I love being pregnant in France

I called my primary care doctor this morning to make an appointment for my sore back, and his secretary said I could come in two hours if I’d like. I walked to the doctor’s office, as it is 500 meters from my house. I read fabulous French decorating magazines for ten minutes and then saw the doctor and told him about my sciatica. He said, “Bah oui, c’est normal, you are pregnant: no drugs for you, no cortisone, no anti-inflammatories. But here is a referral to go to a Kinesthésie therapist ten times.” Sweet! That involves massages and some therapeutic back-cracking since most of them are also chiropractors.

Total cost: zero. I’m covered for everything under my husband’s insurance (a vast majority of French people also have a “mutuelle”, which pays the portion of their medical bills not covered by social security—we pay 50 euros per month for the both of us). With my green “carte vitale” embedded with a microchip, all my different doctors’ visits are free, as are prescriptions, without even a co-pay. When this baby is delivered, that will be free too. They won’t just boot me out after my six hours of labour (I’m being very hopeful). No, I get to stay and recover for DAYS, that’s right, days – with my baby in the hospital too. Did I mention that I don’t have a deductible to pay? My friend in the states just paid 5,000 dollars deductible for her eight hour labour visit and that is with her full insurance and her doing most of the work! I have to ante up 11 euros a night if I want a private room, the rest is covered.

One of my American friends suggested that I go to America to load up on baby supplies, but I am afraid to go to a country where I don’t have insurance. When I lived in America, I flirted with danger by not having health insurance for three years after my Cobra ran out. Just like 45 million other Americans (that is almost the population of France!), I had to pay rent, water, and electricity and I couldn’t find any affordable health insurance. I lived in fear of having something really bad happen, like losing an arm. I imagined ending up at some ghetto County General saying that I’d live in a cardboard box on the side of the road rather than accumulate tens of thousands of dollars of medical bills for them to reattach my appendage. Lucky for me, I never got sick or hurt during that time. Consequently, no, I’m not going to America where my unborn baby and I are not covered.

True, there is no such thing as a free lunch; we do pay with our salaries and our employers pay a big chunk as well. But everyone in France has coverage of some sort through the National Health Care System, and that means everyone: even the unemployed, the elderly, and especially children. I can’t think of a better reason to be pregnant in France, and plus they have the cutest baby clothes! How will I pay for all these cute baby outfits? Well, France has a great system of mandatory paid maternity leave, 16 weeks at 100% and 26 weeks at 100% for the third child. So if I had a job in France, I would receive that mandatory pay, but seeing as I work as a freelance journalist in the United States and their mandatory pay is 0 weeks, I’ll be getting nothing on that front.

But wait, it gets better. France actually PAYS me to have a French baby! My mom sceptically said, “Naaah, really?” Really, Ma! 800 euros when I am in my eighth month of pregnancy comes to my mailbox via the French government so that expectant mothers get off on the right foot. Then I receive 150 euros a month until the child reaches 3 years of age. That is what my mother was supposed to receive in child support long ago. But the best perk of all is the “go to the head of line” pass that I will be getting in the mail soon. It’s valid at all French Government offices including, yes, the Post Office. “Excuse me, Pardon – fat, tired, hormonally charged pregnant lady coming through, please step aside, merci beaucoup!”

C. Riana Lagarde