It began- or rather it ended- with a phone call. Taken at work, a representative from the travel insurance company I used for a trip to South Africa in January called to inform me that a cheque they had sent me to my old address had been returned to them. I wasn’t willing to appreciate the Erin Brockovich moment for what it was as I offered my new address, until I saw the evidence for myself in the post this afternoon.
The simplicity of this exchange belies the extremely complex and drawn-out nature of this complaint; lodged with the financial ombudsman at the beginning of the year after reimbursement for my hospital fees were rejected due to an apparent failure on my part to disclose all my medical history at the time of risk assessment.
My previous decision not to take medication for my diagnosed epilepsy is a choice I have had to defend on numerous occasions: to GP’s and specialists ranging from the well-intentioned to the dogmatic, family and friends, employers, witnesses and now my insurance company.
When I first lodged the refund, I received my first phone call from the claims department enquiring into the events that lead me to hospital – no doubt looking for any background information which could then be used against me. I’m sure if I were to put myself in their position I would be a cynical office worker, under great pressure to meet “rejection targets” and expose liars; only too aware of the existence of false insurance claims that undermine what is theoretically the good and necessary work they do. Or that’s how I would justify it.
Just as for every one of David Cameron’s “Benefit Thieves” making their living off the welfare system, there are many more genuine people who rely on a safety net such as insurance –state or private – as an assurance that they will looked after till they get back on their feet. Yet the responsibility fell to me to prove my innocence.
Without indulging too much the frustration this recent dispute has caused me, the fact that I had answered truthfully to all questions asked of me when requesting the cover was a greater motivation to seeking justice than the reality that I could not have afforded to pay the medical bills on my own.
When it arrived, the amount on the cheque was surprisingly smaller than what I had been expecting but perhaps my sense of entitlement to the payment inflated the value of it in my memory. As clichéd as it is to refer to it as a symbolic victory after a year punctuated at many points with exasperated phone calls and letters pleading my case, the final positive result felt overall anticlimactic.
The letter I also received today from the adjudicator of the Financial Ombudsman Service managed to summarise the entire history of the dispute in two well researched and balanced pages as she came to the logical conclusion to uphold my complaint and make the insurance company responsible for my fees. I know she was simply doing her job, but I somehow feel indebted to her for these simple words represented the validation of my decision that I was so desperate to receive yet am often denied.
I am used to being on the defence in these epic battles; against credit card companies who don’t inform you when you have gone over the limit and then charge you exorbitant overdraft fees, late payment charges from banks, the library, utility companies and government institutions. I have written letters and made phone calls to them all, attempting to appeal to their sense of ethics and asking for pity in light of the situation (whatever that may be). Institutions and companies must by law review your case upon appeal but more often than not their initial decision is maintained and perhaps a carefully worded but absolute letter is sent with a feeble apology for the inconvenience, reaffirming that that is all they will accept responsibility for. I reluctantly fall back in line after the momentary dissent, mildly more content in the knowledge that “I tried” and certain battles are not worth pursuing further.
On any level it is good to receive this result now, even after such a lengthy and exhausting refusal – a reminder that rights are worth fighting for when you are motivated by that belief and not the money.
