No, not that St Petersburg. The one in Florida.
It was January 2020, and I was on my last trip to the US before Covid confined us all to barracks. I’d been attending a conference in the St Pete Beach area and was enjoying a day of R&R before flying home. One minute I was striding along the road, heading for a highly recommended vegetarian restaurant. The next moment I was aware of, I was lying face down on the pavement, with a terrible pain in my head.
‘Are you all right?’ a voice asked. I looked up. It was a lady I’d just asked directions from. ‘No,’ I said. She was already on her phone, calling an ambulance.
Fifteen minutes later I was being tended to by a couple of paramedics who were remarkably well-informed about – and supportive of – Scottish independence. (Or perhaps they were just humouring me.) They loaded me into their vehicle and delivered me to the Bayfront Hospital.
Before I was given any treatment I was visited by an administrative person who took my personal details. She asked me about insurance. I said I had a policy through my university but didn’t have the details on me. No problem, seemingly. I was wheeled off for three head and neck scans and then had my bleeding wounds stuck together with surgical glue.
After some time I was given the all clear and told I could go. In the meantime, I remembered that I had my insurance details on me after all. I asked the doctor where I should go to sort out payment. ‘No need,’ she said. ‘You’re good to go.’
I was surprised, but assumed the cost of the treatment was so low that it wasn’t worth the bother of invoicing me. Back at my Airbnb my American hosts howled with derision at the idea. I’d be getting a bill, they assured me.
Sure enough, a few weeks later I got a bill for $2,000, which I thought reasonable, considering. Then, shortly after that, I got another bill - for $9,000! The first bill had only been for the ambulance service! And to crown it all, they hadn’t even noticed that I had broken a bone in my hand. Back home, and with my whole arm swollen and black and blue, I went to A&E where an x-ray revealed that I had a fractured 5th metacarpal. Thank goodness for the NHS.
It was January 2020, and I was on my last trip to the US before Covid confined us all to barracks. I’d been attending a conference in the St Pete Beach area and was enjoying a day of R&R before flying home. One minute I was striding along the road, heading for a highly recommended vegetarian restaurant. The next moment I was aware of, I was lying face down on the pavement, with a terrible pain in my head.
‘Are you all right?’ a voice asked. I looked up. It was a lady I’d just asked directions from. ‘No,’ I said. She was already on her phone, calling an ambulance.
Fifteen minutes later I was being tended to by a couple of paramedics who were remarkably well-informed about – and supportive of – Scottish independence. (Or perhaps they were just humouring me.) They loaded me into their vehicle and delivered me to the Bayfront Hospital.
Before I was given any treatment I was visited by an administrative person who took my personal details. She asked me about insurance. I said I had a policy through my university but didn’t have the details on me. No problem, seemingly. I was wheeled off for three head and neck scans and then had my bleeding wounds stuck together with surgical glue.
After some time I was given the all clear and told I could go. In the meantime, I remembered that I had my insurance details on me after all. I asked the doctor where I should go to sort out payment. ‘No need,’ she said. ‘You’re good to go.’
I was surprised, but assumed the cost of the treatment was so low that it wasn’t worth the bother of invoicing me. Back at my Airbnb my American hosts howled with derision at the idea. I’d be getting a bill, they assured me.
Sure enough, a few weeks later I got a bill for $2,000, which I thought reasonable, considering. Then, shortly after that, I got another bill - for $9,000! The first bill had only been for the ambulance service! And to crown it all, they hadn’t even noticed that I had broken a bone in my hand. Back home, and with my whole arm swollen and black and blue, I went to A&E where an x-ray revealed that I had a fractured 5th metacarpal. Thank goodness for the NHS.
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