Why You Need Travel Insurance: That Time My Eye Tried to Retire in Croatia

Back in 2018, my husband and I did something a lot of people only daydream about over coffee and Pinterest boards—we took an 8-month round-the-world trip. One half in Southeast Asia, the other in Europe.

We prepped like it was an Olympic sport. Spreadsheets, research, gear tests, packing trials, and colour-coded budgets that would impress the most efficient financial planner.

By the time we hit Croatia—one of our all-time favourite countries—we were riding high on sunshine, beach naps, and that very specific kind of joy you get from eating cheese and drinking wine in a centuries-old stone town.

We made our way from Dubrovnik to Korčula, then over to Hvar. And that’s when things took... a turn.

A Scooter Ride, a Blurry Eye, and Some Mild Panic

Naturally, we rented a scooter to explore Hvar’s old villages via the scenic Napoleonic Road. Everything was perfect—until mid-scooter ride, my right eye went blurry. Just for a second.

I figured it was sunscreen. Or dust. Or travel magic. I blinked it away and went back to pretending I was Audrey Hepburn on holiday.

That night, back at our apartment, my vision turned into a lava lamp. No pain—just eerie, slow-gliding blobs floating across my field of view.

I told my husband. He looked directly into it and confidently declared, “It looks totally normal.”

It was not normal. Unless lava lamp vision is trending now.

Cue: internal panic.

When You're on an Island and Your Eye Malfunctions

We were on an island. But luck was on our side—our landlord lived upstairs and offered to take me to the local clinic.

After some eye tests and the Croatian version of a shrug, they told me to head to the hospital in Split… on the mainland. Of course, ferries were done for the day.

Before heading to the mainland, we called our travel insurance provider to ensure they were informed of this situation and to get their guidance on next steps. Their golden advice: “Keep your receipts.”

The next morning, we boarded a two-hour ferry with the vague hope that someone in Split could tell me whether or not my eye was trying to quit its job.

Split Hospital: Bureaucratic Maze Meets Medical Mystery

The hospital in Split was a full-on Rubik’s Cube of healthcare. Different waiting rooms for different body parts—efficient, if mildly terrifying.

Eventually, we stumbled upon the waiting room for eye injuries (yes, that specific), and after some creative miming and hallway wandering, I found a nurse who spoke English. I latched onto her like my life depended on it. I didn’t speak Croatian, and naturally, that was the language all the health professionals were speaking as they gathered around to peer into my eye like it held state secrets.

Several rounds of poking, prodding, stinging eye drops, and an IV drip later, I turned to my newfound medical soulmate and asked the most Canadian question of all time:“How much is this going to cost?”

Her answer?, “Don’t worry—it won’t be much.” (Spoiler: I didn’t believe her.)

Eventually, the head ophthalmologist—the most respected eye doctor in the country—was called in. He diagnosed a temporary occlusion in one of the veins in my eye. Those floating blobs? Blood.

He explained it had already re-sealed and wasn’t permanent, but he wanted to keep me overnight for observation.

My next panicked question: “HOW MUCH WILL THAT COST?”

Cue more smiling reassurance: “Really. Not much.”

A Private Clinic, Designer Lighting, and the $350 Miracle

My husband rented an apartment near the hospital while I stayed overnight, hooked up to an IV and mentally calculating how many years we’d spend paying off foreign medical debt.

The next morning, the doctor recommended one more test—using advanced equipment. But the machine at the hospital? Broken. Of course, he had the same top-of-the-line machine at his private clinic.

Guess what I asked?,  “How much will that cost?”

And again: “Don’t worry.”

So off we went—me, my husband, my IV, and my anxiety—to a clinic that looked like a Vogue photoshoot: sleek furniture, designer lighting, and staff who all could’ve been models.

After hours of exams, I got the good news: The occlusion was harmless. My vision would clear up within the year. All I needed was minor blood thinners and rest.

We returned to the hospital, gathered my things, and—finally—went to pay.

The total bill? $350 CAD!

Yes, really. Hospital stay. Multiple doctors. Tests at a private clinic. Taxis. Two days of care.

$350 (insert sigh of relief).

And because I had travel insurance, I got reimbursed....Mostly.

The One Tiny Thing I Forgot

Remember when the insurance company said to “keep receipts”?

I did. But not all the originals. Turns out, photos of receipts don’t count. And mental notes definitely don’t.

That was the most painful lesson of all.

Moral of the Story: Why You Need Travel Insurance

• Travel insurance is not optional. Get it. Always.

• Keep original receipts. Photos are not enough. Paper matters.

• Trust your instincts. If something feels off—even if your eye “looks fine”—get it checked.

• Croatian public healthcare? Surprisingly excellent.

• IV poles? Unexpectedly comforting emotional support companions.

Have you ever had a medical mishap while travelling? What tips and tricks did you tap into to help you navigate through it?