(Regrettably, our local university is the main reason that county STD rates are the second-highest in the state (the highest-ranking county is home to a naval base). Outbreaks are common and rather a grim joke with local healthcare providers. The county has purchased a new emergency radio system and one of their officers has arrived to train our staff on how to use the equipment.)
Instructor: “The great thing about this system is that it is linked to over two hundred towers, state-wide. This means that if you need to, you can communicate not only throughout the county, but with other jurisdictions as well. For example; let’s say you have to set up some kind of emergency clinic at the University for… I don’t know, what’s an epidemic that the students might experience there?”
Me: *without thinking* “Probably chlamydia.”
(My boss shushed me, but our director of nursing almost fell off her chair from laughing so hard.)
(I have been admitted to hospital for fainting spells. I am also diabetic and use injections. I am currently on my period, and for whatever reason I tend to bruise more often from the injections during this time.)
Nurse: *coming in while I’m getting changed* “Okay, this shouldn’t take very long. At most you should be— What are those?”
Me: “What are what?”
Nurse: *now angry and pointing at my thighs* “THOSE!”
Me: “Bruises, from insulin injections.”
(It looks like she doesn’t believe me as she turns and leaves. I have an MRI and CT scan, and now they need to do some blood tests. I am given some forms, which have already been filled out, but I’m asked to check to see if there is anything that has been missed. After the blood has been taken, a new medical officer comes in with my forms.)
Medical Officer: “Are you all right, dear? We just need to make sure everything is right before we do the tests.”
Me: “I already checked them and they’re fine.”
Medical Officer: “Yes, but we need more than just the medication you have been prescribed. We also need other drugs you may have taken recently.”
Me: “Again, already on the form.”
Medical Officer: “Any not-necessarily-legal drugs.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Medical Officer: “I may as well be open. Now, there’s no need to be ashamed, but we really need to know what drugs you are addicted to, and for how long. They could be what is causing your condition.”
Me: “I’m not on anything like that. What is this– Oh. Have any of the nurses spoken to you about my legs?”
Medical Officer: “There was an observation made that you use your legs for the injection site, yes.”
Me: “And did they also tell you that I’m diabetic as well, and that’s where I administer my insulin?” *shows her my legs*
Medical Officer: *doubtful* “That’s a lot of bruising for mere insulin injections.”
Me: “If I had been admitted a week ago, they wouldn’t be there. I’m on my period, and my injections always cause bruising while I’m on my period.”
(She still looks doubtful, but leaves me in peace. I’m really shook up by it and despite these two being the only people who think I’m a drug addict, I opt to leave and be seen elsewhere. I never find out the cause of my fainting, but it disappears within a month. Six months later, I’m back at said hospital for retinal screening. Lo and behold, the woman who sees me is the second one mentioned above. She recognises me.)
Medical Officer: “Oh, small world. How have you—”
Me: *lifting my skirt* “Do you see any bruises now? Do I look like a junkie now?”
Medical Officer: *blushing* “Oh, umm. No. I’m sorry about jumping to—”
Me: “Just save it. If you’ve been given this responsibility, after how you treated me, you can stuff it!”
(I then left and arranged to have all future screening done at a hospital nearly an hour away. It really makes you wonder why these two women, out of all the people who saw me that day, believed I was a drug addict because of bruising on one of the most common areas diabetics inject.)
(It’s the night shift in the hospital lab. I’m the scientist doing the nightly calibrating of our analyzers’ drug screen when the ER requests a drug screen, which I can’t run until I finish my calibrations; once I start, I can’t stop. We tell them it will be done as soon as possible, and we’ll rush the sample, which they’re okay with. Meanwhile, some plumbers are working on one of our sinks. The lead scientist comes to my bench to check on my progress and get a better ETA to tell the doctors.)
Lead Scientist: “How’s it coming over here?”
Me: “I’m almost ready. I just need to do cocaine and marijuana.”
Lead Scientist: *without missing a beat* “[My Name], you know better than to mix uppers and downers.”
(The plumbers all went silent and turned to look at us. I hope they didn’t think we were actually doing drugs.)
(I am fifteen and fortunate enough to be able to attend the birth of my baby sister with my dad. This takes place only an hour after she is born.)
Doctor: “Now, Mrs. [Mum], is it all right if a student doctor does the examination on your baby?”
Mum: “Yes, of course; they have to practice!”
Doctor: “[Student]! You can come in now!
Student: *examines my baby sister and then looks worried* “I’m going to refer [Sister] here. She is exhibiting signs of clicky hips.”
Mum: “Should we be worried? [My Name] didn’t have any of that. Is it going to affect her as she gets older?!”
Student: “It’s likely she’ll just have a little fabric harness. It’s easily corrected.”
(Two weeks later we are sitting in a clinic room in the hospital waiting for the doctor. My mum sits next to a lady with a toddler and a baby not much older than my sister.)
Lady: “Hello, why are you here?”
Mum: “We’ve been referred. Apparently, [Sister] has clicky hips.”
Lady: *looks surprised* “Same here! Did you have [Student] examine her?”
Mum: “Yes, that was him!”
Lady: “I’ve talked to three other ladies who’ve been referred, and each of their babies have absolutely nothing wrong. I’m betting it’s the same for our two!”
(It turned out the student had referred about twenty mothers over the two days he’d been in the department, and none of their babies had clicky hips!)
Hospital, USA, Wisconsin | Healthy | November 25, 2017
Customer: “I need my birth record in order to request a new Social Security card, because I don’t have a copy of my birth certificate.”
(This is a fairly common request, so I nod as I look over his Release of Information to make sure all the fields have been completed. Before I get to the end, he adds
Customer: “I wasn’t actually born at this hospital. Does that matter?”
California, Clinic, USA | Healthy | November 24, 2017
(I work for a non-profit medical clinic. Because the county we operate in provides a pretty broad range of services, we have a lot of patients who labor under the belief that we are associated with the county. We are not and never have been. I overhear my colleague who is working the front desk engaging with a patient.)
Patient: “So you’re part of the county, right?”
Colleague: “No, we are in no way associated with the county.”
Patient: “Oh, so you contract with them?”
Colleague: “No. We are not contracted by, subcontract with, or in any way work for or answer to the county.”
Patient: “So, you’re subcontracted with the county.”
Colleague: “No, we are not. We are in no way, shape, or form any part of the county services.”
Patient: *sounding confused* “Oh.”
(A moment later.)
Patient: “So can you send [paperwork] through this fax machine?” *gestures at printer*
Colleague: “That isn’t a fax machine.”
Patient: “Can you fax it from here?”
Colleague: “No, we do not have a fax machine here.”
Patient: *confused* “Oh.”
(After the patient has been called in to see the provider.)
Me: *to Colleague, teasing* “So hey, [Colleague], aren’t we part of the county?”
Colleague: *throws hands in the air* “Apparently!”
Me: “Someone should tell [Boss]. He won’t have to worry about that [specific] grant anymore!”
Grocery Store, Ohio, USA | Healthy | November 24, 2017
(I’m 20, and I use a wheelchair because my leg muscles can’t support me. I’m at the grocery store with my boyfriend and talking to someone at the bakery who we know personally when a woman walks up to us.)
Woman: “Oh, another lazy teen. Why can’t you just walk normally?”
Me: “Uhm, because I have a medical condition?”
Woman: “Don’t you lie! You just don’t wanna walk like everyone else!”
Boyfriend: “She can’t even stand up without assistance. She’s not lazy.”
Woman: “Oh, so you’re in on this, too?!” *looks at bakery clerk* “Do you see what this generation is doing?!”
Clerk: “Yeah, people who regularly see a doctor about their medical problems. She’s been in a wheelchair since I met her.”
Woman: “UGH! LAZY ENTITLED BRATS!” *storms off*
(We laugh after she leaves. The bakery clerk gives us a couple baked goods for half off for the trouble.)
(I work at a hospital. It’s my lunch break, so I go to sit with a friend, who works as a secretary for the hematology clinic. We’re just talking about stuff; there aren’t many clients when this one guy comes in.)
Client: “My name is [Client].”
Friend: “Just a second…” *goes through the appointment list*
(Should be noted that he should’ve brought a referral with him, which he didn’t. Nevertheless, we find the appointment on the list.)
Client: “My case.”
Friend: “Okay, I know. I’ll give it to the doctor—”
Client: “My case, now.”
Friend: “Okay, I get it, I’ll bring it to him now.”
(This guy then followed my friend around to the doctor’s room. When he left an hour later, he didn’t even acknowledge us. He just talked loudly on his phone until my friend gave him his next appointment date and then he just left. That’s an a**-hole, if you ask me…)
Hospital, North Carolina, Religion, USA | Healthy | November 23, 2017
(I am a white teenage girl, just admitted to a ward and I am asleep. The nurse saw me come in with a t-shirt and jeans even though now I’m in a normal hospital gown.)
Dad: “Can my daughter get special meals?”
Nurse: “What kind? Is it an allergy?”
Dad: “She’s Muslim and needs halal food.”
Nurse: *odd look* “Muslim?”
Dad: “Yes.”
Nurse: “That’s ridiculous. She didn’t wear a hijab.”
Dad: “She rarely does, but she is Muslim.”
Nurse: “Then she isn’t really Muslim. She just plays dress up and has a fad diet like all teenagers.” *starts leaving*
Dad: “Oi! She is Muslim and needs halal food. She’s strict about that.”
Nurse: “Yeah, right.”
(My dad gave up and found another nurse who understood and made sure I got halal meals. It could have been much worse.)
Hospital, Switzerland | Healthy | November 22, 2017
(I’m staying at the hospital because of an exploded appendix. Unfortunately, the surgery goes wrong and I end up with several complications. One of them includes not being able to hold any liquid, not even the liquid my stomach produces. So despite not eating or drinking anything, I spend several days (around a week) vomiting up green goo until I finally manage to get that under control. A few days later, I’m chatting with a nurse when I suddenly feel the need to barf again! Thankfully, there’s a vomit-bag sitting right next to the nurse.)
Me: *with some urgency* “Can you please give me the vomit bag?”
Nurse: *shocked* “What? I thought you were done with that?”
(At this point I’m afraid that if I talk any more I will just start projectile vomiting so I just stare at her, hoping she’ll get the hint. But the nurse just stares back at me for what seems like an eternity, expecting me to answer the question.)
Me: “Quickly!”
(The nurse finally scrambled to get the bag, but by the time she got it, I’d already started vomiting all over the floor. I sure hope she’ll be more attentive in the future!)
(I work at a long-term care pharmacy. We service patients in nursing homes, assisted living, etc. and bill prescription costs monthly. Of course, this means we have trouble with people not paying their bill. Part of my job is to make collections calls. I hear all kinds of excuses, but this was a first.)
Man: “Hello?”
Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] calling from [Pharmacy]. Is [Person #1 ] available?”
Man: “Nope, he’s in jail over in [County].”
Me: *not sure how to respond* “I’m sorry to hear that… I also have [Person #2 ] listed as an authorized contact. May I speak with her?”
Man: “Nope, can’t talk to her either. She’s dead.”
Me: *now REALLY not sure how to respond* “I’m sorry to hear that, too. I’m calling in reference to [Patient]’s account. Who could I speak with that handles [Patient]’s finances?”
Man: “Not him. He’s dead now, too. His wife’s still living but she’s got ‘all-timers’ disease so she won’t be much help.”
Me: *basically at a loss for words at this point* “There must be someone handling [Patient]’s estate. Who would that be?”
Man: “Couldn’t tell you. The only one I know of that’s not dead, locked up, or crazy is [Person #3 ]. She’s probably the best you’re going to get.”
(Turned out [Person #3 ] was extremely nice and helpful, and promptly sent a check for the full balance. She must have been the shining star in a family of “dead, locked up, and crazy!”)
Extra Stupid, Money, Pharmacy, USA | Healthy | November 22, 2017
(I work at a long-term care pharmacy. We bill prescriptions monthly, and always get angry phone calls a few days after statements go out.)
Me: “[Pharmacy], this is [My Name]. How can I help you?”
Angry Man: “What kind of scam are you all running out there?”
Me: “Sir?”
Angry Man: “Do you think you’re going to get away with charging these outrageous prices? I should report you for robbery!”
Me: “If you have questions about any charges, I’d be happy to explain them to you.”
Angry Man: “As a matter of fact you can! I’d like to know why you’re charging me $50 for a month’s worth of [medication]!”
(I pull up the claim and go through my normal spiel of how we submit a claim to the insurance company, they respond with how much they’ll pay and how much of a copay we need to collect from the patient, and how we have no influence over the cost of the copay, as this is determined by the plan, etc.)
Angry Man: “Well then, how come I can go to [Other Pharmacy] and get three months’ worth for $150?”
Me: “Sir, that’s the same price.”
Angry Man: “You’re trying to tell me that $50 and $150 are the same thing? How stupid can you be to have your job?”
Me: *remembering to be professional and not sarcastic* “No, sir. I’m telling you that $50 for a 30 day supply and $150 for a 90 day supply is exactly the same price.”
Angry Man: “I can’t pay $50 every month for one prescription! I’ll go broke! I’m going to be using [Other Pharmacy] from now on so I can get more for a decent price! And I’m going up to [Nursing Home] and telling everyone there that you’re robbing them!”
Me: *slowly losing professionalism* “You have the right to use whatever pharmacy you like. If you feel the need to tell them that, I can’t stop you. But if they can do basic math, they’ll realize that copays are no different with us than they are anywhere else.”
Angry Man: “I know the tactics you people use to try to confuse me. You talk over my head hoping I’ll give up and pay your ridiculous price! You’re not going to fool me. I’m no dumb-a**!”
(At this point I was contemplating whether it would be worth the complaint I’d get if I said “Well, sir, you certainly could’ve fooled me,” but he slammed the phone down, making my decision for me. People are unbelievably dumb!)
Boston, Family & Kids, Massachusetts, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | November 21, 2017
(I am a pediatrician. A woman has come in with her little girl who is suffering from a rather infected finger. He diagnoses her with a staph infection, prescribes some antibiotics, and sends them home. At the end of the antibiotics the woman is back in his office, and the infection has spread to several areas; a spot on the little girl’s face, the inside of her nose, and a spot on her leg. She demands that I run a million tests because I’m clearly a “failure of a doctor.”)
Me: “Ma’am, it appears that your daughter has spread the infection to other areas of her body, most likely through scratches or by touching a scratch that was already there.”
Mother: “That’s impossible! How would she get one in her nose? You’re just making excuses because you don’t want to run any tests!”
Me: “I can assure you, ma’am, that’s not the case. If I felt the need to, I would certainly run more tests, but there is no need for all that time, effort, and money when I can clearly see what the cause is. It’s more than 99% certain that she spread it through her nose by a scratch as the bacteria causing the infection is located under her fingernails. She picked her nose, scratched it, and spread the infection there.”
Mother: *turns bright red* “That’s ridiculous! My little princess would never do anything so disgusting as pick her nose! We’re just going to go and get a second opinion! You’ll be run out of business, you’ll see!”
(We turn around to see her “little princess” with a finger very far up her nose indeed. The mother grows nearly purple at this point and swats her daughter’s hand away from her face.)
Me: “So I’ll be prescribing that next round of antibiotics, then?”
England, Hospital, Non-Dialogue, UK | Healthy | November 21, 2017
Before I retired, I spent many years working permanent nights in operating theatres, giving skilled assistance to the anaesthetist. We performed emergency surgery in quite a few fields but our main area of expertise was plastic surgery.
One night, a young man was brought into the anaesthetic room conscious, calm, and pain-free. We started to talk about what had happened to him. He was a competitive archer and he presented with a carbon fibre arrow through his left hand! On one side there was about a foot of gleaming black arrow with a perfect flight and on the other side there was a hideous splay of fractured carbon fibre. He explained that the only problem with carbon fibre arrows is that they are susceptible to damage if one strikes another in the target. He simply didn’t notice that this particular arrow had been weakened and when he released it the torque caused it to fracture and it punched through his hand.
I started to formally check him in: looking at his wristband I asked him to state his name and date of birth. Both tallied. “When did you last have anything to eat or drink?” Quite a few hours, so no problem. “Are you allergic to anything, especially any drugs or medicines?” No allergies. “Do you have any jewellery or body piercings?” He gestured towards his left hand: “Oh, just the one…”
I felt myself going bright red and we both giggled. We sent him off to sleep and the surgeon removed the arrow, cleaned up and debrided the wound, and carefully checked to see if he’d damaged any of the structures inside his hand. Fortunately, nothing significant had been affected – he was very lucky.
On nights we multitask, so I had to supervise his recovery from the anaesthetic. Before discharging him to the ward, I made sure that he could remember his snappy reply. “You’ll be dining out on that one, I’m sure!”
California, Phone, USA | Healthy | November 21, 2017
(I’ve had some pain for several weeks, but recently had a medical test that found nothing wrong. After telling me this result, the doctor left and sent me on my way without any recommendations about how to feel better. I was frustrated so I asked her assistant to have the doctor call me back as soon as possible. I don’t get the call for a few days, and when the doctor finally does call, she sounds annoyed and uninterested.)
Doctor: *on the phone* “So there’s really nothing I can do for you. This sort of thing happens to everyone as they get older…” *stops listening to me and launches into a long standard spiel about aging and health*
Me: *struggling to get a word in edgewise, I finally have an idea* “So, how are you feeling?”
Doctor: “Wha… what?”
Me: *trying not to laugh at how I finally stopped her in her tracks* “I said, how are you feeling?”
Doctor: “You… you’re not supposed to ask me that! I’m supposed to tell you what to do!”
Me: “Well, you must feel one way or another. You are human, right?”
Doctor: *speechless*
(When she finally got her brain back on track, she humbly recommended a doctor at a different hospital who might actually be able to help me!)
Hospital, Las Vegas, Nevada, USA | Healthy | November 20, 2017
(I am in so much pain that I have a friend drive me to the ER. Note: I commonly have stomach problems and this pain is certainly NOT in my stomach. I get seen fairly quickly and given pain medicine but am still in some pain in spite of it.)
Doctor: “Did you recently have the flu?”
Me: “Yes, but this isn’t the flu.”
Doctor: “Yes, it is; it is causing you more pain because you’ve gotten it two times in a row. The pain is in your colon.”
Me: “I’ve had issues like that before. This is not it. Digestive pain does not happen on one side. Check your tests again.”
(The doctor leaves. I continue to experience pain and walk around to try to relieve it as sitting down seems to make it worse. Finally a nurse comes and tells me they are taking me to get an ultrasound.)
Me: “So what happened? Did he finally believe me?”
Nurse: “Yes, your pee sample came back and you had blood in it. You probably have a kidney stone.”
(Guess what was confirmed by the ultrasound? Never have I wanted to punch a doctor so badly. The flu indeed!)
Hospital, Iowa, Punny, USA | Healthy | November 20, 2017
(I’m in the ER with some potential heart issues. At one point, I get a very nice lady in to draw some blood, and she’s joined by a coworker who’s about to go off shift. My elbow veins aren’t cooperating, so I have to get blood drawn from the back of my hand as well. It goes faster after that, and soon, the lady who’s leaving heads out, then pokes her head back in the door.)
Phlebotomist: “Thanks for letting me stick around!”
(My mom and I couldn’t stop laughing. Definitely made the whole visit bearable!)
Australia, Hospital, New South Wales, Sydney | Healthy | November 20, 2017
(It took my husband and me several years to conceive. I wasn’t overly impressed with my induced labour of 48 hours that resulted in emergency C-section, and I struggle with breastfeeding that can’t be resolved by any method. I am feeling pretty down about not being able to do anything unassisted and am not 100% happy about having to top up every meal with formula but I am determined to keep going with breastfeeding. I’ll admit this is probably out of stubbornness, but it means a lot to me. Meanwhile, I have to have an MRI that I had to reschedule while pregnant and when I make the appointment, I ask if it is safe while breastfeeding. I am assured it is and though I am dubious, I will admit that I don’t look into it further, assuming they know better than I do. The appointment comes up and I leave my six-week-old baby for the first time with my husband and drive myself (also for the first time since the operation) to the radiologist.)
Receptionist: “Yes?”
Me: “Hello, I have an appointment for an MRI. My name is [My Name].”
Receptionist: “Here.”
(She thrusts paperwork at me. I fill it out, listing my allergies and so on, and note that there’s a question asking if I might be pregnant or breastfeeding. I put a tick next to it and finish the form. Handing it back to the receptionist, I ask about the question. She says it’s fine and tells me to sit down. Since I am the last patient of the day, I am taken in before I have a chance to ask her more and I figure it’s better to ask the tech anyway. The radiologist technician glances briefly at my form and sprints off down the corridor with me struggling to keep up. He obviously wants to get out for the day because he’s saying all his introductory explanation spiel to me similar to the squirrel from Hoodwinked. When he comes up for air, I manage to talk.)
Me: “The form asked me if I am breastfeeding.”
Tech: *casually* “Yes, you can’t breastfeed.”
Me: *thinking over his poor choice of words*
Tech: “…are you breastfeeding?”
Me: “Yes, I am breastfeeding. I did ask about this when I booked the appointment. They said it’s fine.”
Tech: “We have to put the dye in you and it’s toxic so you can’t breastfeed for three days after the MRI.”
Me: “That doesn’t explain why they didn’t tell me this when I booked.”
Tech: *looks confused*
Me: “I asked reception today, too. She said it’s fine.”
Tech: “What would they know?”
Me: “Actually, I’d imagine they’d know who can and cannot come for an MRI since it’s their job to book and take appointments.”
Tech: “Oh, yeah, probably then. Well, I can’t answer for them but the dye is toxic. You can’t breastfeed for three days. So just don’t breastfeed and you’ll be all right.”
Me: “That’s okay. I will just reschedule.”
Tech: “Can’t you just stop for a few days?”
Me: *feeling pretty crappy* “I am sorry but I can’t just casually stop breastfeeding.”
Tech: “Just breastfeed more and store up milk for three days.”
Me: “…”
Tech: *cheerfully* “You know you can freeze it, right?”
Me: “It would take me at least a month to build up three days worth.”
Tech: “Okay, we’ll reschedule for a month. That will give you time.”
Me: “…”
Tech: *getting irritated* “Or, just go buy formula. It’s really not that bad.”
Me: “Of course formula isn’t bad, but that’s not the point. If I stop I might not be able to keep going at all.”
Tech: *getting angry* “Then go buy a pump and just throw it away for three days. But make sure you wash it properly because it’s toxic.”
(I am thinking this is not his business and I don’t want to talk about it, but also as I am now teetering on a cliff between furious and devastated, I go on.)
Me: “I need to physically feed her and I can’t just stop. Yes, I pump, but I need to do both. It’s not your business but I have been through too much to throw it away casually like you want me to. Forget the MRI. I am leaving.”
Tech: *cheerful as his work day has ended sooner than he expected* “No worries. We can book you in when you’re ready.”
Me: “Thanks, but I will go somewhere else, with properly trained staff who know what services they can and cannot provide and give proper information in an understanding way, when I am no longer breastfeeding.”
(I was temporarily impressed with my own ability to string more that three words together because I never stick up for myself and I was shaking like a leaf, and I made my way back down the maze like corridors without getting lost. I also managed to get my referral back from the receptionist who talked to the tech in front of me about how I couldn’t get the MRI because I am breastfeeding, to which the receptionist asked “so when do you want to rebook?” and I responded “like h*** I will be,” before leaving and getting in my car. I cried in the car and they never knew it. For that, I was thankful.)
Canada, Marriage & Partners, Ontario, Optometrist/Optician, Toronto | Healthy | November 19, 2017
(I walk into my optometrist’s office and find a new secretary. I’m curious about what happened to “Jane,” the last one, especially since “Jane” and the doctor were married! I’m the only one in the office right now so I decide to be nosey
Me: *after the preliminary sign in conversation* “So, Jane is no longer here?”
New Secretary: “No, she’s gone.”
Me: “I’m surprised considering her relationship with the Doctor.”
New Secretary: “It was all very awkward, Jane needed to start wearing glasses but she refused to. The doctor had to fire her because she was giving out the wrong prescriptions to people and messing up things like that.”
Me: “Ooh, that’s not good. Wait, she was married to an optometrist and worked in an optometrist’s office and refused to wear glasses?”
New Secretary: “Yup. I shouldn’t say this but I believe it was a case of vanity gone wrong. They’re getting divorced now, too.”
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