(An order comes to my pharmacy for a well-known antibiotic. This antibiotic is known to smell exactly like rotten eggs, so most of us just hold our breath while we count it and try not to think about it too much. We dispense it to a woman who is picking it up for her teenage son. Everything is normal and she leaves with the prescription, but about 10 minutes later she comes stomping back into the pharmacy, pretty much shoves the person that I am currently helping out of the way, and throws the bottle of medication on the counter.)
Customer: “I want to speak to your manager right now! You guys gave me rotten medication!”
Me: “Really? Let me look at the expiration date on your bottle. Normally we don’t keep anything that has one less than a year away.”
(I look at the bottle and see that the pharmacist wrote a date of over a year away, and I go over to our stock bottle and check and the numbers correspond with each other.)
Me: “Hmm. Well, ma’am, it doesn’t look like this medication is expired but I will have the phar—”
Customer: “You are just lying! I mean, come on and open that bottle! It smells totally rotten! I can’t believe that you would ever give someone bad medication! My son is very very ill!”
Me: “Oh, that’s just because the active chemical that is in this medication has a bad smell. Trust me, I wish there was something that we could do about it back here, too. Most of us hold our breath while we count it.”
Customer: “Stop ****** lying to me. You just don’t want to admit you did something wrong! I will have your job for this, b****!
(At this point the pharmacist who has been listening the whole time walks over.)
Pharmacist: “Ma’am, while I don’t like the fact that you are calling my staff names like that I will let you know two things. One is, certain chemicals have a bad smell. It’s just a fact of life. So, while I know that smell is unpleasant, it’s just one of those side effects that come with being able to take medications that will help your sick son. I assure you it’s supposed to smell that bad. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t work right. Two, since you don’t seem to want to listen to my employees and call them awful names, this will be the last time that you or any members of your family can shop or fill any type of medication here. Maybe in the future you can learn how to treat people the way you want to be treated.”
(The woman proceeded to turn bright red with embarrassment and tried to apologize, but my boss wouldn’t hear it. That was almost two years ago and he still will not allow her or her family to fill their prescriptions at his pharmacy.)
(My doctor’s appointment is at two pm. The nearest bus stop is an hour from my house, so I have to catch a ride with my mom at seven am. Her work has a bus stop right next to it. By eleven am, I have finally made it to the hospital. I go to the front desk to check in.)
Me: “Hi! I know I’m early, sorry, but I can just wait.”
Nurse: *loud sigh* “I’ll see if I can have him see you earlier.”
Me: “No, it’s really fine. I ride the bus, so I’m always early because I’m afraid of being late. It’s fine. I’m sorry I’m so early.”
Nurse: “Just sit down.”
(I went to sit down and listened as she called the doctor. Even though I didn’t want her to, she fiddled with the schedule until the doctor could see me early. The vitals nurse and doctor told me how inconsiderate I was for wanting to be seen early. It is a miserable appointment.)
Chicago, Illinois, Spa, USA | Healthy | November 12, 2017
(Where I work the hands-on part of the massage is 50 minutes. There is a client who knows this, as I and others have told him several times, yet he always pretends to be surprised and mad about it. He has been coming in two or three times a month for over a year. It always goes something like this
Me: *after discussing what he wants worked on* “Okay, you can undress and start face down, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
Client: “A couple minutes?! Why? I’ll only be ten seconds! Don’t go anywhere.”
Me: “I need to return your file up front and wash my hands. I’ll be two minutes.”
Client: “I only need ten second to undress.”
Me: “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple minutes.” *closes door*
(Often when I’m in the break room washing my hands I can hear his voice out in the hall saying: “I’m ready! Hello? Hello?” I give him his 50 minutes hands-on massage, and end at, say, 6:55.)
Me: “Okay, thank you. I’ll go get you some water and—”
Client: “Done?! Already?”
Me: “I’m afraid so!”
Client: “Why?”
Me: “Well, that’s all of our time. I have another client at seven.”
Client: “Yes, so we have five more minutes.”
Me: “The hands on portion of our massage is 50 minutes.” *as you’ve been told several times, you idiot!*
Client: “Why?”
Me: “I’ll go get you your water and meet you in the hall.”
(He is sometimes grumpy when he meets me in the hall, or sometimes he thanks me and says he feels great. Either way, he always complains to the front desk that I ended five minutes early, and they always tell him that I did not and that he paid for a 50 minute hands-on massage!)
Hospital, Montana, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | November 11, 2017
In a matter of two days, what I thought was a pimple in my nostril turned into something horrific. I wake up in the middle of the night to the entire lower half of my face swollen. I have a high fever. I have no choice but to venture to the ER.
The whole time the ER nurses are questioning me, I’m feeling condescended to. They seem to think that since I’m not in a great deal of pain that the swelling can be written off as basically nothing. They give me three pills to send me on my way. The next night the swelling is worse, I’m throwing up and in a great deal of pain. I return to the ER. They “lance” my nose but hardly try to get anything out. They give me more of the same pills and Percocet. They claim the swelling will go away in 24 hours and not to worry; it’s nothing serious.
My aunt and mother grow extremely concerned. My aunt calls around and finds a nose specialist/surgeon. I talk to him on the phone. He wants to see me immediately — also, it’s his day off! My mother ends up flying in because she is so worried. She makes it just in time and goes in the room with me to see the specialist. He takes one look at me and says, “We need to perform surgery immediately.”
He essentially had to cut open my nose, drain it, and put a tube in it. He got about a cup’s worth of infection out. After the surgery, he pulls my mother aside and asks what the emergency room tried to do help me to get better. To sum it up they essentially gave me the wrong type of medicine and overlooked my condition. He tells my mother that if I waited another couple days to see him I might have died. The infection could have traveled in my blood stream to my brain and become deadly. This happens frequently due to the location of the infection, and people die from ERs overlooking it.
Hospital, Non-Dialogue, Oklahoma, USA | Healthy | November 10, 2017
My boyfriend is away on a trip for several days. On the first day he scrapes his leg on something, but the cut isn’t deep and he doesn’t think anything about it. By the end of his trip, his leg is swollen, sore, and hot to the touch. When he gets home he can barely put weight on it, and once we get ice on it and the swelling goes down, we see that his calf muscle is knotted up, creating a huge ‘dent’ in his leg. Worried that it could be something like a blood clot, I insist on rushing him to the ER.
We get there, and my boyfriend insists on walking in, though I drop him off as close to the doors as I can, so he doesn’t have to limp too far. He almost doesn’t make it through signing all of the paperwork because standing hurts so much. We get to the back quickly, and a doctor sees us and states that they will do an ultrasound to rule out a clot. All good so far.
After the ultrasound tech leaves we wait. And wait. For about an hour.
Finally a nurse comes in and asks if we’re ready to leave. After some confused glances, we point out that we were never given a diagnosis. The nurse apologizes, saying she thought we’d already spoken to the doctor because our paperwork was up for discharge, but she’ll go get him right away.
Okaaay…
The doctor comes in, tells us it isn’t a clot, and that it must be an infection. What kind of infection is not stated (they didn’t test to find out), and she bids us goodbye after stating that there will be a prescription for antibiotics for him at our pharmacy.
Then my boyfriend tries to get up… but can’t. After an hour and a half of having his leg elevated, bringing it below waist level is incredibly painful and he can’t manage it. Note: I am 5’3″ and 170 lbs; he is 6’4″ and 260 lbs. I cannot help him out alone.
I go out into the main hall and explain the situation to the doctor, and how we need some way to get my boyfriend up and out of the ER. He says, okay, we’ll get him some pain medication. Cool. Sounds like a plan. So we wait again.
For. Another. HOUR.
Finally I venture out again and flag down a nurse. Guess what: THEY FORGOT WE WERE STILL THERE. Like, just completely forgot a patient was still in a room.
The nurse has to go flag down the doctor again, and I go back to the room. Not too long after, a new nurse comes in and hands my boyfriend a piece of paper. It’s a scrip for pain medication, to be filled at our pharmacy. So… you know… not helpful in the least with our current predicament.
We explain to the nurse the problem, and she responds, in the most condescending voice possible, ‘Well, you walked INTO the ER, so clearly you CAN walk.’
Both my boyfriend and myself are just stunned by the audacity of the statement. When he came in at triage he gave his pain as an eight. We are now telling them it has gotten worse, and the response we’re getting is basically ‘walk it off, p****.’
Attempts to reason with her are fruitless — she just repeats the same thing to us and even implies that we are being ungrateful for the better prescription for pain medicine (‘Originally, we were only prescribing you ibuprofen, but we were nice enough to write you this prescription, too’). After arguing in circles with her for a few minutes, my boyfriend builds up enough rage-adrenaline to heave himself out of bed and just grit through the pain, though he turns bright red in doing it. The nurse seems to take this as a victory and flounces off — no offer for a wheelchair or crutches, even just to get to the car.
On the way to the car we agreed that unless one of us is actively dying, we’re going to the next town over for ER care from now on.
Hospital, Kansas, USA | Healthy | November 10, 2017
(Earlier this year I have cataract surgery on my right eye, and I am very nervous about it, never having had eye surgery before. The nurse knows this and is doing her best to keep me calm while waiting for the surgeon. Then this happens
California, Hospital, Language & Words, USA | Healthy | November 10, 2017
(I, and two friends, go to visit a friend in the hospital. We know his room number, but it doesn’t correlate to the floor he is on, so we head back down to reception to find that out. When we get there, there are people ahead of us. One of them rips into the receptionist (who is in a security guard uniform) because they hadn’t been speaking English. At least half the population of Orange County speaks Spanish, if not natively, very fluently, like most of southern California. I offer my opinion
Me: “I think the basic problem here is that you’re an a**-hole.”
Man: “You think I’m an a**-hole because I think they should speak English?”
Me: “Yes. That’s why I think you’re an a**-hole.”
(He tries to offer up every racist justification in the book, and in reply to each one, I say
Me: “And you’re an a**-hole.”
(After about 30 seconds of being reminded just what part of the human anatomy he was, he got disgusted and left. I didn’t notice it at the time, but apparently the receptionist/security guard spent the entire time trying desperately not to laugh, and nearly succeeding. I sincerely hope she went home and told her family the story over dinner — in Spanish.)
Hospital, Language & Words, The Netherlands | Healthy | November 9, 2017
(I have just moved to the Netherlands, so my Dutch is not very strong and I generally hope nobody ever asks me questions. This leads to little problems, such as when becoming member of the local hospital
Receptionist: “Okay, that’s all set, now I just need your postal code and we’re done.”
Me: “Uh yes, it’s ‘1234AM’.”
Receptionist: “‘N’ for Nico or ‘M’ for Minnie?”
Me: “What?”
Receptionist: “The last letter. Is it an ‘N’ for Nico, or an ‘M’ for Minnie?”
Me: *slightly panicking from questions* “Right, yeah, M for Mico. That one.”
LGBTQ, Medical Office, UK | Healthy | November 9, 2017
(I have gone to the doctor’s about a mole I am suspicious of. I have spent close to five minutes with the doctor going over what seems different about it, and showing her pictures of it before I noticed the change. I keep pictures of my moles because my mum was diagnosed earlier in life, and it has made me rather paranoid about them. The doctor has done nothing but listen, smile, and “hmm…” every now and again. She stops me mid-sentence.)
Doctor: “Are you gay?”
Me: “What?”
Doctor: “Are you gay?”
Me: “Yes. Does that have something to do with my mole?”
Doctor: “No, it’s just my family thinks my nephew might be gay, and I’m wondering if you want to help me find out.”
Me: *stunned* “No, I don’t. I want to find out whether my mole changing means I have cancer.”
Doctor: “That’s a shame. We really want to know.”
(She sits there not focusing on anything for a few seconds.)
Me: “My mole?”
Doctor: *sitting upright* “Look, will you help me or not?”
(I didn’t answer and left the room. I made a complaint before leaving and ended up signing with a new doctor. I got a letter from the old doctor apologising for her behaviour, but my mum tells me she still works there, and is still trying to find out if her nephew is gay.)
Dentist, Massachusetts, USA | Healthy | November 9, 2017
(I am visiting an oral surgeon for the first time after getting a referral from my dentist for severe jaw pain that has been an issue for years.)
Me: “My jaw clicks when I open my mouth, and it hurts a lot if I try to keep my mouth open for a long time.”
Doctor: “Okay, let’s take some X-rays.”
(We take the X-rays and the doctor comes back to me.)
Doctor: “This issue is not something that I would recommend surgery for; it won’t fix the problem. But you do have impacted wisdom teeth.”
Me: “Okay, what would you recommend for the jaw pain? And I know the top right wisdom tooth has been causing me a lot of pain as well. I was going to get a referral for that.”
Doctor: “I won’t operate on your jaw for the jaw pain. It won’t help.”
Me: “Okay, but is there anything you can recommend that might help?”
Doctor: “I won’t do surgery unless I think it will help, and in this case it won’t help.”
(Repeat me asking for something besides surgery a few more times with the same answer.)
Doctor: “Okay, I’m going to see if we can get approval from the insurance for the wisdom teeth. You should hear back from us in a few weeks to schedule an appointment.”
(Fast forward a few weeks. I get a letter in the mail saying I have been approved to have three of my wisdom teeth removed, with no mention of the fourth (the only one that was bothering me). Never went back. Why would I trust someone to do surgery on me when they are incapable of listening to anything I said?)
California, Medical Office, Sacramento, USA | Healthy | November 8, 2017
(I’m working with the nephrologist at our clinic when I read an exchange between her and a lab tech in our EMR system.)
Lab Tech: “Patient was given a jug for collecting the 24-hour urine test but was unable to fit the total volume in the jug, so she put the rest in a peanut butter jar. Please re-order test as this is an unacceptable container and will have to be re-done. We will give her two jugs.”
Nephrologist: “Test re-ordered. Hopefully no more peanut butter jars this time…”
(The 24-hour urine test comes with patient instructions that say in big bold letters not to use any container but the jugs provided, and to get another jug if needed.)
Canada, Manitoba, Pharmacy, Winnipeg | Healthy | November 8, 2017
(At our pharmacy we have cashiers who run the till when customers pick up their prescriptions. The cashiers have no pharmacy school education. A woman is picking up an antibiotic for a urinary tract infection.)
Customer: *in a loud voice* “I keep getting these urinary tract infections!”
Cashier: *awkwardly* “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Customer: *still very loud* “Do you think it’s because I wipe from back to front? They say you shouldn’t but I’ve done it all my life!”
Cashier: *trying very hard to remain professional* “Er… I really couldn’t say.”
(Meanwhile the rest of the staff are trying very hard not to laugh out loud.)
Bookstore, Pennsylvania, USA | Healthy | November 8, 2017
(A lady calls into our bookstore. We are a private, Christian, non-profit organization. She wants to know about circumcision and any materials pertaining to that subject. I am confused as to why she wants it.)
Lady: “Hi, do you guys have any books on circumcision?”
Me: “Uh… no. That is mainly a Jewish practice, started in the Old Testament by Abraham and his family as a holy covenant with God.”
Lady: “That’s fascinating! Well, my nephew has just been born and the family was talking about it, and I didn’t know what it was. Every time I ask they avoid the subject with me.”
(After explaining to her what it was and why people did it, I told her that the practice today is done by a trained professional called the Mohel or by a medical professional.)
Lady: “So, it’s not as bad as it sounds! So do you think I could do it on my boyfriend? Here he is now!”
(Her boyfriend apparently walked into the room. She proceeded to check his penis to see if he was circumcised and tell me the gory details over the phone.)
Lady: “Can it be done with some scissors?”
Me: “Um… no… you would have to go to the hospital for that.”
Lady: “But you said it was not that bad!”
Me: “Yes, but if it’s not done right you can seriously hurt your boyfriend.”
Lady: “Oh. But Abraham did it with a knife!”
Me: “That was a long time ago and I’m sure he had divine intervention to help him!”
Medical Office, Texas, USA | Healthy | November 7, 2017
(My husband and I have recently found out we’re pregnant. We’re excited but also nervous since a year before I had a traumatizing and painful miscarriage. We’re at the clinic where three weeks prior they did an ultrasound but said it was too early. But upon our return this ultrasound showed a fetus but no growth or heartbeat. We’re devastated to say the least. My husband had to step out for a few minutes. The doctor comes back in with blood test results.)
Doctor: “Your choices are to miscarry naturally or have a procedure for it to get taken out. My schedule is tight so we may need to try naturally first.”
Me: “Isn’t it… dangerous for me to try naturally, given my history?”
Doctor: *heavy sigh* “All right, we’ll schedule you for next week when I have an opening. [Nurse] will give you a packet of the information. You’ll be put under so as usual, no food or drink after midnight and no alcohol or recreational drugs 48 hours before. So for the next few days PARTAY IT UP! It’ll probably make you feel better.”
(He then puts his hand on my leg, which I’ve made clear I can’t stand people touching me.)
Me: *trying to keep from bawling* “You are a psychopath. Come near me and I will take your stethoscope and shove it so far up your a** you can hear your own heartbeat, if you have one. I’m going to go find a real doctor.”
(I ran out of there as fast as I could, found my now confused, then angry, husband, and left. I spent an hour in the car crying my eyes out, which might have been eased had I a doctor with empathy. I later found a different doctor that handled the situation properly and discovered the first doctor’s practice was eventually shut down due to fraud and malpractice. Good riddance
Medical Office, Tennessee, USA | Healthy | November 7, 2017
(I’m a nurse and am bringing a patient back to do blood pressure, temperature, and a urine check before they see the doctor.)
Me: “All right, ma’am, this is going to be your room, but do you feel as if you could pee in a cup for me real quick?”
Patient: “No, not right now.”
Me: “That all right! I’ll be right back with my blood pressure cuff to check your blood pressure, okay? We can get you some water to drink after that.”
Patient: “Okay, but I really need to pee, and do you need me to save any of it to check for infection?”
(My 12-year-old friend has many physical health problems, so she has to be at the hospital a lot. She has had many surgeries and medical procedures, and therefore has built up a bit of pain tolerance as well as being able to go for longer periods of time without food. My friend and her mom get onto the elevator. My friend has eaten nothing for over a day; she is very tired, and we all had a long day at school with lots of work and homework. Before the operation, she has to take a medication. She has a fear of needles, so she always takes medication via pill when she can. This takes longer, as the pill needs longer to work, but they are scheduled accordingly.)
Doctor: “Let me get the shot.”
Friend’s Mom: “Actually, she request—”
Doctor: “Ugh, she doesn’t need to do that. She’s not a little kid!”
Nurse #1 : “Actually, they requested the pill, because [Friend] has anxiety and we don’t want her to have a panic attack before surgery.”
Doctor: “She needs to stop being a special snowflake and grow up!”
Friend: “I was diagnosed by Dr. [Name] seven years ago. Do you think I want panic attacks?”
Doctor: “Fine.”
(The doctor goes to get the medication. My friend’s mom and the nurse leave the room. Suddenly the doctor rushes out and sticks her with the needle.)
Friend: *is taken by surprise and tenses up, making the shot hurt more, and starts to have a panic attack*
Hospital, New Jersey, USA | Healthy | November 6, 2017
(I’m a nurse working on a medical-surgical floor. One night, I am assigned to a certain patient who is known to be extremely difficult, and honestly, a bit of an idiot. He is very uncooperative, and won’t even let us put an IV in him. He has a mess of medical problems, particularly uncontrolled diabetes. We check all diabetics’ blood sugar levels throughout the day in order to control their levels with insulin shots.)
Me: “Good morning. I have to check your blood sugar.”
Patient: “Whatever.”
(I check the level and it’s shockingly low. A normal blood sugar level is 60 – 120. His is 40.)
Me: “Sir, your sugar is very low. Let me get you some juice to boost it up.”
Patient: “I can’t drink juice. I’m diabetic.”
Me: “Yes, but in this case, juice will help boost your sugar quickly. We don’t want it to drop any lower. Lemme get you orange juice, okay?”
Patient: “Fine.”
Me: *comes back later with a cup of OJ* “Here.”
Patient: “I don’t want that.”
Me: “Sir, I just told you that you need to take some juice for your sugar.”
Patient: “I don’t like OJ.”
Me: *a little annoyed that he didn’t tell me so in the first place* “All right. What will you take?”
Patient: *after a few minutes thinking* “I want apple juice.”
Me: “Fine.” *leaves and comes back with apple juice* “Here. Drink this.”
Patient: “I don’t want that.”
Me: *at this point, I’m in complete disbelief* “Sir, you just told me you would drink if I got you apple juice instead of OJ!”
Patient: “I’m diabetic. I can’t drink juice.”
Me: “But your sugar is low and we really need to boost it up. It’s dangerous to have low blood sugar.”
Patient: *getting angry* “You can’t force me to do what I don’t wanna do! Don’t try to trick me into taking that juice! I don’t even like apple juice!”
(At this point, I’m about ready to throw the juice in his face. I leave the room just as the doctor passes by with some surgical students, asking what’s up. I explain the situation to the doctor.)
Doctor: “Let us talk to him.” *takes the juice from me and walks in with the students*
(I leave to take care of another patient. Five minutes later, I return to see the students coming out of the room one by one, all of them shaking their heads and chuckling. Finally the doctor comes out and I ask him if he took the juice.)
Doctor: *shakes his head* “That man is an absolute idiot. Just make sure he gets breakfast. If he passes out, let us know.”
Hospital, New Jersey, USA | Healthy | November 6, 2017
(I’m a hospital nurse. In my experience, some patients tend to see the hospital as some sort of medical hotel, where they’re allowed to ask for whatever they like whenever they like just because they’re sick.)
Patient: *at two in the morning, at the other end of the unit* “HEY! HEY! SOMEBODY HELP ME OUT!”
Me: *coming in, resisting the urge to smack him for waking up the d*** unit instead of just using his call bell* “Yes, sir, how can I help you?”
Patient: “I want cereal.”
Me: *utter disbelief* “Sir, it’s two in the morning. We don’t have any cereal.”
Patient: “Then go to the kitchen and get me some cereal.”
Me: “The kitchen is closed and won’t open until morning. You’ll have to wait until breakfast.”
Patient: “But I’m hungry now!”
(Keep in mind that this patient has a history of uncontrolled diabetes and has even lost a foot. He usually keeps a stash of food in his room against our advice, and his blood sugar is always extremely high due to snacking and refusing medications. We always try to limit his snacks to better control his sugar.)
Me: “Sir, you already had your dinner and your snack for tonight. You need to wait until morning. We don’t have any more snacks for you.”
Patient: “This is the worst hospital ever. First you try to poison me with your whacked drugs and then you wanna starve me all night long? Why can’t you give me any cereal?”
Me: *already past my limit and trying to keep an even tone* “Because this is a hospital, not a hotel. I’m not your maid; I’m your nurse. I’m not here to enable your bad habits and give you whatever you want just because you want it. I’m here to help you maintain your health. But you’ve been uncooperative, rude, and downright disrespectful. You don’t like how things are here? You have the right to refuse. And you have the right to leave. But you can guarantee that you will be back. And you keep heading down this path, you can also bet that you’re gonna have more problems, too.”
Patient: “…”
Me: “…”
Patient: “…I’ll go to sleep and wait for breakfast, then.”
British Columbia, Canada, College & University, Medical Office | Healthy | November 6, 2017
(I’m in my second year of university, working part time and in full courses for science with labs. I don’t exactly have free time at convenient hours, so I decide to go to the doctor on campus to confirm my suspicion. They ask me to fill out a form covering the basics, including pregnancy, STDs, allergies, and a list of symptoms. I make it quite clear what my issue is.)
Doctor: “Hello, [My Name]. How are you feeling?”
Me: “Not bad.”
Doctor: “Do you need a pregnancy test?”
Me: “Uh… no.”
Doctor: “Well, we can screen for STDs. It will take about a week to get results back.”
Me: “That’s… that’s not what I came in for.”
Doctor: “Oh.” *looks at chart* “Why are you here, then?”
Me: *points to my swollen closed eye and slightly swollen face* “I think I have pink eye?”
(I don’t really know how he missed it, but he wrote me the prescription for antibiotics and I went on my way.)
Medical Office, Non-Dialogue, Pennsylvania, USA | Healthy | November 5, 2017
I had some issues with ovarian cysts when I was in high school, so I had to go in for a pelvic ultrasound. In the instructions we received prior the appointment I was told I needed to drink 32 oz of water before coming in so that my bladder would be full, which helps them to get better images. Now, I was 15 and very skinny. I had just gone through a growth spurt and at 5’5″ I weighed in around 100 pounds. I drank the water and immediately had to pee; I looked down, my pelvic area was bulging already. This was 10 minutes after I drank the water, right as we were leaving, and it was a 30 minute drive to the office.
Needless to say, that drive, through a bumpy, uneven construction site, was miserable. I was in such physical pain by the time we got to the doctor that I was in tears sitting in the waiting room. When I finally got called back to the ultrasound room and I lay down on the table, the ultrasound tech gave my visibly full bladder, by this point halfway to a pregnant belly, a bit of a side eye, but continued with her explanation of the procedure. I heard none of this, as all of my energy and focus were tied up in not urinating all over that table.
She begins the ultrasound, poking at the watery skin ball that is my pelvis, until after a few moments she stops. She can’t see anything. There’s too much liquid.
I ask her what to do and she tells me that I need to go to the bathroom (which was luckily adjacent to the exam room) and “pee a little, then stop” so that there would be a good amount of liquid for her. By this point, I have been in intense physical pain because of this full bladder for roughly an hour, so these instructions felt more than a little impossible. But, being a determined kid, I went in there and against all odds, I did it. So the rest of the ultrasound goes off without a hitch, and afterward I am finally able to fully relax my bladder for the first time that day.
As I was getting ready to leave, the technician asked me how much water I had been instructed to drink, and was appalled when I told her 32 oz. She went off about how they should’ve looked at my chart to see my height and weight because they would’ve been able to tell just from that that the amount should’ve been lower, and it was lucky that I was able to control my bladder so well; otherwise, the whole appointment would’ve been a waste.
A few days later my mom gets a call from the doctor’s office and guess what? Turns out the whole appointment was, in fact, a waste, since the notes were wrong in my file and the ultrasound tech performed an abdominal ultrasound instead of a pelvic one. I was less than pleased.
At least I knew not to drink so much water for the next one
(I work night shift in a hospital lab. On night shift, there are three working at a time with my same job title, which is the highest level of certification in the department, other than our medical director. In all, there are six night shifters with that certification for the entire fairly large specialty hospital, and if we can’t work, we figure it out with one of the three who are off. One night, due to family emergencies, sickness, and a coworker who “wasn’t in the mood to come to work today” (they were fired weeks later), I and one other end up working a night shift. I am filling in unexpectedly, and have just gotten off a flight that morning and haven’t slept in thirty hours by the time morning comes. The other coworker has a fever of 103; we make the executive decision that I’ll do anything requiring patient contact and if his fever goes above 104, we’ll call the ER downstairs. It also turns out to be what we call a “must be a full moon” night. By morning, we’re both almost crying from sheer exhaustion, sleep deprivation, and misery. Come morning, there is an employee appreciation breakfast.)
Day Shifter: “How was the night?”
Me: “I haven’t slept in thirty hours, [Coworker] has a fever of 103, four analyzers broke, the ICU is literally out of beds, they’re tripling up patients into the double rooms in MedSurg, and the ER is using the hallway as overflow for the waiting room.”
Day Shifter: “Well, we were wondering if you two could stay maybe an hour late so all the day shift could go to the breakfast?”
(We told them no way. They weren’t happy. At that point, we didn’t care
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