Marianne Jossen - Undocumented Migrants and Healthcare: Eight Stories from Switzerland

2018 Marianne Jossen, CC BY 4.0 https://doi.org/10.11647/OBP.0139.01

January 2016. It is about two months since I wrote an introductory email to Julia, the head of a department of an NGO that caters to the healthcare needs of so-called undocumented migrants in a Swiss region. In my email, I asked whether I might be able to undertake some volunteering and research. Since meeting Julia, I have done some translation work for the NGO, and now she has told me that if I am interested I can accompany some undocumented migrants on their hospital visits.

This is the first time Julia has asked me to perform such a task. The patient, Nicolas, needs an examination at a public hospital in the area. On the phone Julia reassures me that everything should go smoothly, as Nicolas has insurance. He will bring the contract to prove it, but he has no insurance card. All in all, she tells me, it would be good to have somebody with Nicolas who can explain things in a good, broad Swiss accent (as Julia puts it).

She had instructed Nicolas to meet me in front of the hospital one and a half hours before the appointmenthe has never been to this hospital before and therefore needs to be registered first. Its better to be early, just in case advises Julia. She reminds me to call her if there are any problems.

One morning three days later I meet Nicolas in front of the hospital. He hands me all the paperwork he has brought along. I find a referral letter, an insurance contract, and some medical results that I avoid looking at. I feel like an intruder into a strangers privacy. We walk to the reception, where I show the papers. We are sent to another desk for registration.

On arrival I explain that I am here to accompany this patient. I address the receptionist in one of the Swiss national languages while Nicolas uses another one. The receptionist asks me for the insurance card. I reply that Nicolas does not have one, but that he has brought along his policy documents. Normally we need that card, she says. I do not respond. Then the receptionist asks for the patients address. I tell her that she can use the address on the policy, but she points out that it includes only a post-box address. She insists that surely the man must be living somewhere. I agree and then reiterate that this is the only address available. I am suddenly uncertain. Would Nicolas really be risking anything by giving the hospital his address? I am not sure. Finally the receptionist says, quite sharply: So, he lives nowhere. Exactly, I respond drily.

We continue. An emergency contact is listed on the insurance policy. Still, the employee needs a phone number. Nicolas provides one. The receptionist does not understand it, so I translate. A few sentences later, as I continue to translate Nicolas explanations, she interrupts me, telling me that she understands Nicolas just fine.

Finally, she asks for an identity card. I explain that he does not have one. She tells me that she has to clarify this with her manager. I am worried about the tense atmosphere that has developed between us, so I tell her I understand and that she can call the NGO for further information.

On her return, the receptionist says that her manager has given his approval, but she needs to know whether Nicolas is a failed asylum seeker or if he is still going through the asylum process. I say that his status has not yet been determined. She accepts this and we are free to leave.