1:30am and not learning German

I'm always curious. Why do I wake up like this (once a week it is in this mode) when I'm pregnant. This is one of the conditions my body has duplicated from when I was pregnant with A. This capacity, this tendency, to suddenly be awake (as in, just opened my eyes after closing them for a blink 2 seconds ago) in the middle of the night. Did the baby kick, or am I now waking him up instead? My heart is never pounding, and yet it feels like adrenaline. Or like that time in Boston when I was on Sudafed and had the most productive work and writing experience, so much so that I realized I should probably not take it once the worst of the cold was over, because a person could get used to feeling that alert-but-not-jittery.

I'm not wheezing - it isn't the asthma. I'm not hungry. And I don't think it was a super full bladder. Sorry, but I'm ruling out most likely scenarios. I imagine reading some blog post online someday that talks about this kind of phenomenon and I read it, fascinated (because it will be well written, witty, fun to read), and think "Oh, so THAT's what was going on."

Anyway, here I am. Waiting for some part of this to wear off so I can go back to bed.

While I'm up, I finally decided to write here.

It took me 4 1/2 years to get in the elevator I got in last week. Now, I mean, this is the elevator of my apartment building, and I've been in it many many times, but the ride I took last week was monumental. I had showered and even blown my hair dry. I had a bag full of papers. I had my insurance cards in my wallet.

I was going - get this - across the street to go figure out how to deal with health insurance policies in Switzerland. And maybe get some money back. Not a lot of money, so this special elevator ride (and building up to it, making myself call the company, making sure someone there would speak English, making sure I brought all my papers, organized by "first pregnancy", "back problems", "general problems", etc) was about motivating myself. No, motivating isn't the right word. It was about finally getting to this task, that I've dreaded so much because it involves all the things I'm not good at - new systems of bureaucracy, in a language I have not really learned (definitely not well enough to go learn something novel about forms and regulations), in a country where you're just supposed to know how to do this.

The Swiss don't like to pay for almost any of their health care. Not once they buy their insurance, that is. The pharmacists are always surprised when I pay for something out of pocket, and massage therapists are forever offering to check if their service is covered in my policy. Well, actually, they are forever telling me to call my company and check my policy, which means I'm forever feeling guilty that I find this task so difficult.

Of course, I was expecting the worst of this visit - to be told how remiss I had been, how simple this is, to be met with disbelief at how I'd ignored this and how seven plagues should, in fact, befall me and my family just to teach me a lesson. And really, I hadn't learned German yet? I really should be learning that, you know.

It was like the "perfect greeting card that captures your feelings exactly" of living abroad. Except this greeting card was from the fears and worries section. Now THOSE are cards I might actually buy, Walgreens. "Sorry to hear you're terrified of answering the phone." "Just know I'm with you in spirit when you go back to the fridge and finish that pie. I really wish I was there in person." "Too bad you don't yet know German and can't manage to learn about your health insurance in almost 5 years of living in a country. I'll still be your friend, although I may not always admit it."

Turns out, this time, my worries about how badly it was going to go were way overblown. Doesn't hurt that I'd talked to friends about this. Doesn't hurt that I'd had to organize files the week before for tax purposes (that post will someday be titled "We're moving back to America...because of tax law), doesn't hurt that the company across the street (I see their office from my bedroom window and did confirm for myself that you can't actually see what people in my bedroom are doing) bought our old insurance company, and it sure doesn't hurt that the woman I talked with on the phone was (a) NICE and helpful instead of dismissive, and (b) spoke English and said that anyone I came to talk with could, too. The woman I spoke with in person, who had most definitely not seen me getting dressed for said meeting, was kind, was understanding, did not laugh in my face at how long it had taken me to get there, printed out policy info in English and walked me through the kinds of paper I receive related to medical costs and what to do with each, and did I mention she was nice?

So it was good. Really good. It felt great. I treated myself to forcing M to help me get a Christmas tree 2 days later because I felt that accomplished about it. I will no longer have to hide my secret. And it will make a great story for a cover letter when I apply to be some sort of international student assistant at some university in the US someday.