Nobody arrives in a good mood. Nobody wakes up and says, “You know what would make today exciting? A hospital queue.”
Yet somehow, give people a long line, plastic chairs and a shared headache, and suddenly strangers start talking like they’ve known each other since primary school.
The other day, while waiting in line to see the receptionist so I could finally see a doctor, I started chatting with a woman ahead of me.
You know the usual hospital queue talk.
“Why is the line moving like a tortoise carrying groceries?”
Somewhere between those questions and our collective sighing, she mentioned she had recently joined a health insurance scheme.
About a month and a half ago.
When she signed up, they told her the insurance would start working after 30 days.
That sounded fair. Systems need time.
Paperwork needs to stretch its legs.
Files need to travel from one desk to another like tourists on holiday.
But when it was her turn, the receptionist calmly informed her she would need to wait another 60 days before she could actually use it.
Another. Sixty. Days.
The woman blinked, I blinked too.
Because there we both were, at the hospital, clearly not there for the interior decoration, and she was being told the help she signed up for would be available… later.
Much later.
Possibly after the illness had already solved itself.
Most people who sign up for health insurance when they are already sick don’t do it alone. Usually, it’s a small community project.
Friends contribute. Family members send money. Someone starts a WhatsApp fundraising message. A cousin knows a guy who knows where to register.
Everyone comes together thinking, “At least this will help.”
Sometimes it’s the biggest help people can afford to give.
And then the person gets to the hospital and discovers the card is basically on probation.
“Please wait 90 days.”
Ninety days. That’s a whole trimester. A tomato plant could grow, fruit and be harvested in that time.
Then I remembered...back in 2019, I took out health insurance for my dad. Responsible daughter behaviour.
The kind that makes family WhatsApp groups proud.
Every year since then, the premiums have been paid faithfully.
And thankfully, my dad has stayed healthy.
Which is great.
Except he has never used the insurance. Not once.
Seven years of contributions. Zero claims.
Now I’m grateful for that, of course.
But still… when you hear stories like the woman’s in that queue, a few questions start knocking on the door of your mind.
If someone signs up while already sick and is told to wait months before they can use the service…
And someone else pays for years without ever using it…
What exactly happens in between?
Insurance experts will say waiting periods are necessary to stop people from signing up only when they are already ill. Fair enough.
But standing in that queue, the logic felt slightly… comedic.
It felt like buying a fire extinguisher and being told you can only use it once the house has finished burning.
Or paying for an umbrella but being advised to open it after the rain stops.
What happens if someone joins the scheme but doesn’t survive long enough to see the card become active?
Do the contributions get refunded?
Do they roll over to the afterlife?
Health insurance is supposed to give people peace of mind.
The promise is simple: contribute steadily so that when illness shows up uninvited, as it always does, you don’t also have to worry about your bank account collapsing.
But sometimes it feels like the system runs on a completely different timetable.
