the final three competitions of the season.
A five-minute look and I was sent off to x-ray. Thankfully there was only one other person in need of a scan that day so 15 minutes later I was back in the waiting room, ready for my results.
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Another half an hour went by before I was told it was probably just a sprain. I was strapped up and sent away: freedom. From arriving at about 10.30am it was now the afternoon and my day felt wasted.
“After 90 minutes, I was back home, watching Netflix
I started competitive cheerleading at Durham University three years ago and, although it’s not a contact sport, injuries are commonplace. In America, it is the most dangerous sport for women in terms of injuries. So maybe it was no surprise that in November that year I was in a rather similar predicament, except this time I was in the south of France, with no NHS. An ill-advised back bend one evening had resulted in another injury on the same wrist and hand.
I went to the walk-in service at the university medical centre in Pau, near the Pyrenees. Thirty minutes after walking through the GP’s door I had been seen by a doctor, given a prescription for painkillers and a splint and received an order for an x-ray at the local emergency room. So far, so good.
At the hospital I prepared myself for another wasted afternoon sitting among the slightly ill and wounded. Instead it was only 20 minutes before I was called for my scan. This time it was just a few torn tendons, so, after a quick trip to the pharmacy for my medication, I was back home, watching Netflix. The whole event took about 90 minutes. I couldn’t believe how efficient it had all been.
There is a downside to this system. In France all of this efficient treatment must be paid for upfront: €23 (£21) for the first appointment; €75 for my painkillers, anti-inflammatories and splint, and then about €60 more for the x-ray.
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This was a concern for a student whose loan had just been spent on medical care instead of food. For someone used to the free NHS it was a shock.
Nevertheless, having paid forall this treatment I was then entitled to take my receipts and prescriptions down to the primary health insurance offices and file for a reimbursement of up to 75%.
I duly sent off the forms and figured that my bank balance would start to look a bit healthier in a couple of weeks’ time. I suppose that when I was told about the “millefeuille” (thousand leaves) of administration in France I hadn’t understood quite what people meant. Two months later I was finally reimbursed. I ended up spending only about €45.
I wholeheartedly support the NHS, its values and staff but if I were to break an arm or dislocate a shoulder cheerleading in the future, I’d rather it happen in France.