It’s 9am and my daughter has a high fever. It’s been three days since she’s been her normal sassy self and I’m worried. Without a second thought I pick up the phone and try to find her a doctor’s appointment. I make two phone calls before I realise that I have been conducting these conversations entirely in German. Despite these attempts I’m unsuccessful in booking my daughter an appointment, so I open up my email and fire off a note to the pediatrician. Without using Google Translate.
This is what living in Berlin feels like four years on.
