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My long and arduous Integrated Camp process ended on June 27, 2025. Therefore, I was assigned to a new municipality for residency. The first day I moved, I had to register at the clinic where my family doctor was located. I went and presented my ID. The secretary then asked for my health insurance card. But I never had that card; it was with the camp administration. I told the secretary I didn’t have it. However, she insisted on asking me questions, angrily, on the same subject. I then called my social worker and explained the situation. My social worker wanted to speak to the secretary, but she wouldn’t answer the phone or accept the call. Because my German isn’t very good, I couldn’t express myself clearly. Or maybe the secretary didn’t want to understand me. My social worker understood me perfectly. Finally, I turned on the speaker phone, and she had to listen. Then she told me to wait and called me from the living room, addressing me with a harsh and demeaning gesture. All the other patients there looked at me, and I felt very embarrassed. I felt completely alienated and helpless. Anyway, my little registration job was finally done, and I went out. I cried on my first day at my new place. About last month, my finger got stuck in a hard, heavy door. It hurt so bad I thought it was broken. But just because of the possibility of encountering this secretary, I didn’t even go to the doctor for a small dressing. Over the next week, it gradually bruised. Finally, it broke at the base. But I didn’t go because I was afraid of the secretary. I just wait for it to fall off on its own, and sometimes I just put on a bandage. I think I’m being treated this way because I’m an immigrant and a trans woman.