Food for the body and soul

Bedside Manner Who?
Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Jerk, Medical Office, Mississippi, USA | Healthy | August 30, 2021
For many years, a local doctor was my primary care physician. She was also my pediatrician. I moved out of town a few years ago, but my insulin resistance has gotten worse, so I made the drive back to her because I thought I could trust her with my health. This is how it went.

Doctor: “So, you think you have insulin resistance?”

Me: “Uh, I do have it. It’s because of my PCOS. It was diagnosed a few years back—”

Doctor: “But you’re not on [medication]?

Me: “I thought I wasn’t able to be on any medication for it—”

Doctor: “You’ve been aware of this since seventh grade and you’ve never been on medication?! That’s such a shame; you’ve obviously retained so much weight. You wouldn’t be so overweight if someone had caught this sooner. By the looks of it, your pediatrician should have caught this in elementary school!”

Me: “Um… I was diagnosed here. I was told to just diet, exercise, and manage my PCOS to take care of it.”

Doctor: “Oh, God, it was probably [Other Doctor]. Don’t worry, she’s retired now, so—”

Me: “It was you, actually.”

Doctor: “I never diagnosed you with this. I told you I thought you had it. I didn’t say you actually did.”

I was confused out of my mind.

Me: “Um… Okay, but I do, in fact, have it. I’ve had it for years.”

An awkward silence fell.

Doctor: “Do you go to the lady doctor? Like a…” *whispers* “…gynecologist?”

Me: “Um, yeah, pretty regularly, for my PCOS.”

Doctor: “Well, she should have prescribed you [medication]! I’ll have to get in contact with her and let her know what she’s done.”

Because it’s totally my OBGYN’s job to treat my insulin resistance. She spent the next few minutes talking about my weight in the most insulting way possible.

Doctor: “It’s so sad you got to be so big!”

Keep in mind, I wear a large. I’m overweight but I’m not exactly the star of “My 600 Pound Life.” She made comments saying she could tell I had insulin resistance by the way I carried all my weight in my “front tire”. Yes, she loved calling my stomach a “front tire”. She pointed out every lump on my body in an “Aw, you poor baby!” kind of way. After all that, she gave me this gem.

Doctor: “Now I need you to go on this diet, but I don’t like calling it a diet! Putting patients on diets can make them feel bad about their bodies!”

Gee, lady, I sure would hate for you to make me self-conscious. Also, she recommended this diet immediately after I told her I was already on the very same diet. I don’t think she believed me.

Listen To Children… With A Grain Of Salt
Children, Health & Body, Playground, Siblings, UK | Healthy | August 28, 2021
My little sister and I are maybe six and thirteen, and we’re at an activity centre, thanks to a course that helps kids from disadvantaged families have a slightly more “normal” childhood. Usually, our dad drops us off, we spend the day doing fun stuff we don’t normally get the chance to do, and then he comes to pick us up.

Today, we have been dropped off a little early, and we’re playing tig while waiting for the other kids to arrive. My sister trips over a step and bangs her wrist. There appears to be a small cut, and she has tears in the corners of her eyes. The adults responsible for us ask if they need to call our dad, but I overrule them. I tell them it’s just a small cut; she’s being a crybaby and needs to get over it. She’s not even actually crying, just about to. The adults listen to me, but they really should not.

My dad has always been the kind of person who shouts at me whenever I cry, telling me off for crocodile tears and telling me I’m being ridiculous and such, so I’m projecting this onto my sister. My dad is autistic and the sound of us crying always causes him genuine pain, which means he can’t deal with us properly, but we won’t find this out for many years yet.

At the moment, all I know is that crying equals bad, and she needs to deal with the pain without crying like I have been expected to. Also, my sister has an incredibly high pain tolerance due to years of medical issues, so I should have known that if she’s feeling the pain, then the pain is serious. She can barely join in the activities that day because her wrist hurts so much, and one of the other kids makes her a sling from some of the material we have access to today. I just roll my eyes at this and continue playing as normal because, clearly, she’s being silly, and I’m not going to stop my fun to baby her.

Some hours later, our dad returns to collect us. The adults mention to him that she banged her wrist earlier but that it’s nothing to worry about. He removes her makeshift sling and her wrist is swollen. I don’t really get what he’s all upset about, but he takes us to the hospital to get it looked at, which I’m kind of numb to since we’ve been in them a lot, and I still don’t realise that this is serious. They find that her wrist is broken.

Looking back at the situation now, I’m horrified that these adults just accepted the word of an autistic preteen girl instead of appropriately dealing with the medical emergency, and I’m disgusted at my own attitude towards my sister’s pain. On the bright side, my sister’s wrist is no longer broken, and she hasn’t needed to be in hospital since before the health crisis, though she will need another appointment soon.

This More Painful Than Whatever You Had Done At Your Appointment
Impossible Demands, Medical Office, Reception, USA | Healthy | August 26, 2021
I am on Medicaid for a short time during college. When leaving the doctor’s office, I ask if there’s anything I owe and they tell me no. A few months later, I receive a bill in the mail from the doctor’s office for $3, along with instructions on how to pay it online. When I go online, the site tells me it won’t accept payments under $10, so I call their office.

Me: “I received a $3 bill from your office but it won’t accept the payment online since it’s under $10. Can I pay over the phone?”

Receptionist: “No, we don’t accept payments under $10 over the phone, either.”

Me: “Can I mail you the money, then, or drop it off during off-hours? My work schedule doesn’t work with your hours of operation.”

Receptionist: “No, it has to be in person.”

Me: “You’re only open from 9:00 am to 5:00 pm. I work from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm and only have a thirty-minute break. My workplace is a thirty-minute drive from your office. Are you really giving me no other option than asking for time off to drive an hours’ worth to pay $3?”

Receptionist: *Long pause* “I’ll waive the fee.”

Allergic To Using Her Brain
Canada, Medical Office, New Brunswick, Patients, Stupid | Healthy | August 24, 2021
I work for an orthopaedic surgeon and the number of patients who don’t know their medications or allergies is staggering! This patient just called in and we’re concerned about an infection after her surgery.

Me: “The doctor wants to get you on a general antibiotic to be safe. Can you tell me if you have any allergies?”

Patient: “I think I have a few, but I’m not sure. I will give you a call back.”

This isn’t a problem, and the patient calls back to give me a list of five or so allergies. The medication that the doctor wanted to give her is a derivative of one of her allergies, so we need to know what happens.

Me: “Can you tell me what happens when you take that antibiotic, please?”

Patient: “I can’t recall anything happening. I don’t think I’m even allergic. Let me ask my husband.”

I wait. The patient’s husband says he doesn’t know, so the patient is going to call a friend and get back to me. This is now the third time we’ve gone over this.

Patient: “I think you can go ahead and send that prescription. I don’t think I’m even allergic to it.”

Me: “So, just to be perfectly clear, you really don’t remember what happened the last time you took this medication?”

Patient: “Well, you know, I think the issue was that my throat started to close up.”

Cue me hitting my head on my desk.

Not Feeling So Good
Australia, Australian Capital Territory, Bizarre, Canberra, Doctor/Physician, Medical Office, Patients | Healthy | August 22, 2021
I went to my doctor for a very minor operation on my hand. He gave me two shots of local anaesthetic and we waited for a few moments for it to work. As soon as the scalpel touched my hand, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Doctor: *Puzzled* “You shouldn’t have felt that. You must be very sensitive. I’ll give you another shot.”

We waited a few minutes again. When the scalpel touched my hand, I jumped again.

Doctor: *Even more puzzled* “You shouldn’t have felt that. I can’t give you any more; it would be a bit risky.”

I just want to get it over and done with.

Me: “It’s not so bad. Go ahead and I’ll try not to react.”

The doctor carefully and successfully finishes the operation.

Doctor: ”Has this ever happened before? It looks like anaesthetics don’t work very well on you.”

Me: “I’ve never had any sort of anaesthetic, full or local, before.”

I drove home, a trip of about an hour. I sat down with a cup of tea, and suddenly, I lost all feeling in my body. Before I could react, I fell asleep. I woke up about three hours later with no apparent after-effects, apart from being worried.

A week later, I saw my doctor for a follow-up and told him what had happened.

Doctor: *Looking very concerned* “I’ve never heard of such a reaction before. It’s a good job it didn’t happen while you were driving home. I think that you had better be very careful about having any sort of anaesthetic in the future. I will put a DANGER note in your medical record.”

I now wear a bright orange “Anaesthetic Risk” medical alert wristband ALL THE TIME!

Sounds Like Someone’s About To Get Sued
Bank, Bizarre, Health & Body, Iowa, Nevada, Non-Dialogue, Office, USA | Healthy | August 19, 2021
I work for a major financial company. I was the manager of the branch in question. I worked long hours there. I was usually there from a few hours before open until significantly after close. I was the first person to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night. It was exhausting.

We were running on (essentially) a skeleton crew, so I had to be familiar with every position from janitor on out and fill in for anyone who was sick.

We were in a dense commercial block, with small antique shops, restaurants, other financial companies, and even a theatre.

I started getting headaches at work. Some days, they were so bad I threw up in the bathroom before driving home. It seemed that the longer I was at work, the worse I felt.

I started seeing the gas company van parked on the block more and more often. In a local restaurant, while enjoying lunch, I overheard that all of the commercial spaces near ours were complaining about gas smell.

One day, one of our clients complained of a gas smell in our branch. I didn’t smell anything. None of my coworkers smelled anything. But the guidance was clear on what to do; we called the gas company and reported that there was a gas smell.

We were told to leave the building, so we did dutifully, complaining the whole way. The gas company showed up with their tester. As he brought the tester device near my office, it started clicking. It started clicking really fast. The gas company guy turned to us, quite pale, and asked how we hadn’t exploded yet.

They evacuated us a few more blocks away. I remember a fire company person asking me if I was dizzy or nauseous. I was, but it was normal for me, so I was confused and didn’t know how to answer. I wish to this day I had answered, because my spouse had apparently noticed that I was mentally deteriorating the whole time, and even now, five years later, I’m noticeably slower and less mentally capable than I once was.

After they aired out the first floor with large vans that had large fans, I was brought back into the office to unlock the door to the basement, where the gas concentration was strongest. By now, I’d sent all my coworkers home with a promised full day’s pay.

I unlocked the door a bit nervously and was hustled away from it again while they went into the basement.

Earlier that year, in January, we’d gotten a new furnace. It turned out that they hadn’t joined the unions correctly and the furnace was leaking out gas at a prodigious rate. What actually saved us from an explosion was that there was very little oxygen down there, mostly just gas and carbon monoxide.

The basements of all of the commercial buildings on the block were separated by old crumbling brickwork, so the gas from my office was leaking into the neighboring commercial buildings, too. They all had to be aired out. All of the gas problems on the block were the fault of my faulty furnace.

And I was the one who’d suffered the most exposure to it, as we kept our secure documents in the basement, and I was the only one with the key, going down there every day, multiple times a day to retrieve or return documents.

I still work for the company, but in a different district far away. I still don’t know how to get compensation for any harm I may have suffered in those working conditions.

That’ll Put A Cramp In Your Theory
Colorado, Coworkers, Health & Body, Instant Karma, Jerk, Office, USA | Healthy | August 16, 2021
I am at work and start getting cramps. I have endometriosis so I need to get painkillers in my system before my period starts or I become incapacitated from the pain. I forgot to refill the container I bring to work, so I don’t have any pain relief on me.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], do you have any Tylenol? Or any other pain killers?”

Coworker: “No, I don’t take any medication. If you’re needing something like that, it means you have some deficiency, and your body’s telling you need to get more vitamins or water.”

Me: *Long pause* “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to help my chronic illness. I have endometriosis.”

Thankfully, she actually apologized for making assumptions and offered to ask others if they had any for me.

The Wannabe Mayor And His Spokesperson, Unmasked
Bad Behavior, Current Events, Indiana, Medical Office, Patients, USA | Healthy | August 14, 2021
A male patient and his girlfriend, both middle-aged, come into our clinic to check in for an appointment. The man says he is a new patient, so we have him fill out paperwork while he waits for his appointment. When they came in, they were not wearing masks. Even though restrictions in our state have loosened for masks, individual businesses still have a right to require masks upon entry. Regardless of the current restrictions or vaccination status, a health clinic that serves people sick with a number of contagious diseases would be a good place to wear a mask — or so you would think.

As the front desk receptionist, it is my job to inform people that we still require masks. To make these conversations more polite, I usually phrase it a different way.

Me: “Do you guys have masks with you, or do you need one?”

We have disposable masks available at the front door.

The girlfriend simply says, “No,” but neither of them makes a move to grab a mask when I point out our available stash. This is where I should insist, but I’m a shy twenty-one-year-old female and there are no other patients in the lobby, so I don’t push it. I figure the nurses will take care of it, and oh, boy, do they.

The provider that they are here to see is the sort that will take no substance from the cow’s behind. She is a great nurse practitioner that has been in the field for upwards of a decade. Her LPN (licensed practical nurse) — the one that brings patients back to rooms and gets them started — is equally so.

The LPN comes out and calls the man’s name. Both he and his girlfriend start to get up.

LPN: “Do you guys have masks?”

Girlfriend: “No.”

The LPN grabs two from the box at the front door and extends them to the man and his girlfriend.

LPN: “You’ll have to wear one for the appointment.”

At this, they explode.

Girlfriend: “Oh, no. We were told when we scheduled the appointment that masks were highly encouraged but not required. [Patient] won’t wear one.”

LPN: “Well, I can ask the provider if she would be okay with a face shield, but he’ll have to wear something.”

At no point in this conversation does the man, the actual patient, say anything. He just starts angrily pacing and indicating that he is leaving. After a few minutes, he does actually just walk out, leaving his girlfriend to fight his battle.

Girlfriend: “Whoever I talked to, that was the first question I asked: do we need to wear masks? I wouldn’t have scheduled the appointment if they were required. I was assured that they were not.”

Me: “Hm, that’s strange. Do you remember who you talked to? I will have to update them on our policy so they have the correct information.”

At this, the girlfriend sputters.

Girlfriend: “Well, I don’t remember who it was, but it wasn’t the person who scheduled us. It was a different person.”

I look to see who scheduled her appointment. It was someone in the billing department, which is strange because they don’t usually schedule appointments. I find out later that there was an issue with one of the regular schedulers and that the call was transferred incorrectly. No big deal.

The LPN goes to get the head nurse, which is the closest thing to a manager at our clinic. [Head Nurse] confirms the policy and reiterates that we can check with the provider, but that he will have to wear something during the appointment or he will not be seen. [Head Nurse] confirms with the provider that she will not see him without a mask. I believe her exact words are along the lines of, “He needs to put on his big boy pants and get over it. It’s a piece of cloth.”

The girlfriend just gets angrier.

Girlfriend: “You’re really not going to see him over this? Well, that sucks, because he hasn’t been to the doctor in over thirty years and he has diabetes. He’s going to lose his leg. He really needed this appointment.”

During her rant, I’m thinking to myself, “If he really needs this appointment, you would think he would suck it up and just wear the mask.”

Girlfriend: “When I scheduled the appointment, I told them he had two requirements. First, he wasn’t going to wear a mask. We were told that was fine. Second, he wasn’t going to let the doctor do certain tests. He didn’t want to be touched. He didn’t want a physical. He just wanted to be seen for diabetes.”

That would also be a problem because, as previously mentioned, the provider would not let that fly.

I’m still trying to remain as polite as possible.

Me: “I’m sorry, but that is our policy. I know it’s frustrating to be given wrong information, and I’ll try to make sure everyone in our clinic is aware of our policies when scheduling appointments in the future.”

After repeating what she had already said a couple more times, she left. I canceled the man’s appointment and put a BIG note in his chart about his unwillingness to wear a mask and about our current policy, just in case he tries to schedule again.

Here’s the kicker: I decided to Google this guy. He’s not technically a patient with us, so there’s no HIPAA violation. I started to type in his name, and wouldn’t ya know it, it auto-populated his last name followed by the city and state. Great, so this guy is someone important or had at least been in the news.

Well, it turns out that this guy ran for mayor a couple of years back. He was actually defeated by his opponent, which just so happened to be the son-in-law of one of the clinic’s providers. When I told the provider this, her reaction was priceless. “It’s THAT guy?!” Everyone in town was familiar with him and knew him as the resident a**hole.

I looked at his mayoral campaign site, and one of his talking points was concerning community health. Interesting. There was a blurb in there about needing to “listen to your body.” Very interesting, considering this guy apparently hasn’t been to the doctor in thirty years.

A “Falling For You” Joke Would Be Too Easy
Boyfriend/Girlfriend, Funny, Health & Body, Home, Northern Ireland, Patients, UK | Healthy | August 12, 2021
For obvious reasons, many of us in my country are being encouraged to do “staycations” this year rather than travelling abroad. As I plan day trips away with my husband and young daughter, I recall a summer, a number of years ago, where my ability to travel abroad was hindered, not by a global health crisis, but by personal injury.

At the time, I was in my early twenties, fresh out of university and living with my boyfriend. Northern Ireland was going through a heatwave, with temperatures in the high twenties or low thirties — high eighties, for our American friends. As a fair-skinned Irish girl, I was already struggling with the heat, but my struggle was made worse when, one Saturday morning, as I hurried downstairs wearing footwear not really suited to the purpose, I lost my balance, slipped, fell, and hurt my left leg. The pain was so bad that I ended up in the emergency department, where I was told that I’d broken my leg in three places. After a week in hospital, I came home with crutches, a cast that ran from my toes up past my knee, and a massive bruise to my pride!

A couple of weeks later, with the heatwave set to continue, I was pretty fed up. It was exhausting using crutches to move around and was worse in the oppressive July heat. My boyfriend was driving me home from an appointment and happened to mention how tired I looked. I confirmed that I WAS, in fact, exhausted, to which he gave no response, other than to nod. We pulled into our driveway.

Boyfriend: “Wait here!”

And then he leapt out of the car. He ran to the front door, unlocked and opened it, and then came back to the passenger side door, which he opened for me. As I struggled to work my way out of the car without bashing my cast — I’d learnt that the hard way — my boyfriend took my arm to guide me. With my casted leg off the ground, I reached in to grab my crutches, but my boyfriend stopped me. Before I could protest, he threw one arm behind my knees, and the other around my shoulders, and hoisted me up into his arms! I don’t like being lifted, even in normal circumstances, so I shrieked.

My boyfriend laughed.

Boyfriend: “[My Name], my darling! I’m going to carry you across the threshold!”

And he started for the door.

Me: *Laughing nervously* “Ahh… Okay, [Boyfriend], please just be careful that you don’t—”

Before the words “drop me” could leave my lips, he’d done just that! He must have lost his grip or whatever, but I slid out of his arms. As I was already stressed by the shock of being lifted suddenly, my body wasn’t exactly limp, and my right side smacked forcefully into the hard concrete driveway. I howled in pain and swore angrily at my boyfriend, who, looking sheepish, sank to his knees and started apologising profusely while trying to help me up. When it became apparent, however, that I was going nowhere, so intense was the pain, he disappeared into the house to phone for an ambulance.

The staff in the emergency department were surprised that I was back so soon — as was I! After a trip to X-ray, I was given the bad news: I’d shattered my right kneecap and broken my right wrist and elbow. I’d also injured my neck, which, thankfully, wasn’t broken but was quite badly sprained. After another week in hospital, I returned home — in a wheelchair this time — with casts now on my right knee and arm and a brace on my neck.

My boyfriend, probably as much motivated by guilt as concern for my well-being, spoiled me rotten for the next few painful months as I recovered. By the time I was back on my feet, summer was over and the heatwave had passed, giving way to cloudy, wet, and miserable weather. That summer changed me, and I no longer took good weather — or freedom to travel — for granted. My boyfriend changed, too, becoming less impulsive, and after several months of what he called “trying to make it up to me,” finally accepted that I’d forgiven him. He proposed to me the following spring, and we’ve been happily married ever since. But he thankfully never again offered to “carry me over the threshold”!

For The Record, This Is RIDICULOUS
California, Jerk, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, Nurses, Reception, USA | Healthy | August 10, 2021
I need the medical history of my vaccinations for education reasons. For a variety of other reasons, I do not have access to this yellow card that already has my history, so I call my doctor’s office.

Me: “Hi, my name is [My Name]. I’m a patient of [Doctor]. I’m just calling to ask if I could get a copy of my vaccination history.”

Receptionist #1 : “Your what?”

Me: “Oh, uh, my medical history?”

Receptionist #1 : “Why do you need that?”

Me: “I began going to university and I need that information to prove I’ve been vaccinated. Can you guys possibly email it, or do I have to come down?”

Receptionist #1 : “Uhhh, hold on.”

Eight minutes later:

Receptionist #1 : “Do you have a fax machine?”

Me: “Unfortunately, no.”

Receptionist #1 : “Then you have to come down to the office. It should be a quick visit.”

I make the appointment and go to their office. My mom and I already visited within the last few weeks. It was the start of a new year and insurance updating was already done. My mom got a misprint of her insurance card and went through a big hassle of getting their office to understand that the number on her card was right but the doctor’s name was wrong. I’m under her insurance as a dependent. After this confusion and debacle, the insurance company didn’t want to give my mom more than one properly fixed card, so she gave me the misprint.

I get to the office and they give me the usual forms to fill out and then ask for the card. I’m dealing with the person who I KNOW my mom dealt with last time, because he’s the only male receptionist among the other three women.

Me: “Just a reminder, the info on that card is inaccurate. The doctor’s name is [Doctor] but the number is right.”

Receptionist #2 : “Uh-huh.”

Approximately ten minutes later:

Receptionist #2 : “Miss! Your information is wrong!”

Me: “Yes, I know. I told you that already. It’s [proper information].”

He only looks from me to the card without even glancing at the computer.

Receptionist #2 : “No, I don’t think so. This is wrong. Do you have another card?”

Me: “No, I do not. Is it possible for you to just pull up my file or my mom’s?”

Receptionist #2 : “No. That’ll be $45 for today’s visit.”

Me: “What? I’m here to ask for my own medical history. Why is it so high?”

Receptionist #2 : “Because you don’t have insurance.”

I was literally in this office a few weeks ago.

Me: “You know what? Can you please just pull up my mom’s file? Her name is [Mom]. We have the same insurance information and hers is the correct one; it’s the same number.”

The receptionist makes a weird face at me and then flicks his hand in an indication for me to go sit down.

About fifteen minutes later:

Receptionist #2 : “Okay, fine. Your copay is just $15 dollars.”

I pay it and then go sit down to wait. Twenty minutes pass. I’m finally called in and they insist I be weighed. Disclaimer, I’m fat, and my weight hasn’t been under 180 pounds for years, and this office uses the old fashioned scale that has a weight and a balance slidey thing. As I’m being weighed, the nurse, who I’ve also seen for years, starts off on 160 before slowly moving the slider higher. Every time she does, she goes, “Oh, wow,” over and over again until we get to my actual weight. She then refuses to measure my height, despite that being the usual thing I’ve done for the last fifteen-plus years coming to this office.

I’m finally taken to a room and told to wait for the doctor. Ten or fifteen minutes later, someone finally comes in.

Nurse: “So, you’re here today to get your vaccine shots?”

Me: “What? No. I’m here for my vaccination history.”

Nurse: “Huh? Why didn’t you just call us?”

Me: “I did. You guys told me that because I don’t have a fax machine that I had to come down.”

The nurse looks back and forth from her chart to me before eyeing me suspiciously.

Nurse: “And what do you need this information for?”

Me: “I got into university and they want my vaccine history.”

Nurse: “Oooookay… Wait here.”

She leaves and I wait another ten minutes or so before she returns.

Nurse: “Can you email us the form you have to fill out?”

Me: “Uhh, it’s not a proper form? I just log into the school’s website, and on my profile, it gives me a prompt to fill it out. I took pictures of all the questions on my phone here.”

I show her the pictures.

Nurse: “Hmm… Are you sure there’s no other form?”

Me: “Absolutely.”

This time, she doesn’t say anything before she leaves the room and then comes back a few minutes later.

Nurse: “Okay, can you email us these pictures?”

I get that done and wait another ten minutes.

Nurse: “All right, so do you have the yellow card?”

Me: “No, I don’t have access to it.”

Nurse: “What?!”

I’m surprised at the suddenly loud and very shocked tone of her voice. She’s been monotone and suspicious this whole time.

Me: “I don’t have access to it. Things are complicated at home and I don’t have access to it.”

Nurse: “Well, can’t you just… ask for it?”

Me: “No, I can’t. That’s why I’m here: because I already tried my other options.”

Nurse: “All right, well, that yellow card has your medical history on it that you need. Unless you have that card, we can’t let you see your file.”

Me: “You— Wait, what? I’m asking for my history, and you’re telling me you can’t give me my own history… unless I have my history.”

Nurse: “Yes, because you need that card.”

Me: “I. Don’t. Have. It. That’s why I’m here to ask you guys — my doctor’s office — for my history.”

Nurse: “We can’t do that.”

Me: “Well, if I can’t see it, then can you at least just tell me the information that I need? I sent you the pictures.”

Nurse: “Hmmm, no, I don’t think so. Well, thank you for visiting.”

She gestures for me to leave the room.

Me: “No. Absolutely not. You guys tried to make me pay a ridiculous amount for copay I’ve never paid before, you guys did make me pay for copay anyway, and you are trying to turn me away without helping me. I haven’t even seen the doctor yet. I’m not leaving until I see the doctor.”

The nurse suddenly looks panicked and tells me to wait longer before leaving. It’s about another ten or fifteen minutes before the doctor actually shows up.

He basically sits in the office with me, holding my file, while I show and ask him the questions necessary and he tells me the dates. I’m still not allowed to see or hold my file. It comes to light there’s a vaccine shot that I actually need a renewal of, so that can also be done to get out of the way. He thanks me for coming into the office and tells me a nurse will help me with the vaccine.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for her to show up, and it’s the same nurse I’ve been dealing with this whole time. The shot gets done and over with rather quickly, and then she just leaves the room. She hasn’t uttered a single word to me the whole time. I sit there a bit confused, waiting for further instructions. The nurse then pops her head through the doorway.

Nurse: “Ummm, you can leave now, y’know.”

I was honestly a bit more surprised at the sudden attitude change than I was angry. When I got to the car, the surprised feeling was gone and I was definitely more than dissatisfied with the supposed “quick visit” that lasted from 9:30 am to 11:50 am.

Can’t Let The Cat Out Of The Bag With No Cat
Stupid, UK, Vet | Healthy | August 8, 2021
I am a veterinary surgeon in the middle of a very busy consulting session. I call my next appointment in — booked as “coughing” — and a man comes into my consulting room with no pet.

Me: “Where is your cat?”

Client: “Oh, she hates travelling, so I left her at home. I thought we could just discuss what to do.”

Me: “I can’t examine, diagnose, or treat a problem without actually seeing [Cat].”

Client: “So, I need to bring her, then?”

Me: “Yes.”

Client: “…”

Me: “…”

Client: “Shall I just go, then?”

Me: “Yes, please rebook for another time and bring her with you next time.”

He left. I mean… who deliberately doesn’t bring their pet for a veterinary appointment?

That’s One Ballsy Programmer
Coworkers, Funny, Health & Body, Maryland, Office, USA | Healthy | August 6, 2021
I’m a programmer and work in a room with a half dozen others. We often resort to good-natured teasing and complaining about each other, but I’m confident everyone knows it is in jest.

One of our coworkers has been making plans to be out in a few days for some surgery.

Me: “What is the surgery for, if you’re comfortable sharing?”

Coworker: “Oh, I’m an open book. I’m willing to share, but the real question is, do you really want to know? You can’t complain about it being too much information if you ask.”

Me: “Come on, tell us.”

Coworker: “Okay, you know how if someone does something really impressive, people will always say something like, ‘That guy has to have some huge cojones to do that.’?”

Me: “Yeah…?”

Coworker: “Well, it turns out that huge cojones aren’t as convenient as everyone made them out to be, and I’m apparently too awesome for my own good.”

He eventually goes on to explain that he has a hydrocele, which is some sort of liquid buildup on the outside of the testicle, making it grow larger until it gets in the way.

The day of his surgery, he is the only one not on vacation that can support some servers, so he comes in for two hours to check on the servers and have some sort of meeting before leaving for the surgery. When the time comes to leave, he has this to say.

Coworker: “Okay, folks. I hope none of you take this the wrong way, but I just realized I’d rather go get my balls chopped off than spend another moment here with all of you. See you on Monday.”

Doctors Don’t Know Everything
Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Italy, Lazy/Unhelpful | Healthy | August 4, 2021
A routine blood test shows that my levels of TSH — thyroid-stimulating hormone — are high, 4.2 mg/l. Basically, it means that my thyroid isn’t working properly: the normal value ought to be under 4.5. I start seeing an endocrinologist. At 5…

Endocrinologist: “Yes, yes. Nothing to worry about. Let’s just keep it monitored. See you next year.”

Next year, at 6…

Endocrinologist: “Well, well. There’s clearly something going on here, but I’d rather not start medicating as you’re still young. See you next year.”

Next year, at 8…

Endocrinologist: “I don’t like the look of this. If it keeps rising, we’ll have to put you on something. See you next year.”

I get in the family way, and eight months into my pregnancy, I’m examined by an obstetric, an old guard doctor with the manners of a constipated bear. He takes a look at my blood tests.

Obstetric: “Just what are you waiting for before you do something for that thyroid, lady? Your TSH is through the roof!”

Thyroid medication, of course, is prescription-only. I would have so liked to give him my endocrinologist’s number and watch the discussion.

There Is No Joy In Mudville
Bad Behavior, Children, Health & Body, Non-Dialogue, Sporting Event, USA, Wisconsin | Healthy | August 2, 2021
I have been playing baseball since I was about eight years old and this story takes place when I am eleven, in 1991.

There are a couple of league rules for our age group and the most important one is no cleating. For anyone unaware, this means that when you slide into base, you are not allowed to put your foot in the air with the spikes/cleats on the bottom of your shoe into the person guarding the base. You have to keep your feet down when sliding. Anyone that cleats will be kicked out of the game and suspended for other games or kicked from the league, depending on the infraction.

The season has just started, we’re only a few games in, and everyone is having fun. Today is the day my mom is volunteering at the concession stand, so she’s not down by the field watching my game. She can see us playing from where she’s at, but she can’t pay attention to all of the game since she’s helping people. My dad is working; he can’t be at the game at the start and will be around about halfway through.

The game is still pretty early, just starting the third inning. I’m put in to replace the pitcher. I take over the mound and there is a runner on third. The runner is the biggest kid in our league. He’s in sixth grade, but he’s already a good foot taller than most of us and weighs a good sixty pounds more than most of us, too.

I strike out the first batter I go up against. Two more outs to end this inning.

The next batter hits a pop fly out to shallow right-center field. The outfielder comes in and makes the catch, and the runner on third tags up on the base and starts to run to home plate, but he holds up as the outfielder throws the ball to the catcher. Unfortunately, the throw from the outfielder is wide and the ball goes behind the catcher and rolls to the backstop. My job now is to help cover home plate. The catcher runs back to the ball, turns, and tosses to me. Because the throw to home plate was bad, the runner on third runs home in an attempt to score.

I’m now straddling the side of home plate, waiting for the ball to come to me so I can attempt to tag the runner out. I catch the ball and swing my glove down to make the tag, but the runner slides into home and cleats me. He ends up cleating my left arm, kicking my arm out of the way, and forcing me to drop the ball. At the time, it doesn’t hurt, and I turn around to take a few steps to where the ball landed. I go to scoop the ball off the ground with my glove, and when I try to turn my arm, that’s when the pain strikes me. I drop to the ground in agony, clenching my left arm.

One of the other parents runs up to the concession stand and gets my mom. She comes over with a bag of ice and we end up leaving for the ER to get x-rays.

About thirty minutes after my mom and I leave, my dad shows up and he sits in the bleachers and starts watching the game. After about fifteen minutes, he notices that he doesn’t see me on the field and asks one of the moms sitting near him where I am. The lady tells him what happened and that I left to go to the ER.

My dad looks at the lady, with a deadpan face, and asks, “Did he make the out?”

The lady is so upset with my dad’s lack of concern — because she doesn’t understand that he’s joking — that she punches him in the arm, actually leaving a bruise, and tells him he should be ashamed of himself. My dad tries to tell her he was joking, but she wants nothing more to do with him.

The kid that cleated me broke my arm, and he is never kicked out of the game or suspended for cleating. In fact, he never receives any kind of disciplinary action against him… probably because he is the kid of one of the coaches. The kid develops a bad habit of cleating others until someone gets tired of it and cleats the kid back.

X-rays show a fractured ulna, and because some strain is put on the ulna when you twist your forearm, I can’t just have a short cast put on. I have to have a full arm cast — from my hand to my bicep — for six weeks.

I spend the summer being unable to do most things — playing ball, hitting up the pool with friends, and wrestling. The upside is that my mom feels so bad for me that she takes my younger brother and me to an amusement park. I can ride some of the roller coasters, and as we stand in line for a ride, one of the employees sees me and asks why I am waiting in line and not using the accessible entrance. He says I should be using that entrance and gives us a pass to use them. We get to bypass the long lines and I have a blast that day.

Some People Shouldn’t Be Nurses
Bad Behavior, Medical Office, Nurses, Ohio, USA | Healthy | July 30, 2021
I am newly eighteen, so at my doctor’s office, I have to fill out new paperwork — confidentiality and whatever they make you do. I’m a short, very light-skinned girl with bright blonde hair which is naturally dark brown but I dye it. My mother is from Cuba and her father is from Spain, so I am 50% Latina and Hispanic. I definitely don’t look it, which isn’t normally a problem. It’s more like a fun trivia tidbit about me.

On one of the papers I am filling out, it asks if I am Hispanic/Latina. I check yes, because I am. I give the nurse the paperwork and wait in the room for a doctor. I can hear some nurses outside the door in the office area talking rather loudly.

Nurse #1 : “She’s got blonde hair and blue eyes — perfect Aryan. I think she checked the wrong box.”

Nurse #2 : “Change it for her. Obviously, she got it wrong.”

Nurse #1 : “Maybe she’s trying to scam us. One of those people begging to be oppressed.”

For the record, I have deep brown eyes, not blue. But I’m very upset about the conversation I’m hearing. My ethnicity is not for them to decide or discuss, and my patient records are supposed to be confidential, not talked about in front of or to anyone.

The nurse comes back in and hands me the clipboard.

Nurse #1 : “I think you marked that wrong — the Hispanic/Latina question.”

Me: “Uh, I am both Hispanic and Latina. I’m Cuban and Spanish.”

Nurse #1 : “Are you sure?”

Me: “Are you sure you should be gossiping about your patients’ medical files to other nurses and whoever else can hear right in front of the door?”

She left without another word. I’ve considered switching from that office for a while, but I don’t go enough for it to be a huge problem. I’m still bothered by this incident, though.

One Wild Ride
Home, Hospital, Patients, Siblings, Texas, USA | Healthy | July 26, 2021
The summer before my brother starts college, we go to an amusement park. He drags me on a bunch of terrible rides and a fun time is had by all. A few days later, however…

Brother: “My stomach hurts.”

Mom: “Where? How bad is it?”

Brother: “It’s not bad, just kind of sore right here.”

He gestures vaguely to the middle of his stomach, so my mom dismisses his appendix.

Mom: “It’s probably bruised from the bars on the [ride]. It’s what you get for dragging your sister on it and flipping it over.”

Over the course of a week, the pain doesn’t subside, but my brother hasn’t mentioned it getting worse or anything like that. My mom lets it go for the moment but decides to take him to the doctor if it doesn’t get better by next week. Come the weekend, I find him lying down on the floor of his room.

Me: “[Brother], are you okay?”

Brother: “No, my stomach really hurts. I just took another Hydrocodone, and it still hurts.”

The Hydrocodone was for his oral surgery he’d had earlier in the year. That surgery bothered him so little he never ended up taking the pills and just left them in the medicine cabinet.

Me: “Don’t worry. I’ll get Mom and we’ll take you to the doctor, okay?”

I got to my mom’s room.

Me: “Mom, we need to take [Brother] to the doctor. His stomach hurts and he took another Hydrocodone.”

Mom: “He did what?”

She rushed out, collected my brother, and drove us to the emergency room. It turns out it was his appendix. It had actually ruptured partially, though thankfully his body had walled it off. He had to go in for emergency surgery. My parents were pissed he let himself suffer so much before getting help. He recovered fine and was more upset that he had a weight limit for his first two weeks at college.

Diagnosis: Unnecessary Anguish
Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Medical Office, Texas, USA | Healthy | July 24, 2021
In 2016, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Due to the cancer being estrogen-related, she opted out of chemotherapy and decided that the mastectomy and pills would be enough. I supported her 100% and even argued against doctors and my father when they tried to pressure her.

Two years later, her thyroid started acting up. She went in for multiple biopsies. While we waited for results, I started Googling if the breast cancer could have metastasized into her thyroid. A week went by, and she went to her regular doctor and was told that the results were cancer. We got a nice report that said whatever they found was malignant.

We were devastated, and I blamed myself for not pushing chemo on my mom. We got the results Wednesday and had to wait until Monday to see her cancer doctor. It was a bad week. The day of the appointment, I tagged along with my mom and dad so I could be kept informed. The doctor walked into the office smiling.

Doctor: “How are we doing today?”

Mom: “I don’t know, you tell me. Do you know what stage it is? Has it spread?”

Doctor: “Cancer?”

Mom: “In the thyroid?”

Doctor: “You don’t have cancer.”

Mom: “What? They told me it was cancer.”

That was apparently shocking enough that the doctor left the room to go talk with the other doctors who did the biopsy.

Doctor: “Well, I mean it’s not not cancer. We don’t know exactly what’s wrong. It needs to come out for sure, but it’s probably not cancer, and if it was, it’d be stage zero and not dangerous.”

I sat in silence while the doctor hashed out treatment and surgery options with my parents. I felt relieved but also annoyed and confused.

Me: “I read the report, though. Why’d they put ‘malignant’ if they didn’t know?”

Doctor: “Oh, well, sometimes they just need to put something on the report.”

It wasn’t cancer, by the way. The thyroid was two times bigger and three times heavier than it should have been and covered in nodes, but my mom made a full recovery and is healthy.

Cat Poop: It’s What’s For Dinner
Funny, Houston, Revolting, Texas, USA, Vet, Wordplay | Healthy | July 22, 2021
My cat’s name is Dinner; my boyfriend, who is Vietnamese American, named him. He hasn’t been feeling well (the cat), and the vet told me to bring in a fecal sample.

They are still doing business by car, so when I pull up and the vet tech comes out, I hand over the bag of poop.

Me: “This is for Dinner.”

Vet Tech: *Stammering* “Thank you?”

Then, I come to my senses.

Me: *Laughing* “It’s a sample from my cat, Dinner. The vet needs it.”

She was so professional and so polite, in spite of her “WTF” face.

Sometimes You Have To Go Off-Script
Australia, Current Events, Health & Body, Patients, Pharmacy, Retail | Healthy | July 20, 2021
I work in a pharmacy, so you can imagine that we get more than our fair share of sick, coughing people. Unfortunately, that also means that we get more than our fair share of people who insist they cannot wear a mask. While corporate has refused to allow us to use curbside service, my management HAS been very good at backing us up and insisting we can refuse service to people that don’t comply.

Customer: “Hi, I just need this script filled.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, can you please put on your mask?”

Customer: “No, I have a medical exemption.”

Me: “I’m afraid that I am going to have to insist.”

Customer: “I cannot wear a mask.”

Me: “Ma’am, we will refuse service to anyone who isn’t wearing a mask. Many of our customers are high-risk.”

At this, she lifts her script to press it flat against the plastic of the barrier between us.

Customer: “The sooner you give me these, the sooner I can leave and start taking them so that I can wear a mask. But I need this script first.”

I am about to keep arguing, but then I realise what the medication on the script is. It’s a strong prescription painkiller, used for nerve disease and shingles and its complications.

I then look at the woman’s face again, and I realise the redness on her cheeks and jaw are not embarrassment or just a ruddy complexion but inflammation.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll… get right on that.”

Could she have been clearer? Given the particular painkiller, probably not.

Crown This Lady “Worst Patient Of The Day”
Bad Behavior, Dentist, Instant Karma, Patients, Reddit | Healthy | CREDIT: EWhiskeyM | July 13, 2021
I’m a dental assistant for a private practice. Most of our patients are wonderful people — friendly, happy to see us, respectful of our professional opinions and recommendations, etc. But today, I had the most entitled jerk in for what should have been a simple appointment.

When we do crowns — or caps, as some people know them as — we prep the tooth beforehand and take an impression. Then, that impression goes to a lab and the techs there make the crown. It takes two or three weeks for them to send the crown back.

When we deliver the crown to the patient, the doctor and I try the crown in first to see how it fits. It is VERY rare that it fits perfectly. We almost always have to make some adjustments — shaving down the crown here and there, checking the space between the teeth, checking the bite, etc. All of this is standard. The main thing we use is called “articulating paper”. When the patient bites down on it, we can see heavy blue markings where the bite needs adjusting. The more we adjust, the lighter those marks get, and it even stops marking altogether sometimes.

Most exchanges with the patient are like this.

Us: “How’s it feel?”

Patient: “It’s a little high.”

Us: “Okay, we’ll adjust that.”

We use the articulating paper and then grind the crown down a little.

Us: “How’s it feel now?”

Patient: “Oh, that feels much better.”

Us: “Okay, cool. Let’s cement it in.”

This takes maybe five minutes AT MOST. This lady we had tonight was having none of it.

Us: “How’s it feel?”

Lady: “Ugh, it’s way off.”

Us: “Okay, we’ll adjust it. How’s it feel now?”

Lady: “The same.”

Us: “Umm, really? No change?”

Lady: “The same.”

Us: “Okay, no biggie. Let’s adjust more.”

Over and over, she kept insisting that it was exactly the same, no change, even though the marks were gone at this point, meaning that her other teeth were no longer even touching the crown.

At this point, we had a couple of options that the doctor presented to her.

Doctor: “I can keep adjusting the crown. The only issue is that if I keep reducing the porcelain on top, the metal underneath might end up showing. Are you okay with that?”

Lady: “No.”

Doctor: “Okay. Well then, I need to make a small adjustment to the tooth above this one so that they don’t touch. It’s very superficial.”

Lady: “No! Don’t touch my other teeth!”

Doctor: “We do this all the time, ma’am. It doesn’t harm the teeth. We’re basically just polishing it.”

Lady: “No! That’s a lie! If you guys did it correctly the first time, you wouldn’t have to adjust it at all!”

Doctor: “Ma’am, we do this for everyone. The lab almost never makes them perfect. We either have to adjust the crown itself or the opposing teeth.”

Lady: “No, you screwed up.”

Doctor: “We have to adjust one or the other, so which would you prefer? Do you want metal showing?”

Lady: “No!”

Me: “So we can polish the opposing tooth?”

Lady: “No!”

Me: “It’ll literally take a few seconds.”

Lady: “No, you’re lying! It’s gonna harm my teeth!”

The doctor suggests getting our office manager to talk to the patient. Our office manager is an awesome lady. She’s old — two years away from retirement — and doesn’t give a f*** anymore. I tell her the situation and she laughs.

Office Manager: “Okay, let’s make her wait another month. I don’t give a s***.”

I laugh as she marches right in there.

Office Manager: “Okay, ma’am. Since you don’t want this crown, we’ll send it back to the lab and have them redo it.”

So, instead of just waiting the sixty seconds for us to adjust, she now had to wait three weeks to come in again. And that was just to RE-PREP the tooth. Then, she had to wait another three weeks for the crown to come back from the lab, again.

She had every right to request that the crown be redone. That’s not my issue. My issue is that she accused us of lying, screamed at us, wouldn’t tell us why it felt “exactly the same,” and didn’t want any solutions we offered.