Unable To Identify The Issue Is Not About Identity

Funny Names, Ignoring & Inattentive, Therapist, USA | Healthy | May 22, 2019


(I am at a therapist’s office for my first appointment with her. She is not my first therapist, so I have a fairly good idea of what to look for. My name has a very common nickname — I’ll pretend it’s Katelyn and Kate — and people will often start using the nickname without thinking. I am called back to meet with her.)

Therapist: “So, Katelyn, do you prefer Katelyn or Kate?”

Me: “I don’t care; either is fine.”

Therapist: “But which one do you prefer?”

Me: “I mean, when I’m in a situation where there’s someone whose actual name is Kate, I prefer to use Katelyn so people don’t get confused. But other than that, I really don’t care.”

Therapist: “Your name is an important part of your self-identity. I want to respect that. Which name do you want me to use?”

Me: *quite frustrated by now* “I don’t care! Either one is fine! You can call me Kate, you can call me Katelyn, or you can switch back and forth; it doesn’t matter!”

(She still didn’t get it. Somehow I made it through the rest of the appointment, but I never went back there. As a therapist, listening is a hugely important part of your job. If you won’t listen to me about something as simple as my name, I’m not going to trust you to listen to me at all.)

Painkillers Morphing Into Something Else

California, Extra Stupid, Hospital, Nurses, USA | Healthy | May 21, 2019


(During an annual summer trip to California, I start having abdominal pains. My dad brings me to a local clinic, and from there I get directed to the ER because of possible appendicitis. Once there, they hook me up to an IV. I’m a little paranoid around needles, so I ask them what exactly they’re putting in the IV. I also happen to have a fear of inebriation, as well as a fear of being forcibly injected with addictive drugs.)

Nurse: “Saline fluids and some morphine.”

Me: “Morphine? Why morphine?”

Nurse: “You said you were in pain.”

Me: “I am, but I don’t think it’s extreme enough to justify morphine!”

Nurse: “Okay, we can take the morphine out. You’re sure you don’t need any painkillers?”

Me: “I mean, some painkillers would be nice, but not something that extreme.”

Nurse: “Well, we can give you the morphine if you want.”

Me: “No morphine!”

Nurse: “So, you don’t need painkillers?”

(This conversation repeats a few times before I eventually tell her I don’t need painkillers and let her hook me up to the saline fluids. Some time passes, and eventually, another nurse comes to check on me.)

Nurse #2 : “And have you had any painkillers?”

Me: “Well, they kept offering me morphine, but I didn’t want that. It seems a little extreme.”

Nurse #2 : “Wait, so, no one offered you any Tylenol?”

Me: “No!”

(The second nurse brought me some Tylenol, and that did seem to help, but I will forever be confused about the first nurse who seemed to think that morphine was the only painkiller in existence.)

Pregnant With An Angry Appendix

Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive, Lazy/Unhelpful, Missouri, Nurses, USA | Healthy | May 21, 2019


(I am 19 years old and I’ve been experiencing intense pain and vomiting bile all night. I go to urgent care and am diagnosed with appendicitis and given pain meds before being transported to the hospital around 11:00 am.)

ER Nurse: “We need to give you an MRI. Take this pregnancy test, and then we can figure out what’s going on.”

Mom: “She has already been diagnosed with appendicitis at urgent care; they called and we are here for treatment.”

ER Nurse: “Well, they can only diagnose, not treat, so we need you to take the tests.”

Mom: “She will not take the tests again. You need to look in your files and find the test results they sent over.”

(I ended up going into surgery at almost 10:00 pm after being in even worse pain all day, with no meds because I wasn’t in a room but in the waiting room. I was released at 9:00 am the next day, went septic that night, and spent another three days in the hospital. We later learned that my appendix had ruptured while I was waiting and they still sent me home.)

Let’s Hope His Brother Isn’t A Doctor

Doctor/Physician, Funny Names, Kansas, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | May 20, 2019


(My nana takes me to my doctor for the first time in a couple of years. The doctor is Indian, with an Indian accent and an Indian surname that starts with “Mu.”)

Nana: “Thank you, Dr. Mufasa! Oh…”

(Luckily, the doctor thought it was hilarious, and we joked that she must get that a lot from kids since she’s also a pediatrician.)

Bringing Professionalism To Its Knees

Australia, Bizarre, Great Stuff, Health & Body, Medical Office, Patients, Queensland | Healthy | May 20, 2019


(I’m a young adult woman about to have my first gynaecological examination. I have no idea what I’m doing, so my doctor is walking me through it step by step. For reference, the examination table is quite narrow to allow for easy movement around it.)

Doctor: “We need you to lie back on the table with your feet at the end, and then spread your knees. Keep your feet together. Then cover yourself with the towel and let me know you’re ready.”

(She turns away to put on gloves, and I have a moment of doubt.)

Me: “Uh, how far apart do you want my knees?”

Doctor: “As far as you can.”

(I shrug and obey, following her instructions. A moment later, the doctor turns back around and I get to enjoy a moment of bug-eyed shock before professionalism covers it.)

Me: “I used to be a gymnast.”

Doctor: “Maybe not quite that far, [My Name].”

(I had dropped my knees below the level of the table with no effort or strain. Turned out she wanted something closer to a 90-degree angle. It did teach her to be more specific with instructions in the future, though!)

The Weighting Room

Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Illinois, Medical Office, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | May 19, 2019


I was taking in my two-week-old baby for her checkup. My husband and older son were with me since we had another errand to run before heading home. My clinic had recently moved to a bigger location a few blocks away from their old location and had new equipment recently unpacked.

I gently placed my baby, born 7 lbs and 12 oz, on the scale. She left the hospital weighing 7 lbs 6 oz, which is normal since their weight fluctuates after birth. The scale showed 7 lbs 3 oz. My husband and I were baffled, since the baby was practically breastfed every hour and if she wasn’t sleeping she was eating. She was also way heavier than at birth.

The doctor began setting me up for weigh-in appointments with a nurse, while I began to panic and doubt about my breastfeeding capabilities.

My husband is a “fixer.” He can’t help it and is constantly fixing things at home or improving them, so, of course, he began fiddling with the baby scale when the doctor briefly left the room which, in addition to my panicked state, started to annoy me. That’s when he pulled out two pieces of foam from under the scale that were clearly part of the packaging from when it was moved from the other clinic. The doctor came back and was stunned. We weighed the baby again and she was 8 lbs, 6 oz. The doctor had a stunned look in his eyes as he checked us out, and I can just imagine the panic as he thought back to how many babies had been weighed on a scale that hadn’t been properly set up.

The Ugly Mouth Is The One With The Ugly Words

Dentist, Germany, Jerk | Healthy | May 18, 2019


(As a teenager I had braces that were – in some way – done incorrectly and over the course of the treatment the enamel of my teeth started to deteriorate. Since I was a quiet and shy teenager, I didn’t speak out and got in a somewhat vicious cycle of dental hygiene since properly cleaning my teeth started to hurt. After a while, I even stopped going to the dentist because I was so ashamed. However, in my twenties, I start seeing an amazing dentist who is very empathetic and doesn’t judge. Session by session, we start ironing things out, but for a very special procedure, he transfers me to a dental surgeon. This takes place at my first appointment before she even takes a look at my teeth.)

Dentist: “Hello, [My Name]. Nice to meet you! May I ask: how old are you?”

Me: “Hi… Um… I’m 24. Why?”

Dentist: “Yeah, I thought so. But from your x-rays, I’d guessed you would be 60.”

Me: *embarrassed* “Yeah, I know. But I try to contain the damage now.”

Dentist: “You’ve got to start cleaning your teeth better!”

Me: “I’m cleaning them at least twice a day now. If you take a look you’ll see. I really started taking dental hygiene very seriously and trying to save what can be saved. But the damage has been done. Still, I really clean my teeth.”

Dentist: “Don’t give me that spiel. I’ve seen how many fillings you have. You do a terrible job of keeping your teeth healthy.”

Me: *miserable* “Yes. I’m very sorry. I know.”

Dentist: “You know how ugly such teeth are, right? You’re 24. Probably looking for a nice girl to marry someday. But I’m gonna tell you right now: with those teeth, you’ll never find a girl!

Me: *on the verge of tears* “I’m really trying to take better care. [Dentist] always told me I’m really doing a good job now. I haven’t had a new cavity in two years.”

Dentist: “Well, I don’t care. Your mouth is ugly. And you’re probably gonna die alone with such bad mouth hygiene. Now, go make an appointment with my receptionist for next month so we can start making you look human again.”

(I didn’t want to object to her, but I didn’t make an appointment and even almost quit the ongoing procedures with my regular dentist. He had to talk to me for an hour until I was ready to keep going. He also said he wouldn’t transfer patients to this dental surgeon anymore.)

This Vet Is Worming His Way Around Your Cat

Bad Behavior, Canada, Doctor/Physician, Ontario, Vet | Healthy | May 17, 2019


(I set up an appointment for my cat to get his annual exam and vaccines at the vet clinic that my boyfriend and I have been taking him to since we first brought him home at three months old. He is now two-and-a-half years old, meaning with all his kitten appointments — booster shots, sterilization, etc. — we have taken him in a total of seven times prior to this. Up until this point, we have always seen the same vet, and our cat is very comfortable with her, often purring through his appointments. The day before the appointment, I get a phone call:)

Receptionist: “Hi, [My Name]! I’m calling to confirm [Cat]’s appointment for tomorrow at [time two-and-a-half hours later than the appointment was scheduled for].”

Me: “Um, I scheduled that appointment for [appointment time].”

Receptionist: “We don’t have any slots available at [time]. We can try to fit you in between appointments, but I can’t guarantee time for a full exam and vaccines.”

Me: “I scheduled this appointment weeks ago, even picking a later date, because [time] worked best with my boyfriend’s schedule and he’s the only one who drives. There’s no way you can give me the time my appointment was scheduled for?”

Receptionist: “I have it in my system that your appointment was scheduled for [two-and-a-half hours later].”

Me: “Whatever, I’ll take it, I guess. I want to stress though that I would never have picked an appointment that late; there’s no way this error was on my end.”

Receptionist: “Okay, well, don’t forget to bring in a fecal sample.”

Me: “Fecal sample? We’ve never had to bring a fecal sample before.”

Receptionist: “It’s a standard part of every annual physical.”

Me: “It’s not going to cost anything extra, is it? I just moved two weeks ago, and it cost more than I’d thought, so my money’s pretty tight for the rest of the month. I can’t afford to pay anymore than what I am for the physical and vaccines.”

Receptionist: “It’s a standard part of every physical; don’t worry.”

(Luckily, my boyfriend is able to move some things around so I don’t have to take the cat on the bus to get to the appointment. We get to the appointment and discover that the vet our cat has seen since his very first appointment is not the vet he will be seeing this time. The vet who examines our cat seems incredibly underqualified, and much more concerned about selling us products we do not need than about the health and wellbeing of our cat. It’s worth noting here that while he is technically a Domestic Short Hair, we’re reasonably certain our cat has some Bengal in him, due to his size. He measures around three feet long, which is double the average length for a DSH. After weighing our cat:)

Vet: “He weighs 15 pounds!”

Me: “Well, he is pretty big, so that’s not too surprising; that’s only a couple pounds more than I thought.”

Vet: “He needs to lose weight! He should be an eight-pound cat! What are you guys feeding him?!” *looking at boyfriend*

Boyfriend: “He lives with her, so she can answer that better than I can.”

Me: “Up until two weeks ago he was on [Brand] dry food, which I found gave him that little bit of pudge on his tummy, but he only gained about a pound or two. I would have changed his food, but my old roommate had a cat with a really sensitive stomach, and her cat couldn’t handle the food we had [Cat] on. When I moved I changed him to [Cetter Crand], and he’s been doing a lot better on it. He also gets one can of wet food each night, but we don’t have a strict brand for that; it’s just to make sure he gets enough water, since he’s pretty bad at drinking enough.”

Vet: “Do you free-feed him?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, we always have.”

Me: “It’s monitored free-feeding, though, now. My old roommate like to truly free-feed, but I always make sure to track how much he’s eating. He always has food in his bowl, but I measure it and make sure he’s only getting two servings of dry food, and his one serving of wet food.”

Vet: “You need to stop free-feeding. He only needs three servings of food a day.”

Me: “As I said, I measure his food. He’s always been a grazer, though, so putting him on a feeding schedule won’t work, because he only eats a few bites at a time. It takes him anywhere from 8 to 12 hours to empty his bowl.”

Vet: “Well, it might be hard at first, but eventually he’ll learn that if he doesn’t eat when the food goes out, he won’t eat at all.”

Me: “No, I’m not doing that to my cat. He’s not that pudgy, and aside from that, I just adopted a second cat, and she also free-feeds. It’s working really well, considering she needs a smaller serving size, and quite frankly, they both undereat anyway.”

(The vet then spends another ten minutes scolding us for letting our cat get so “horrifically overweight,” and trying to sell us a specialty diet food that is way out of our price range. She finally gives up when my boyfriend and I start getting snappy with her.)

Vet: “Okay, how has [Cat]’s behaviour been lately?”

Me: “As I mentioned a few minutes ago, I just adopted a second cat three days ago, so right now they’re having their territory and dominance disputes. Before that, though, there was nothing out of the ordinary.”

Vet: *reaches into cupboard and pulls out a spray bottle* “You should try this; it’s a synthetic pheromone that mimics the one mother cats let off to calm down kittens. It can help with the fighting if the cats aren’t getting along.”

Me: “Thanks, but I’m not going to bother right now. I don’t really have the money for that, and it’s only been three days. When [Cat] was introduced to my old roommate’s cats, it took him about a week to adjust. If it goes on longer than that, then we’ll look into it.”

(The vet then spends another five minutes trying to pressure us into buying the spray, and implying that the two cats should be best friends by this point.)

Vet: “Have you had [Cat] treated for fleas?”

Me: “Yes! Because I was moving, and my old roommate was having someone take my room, who has her own cat, we treated all the cats in the apartment over the two weeks before I left. His last treatment was the day before I left, and that should have prevented him from getting anything during the move, as well.”

Vet: “You did just bring a new cat home, though. Was she treated?”

Me: “Yes, the shelter treated her shortly before we adopted her. I also looked her over a couple times to be sure.”

Vet: “Well, they should each be treated at least one more time before winter. I can do a course of [High-End Brand] treatment for [astronomically high price], if you want to set an appointment for that.”

Me: “No, thank you. They’re both indoor cats and only go outside on the leash occasionally in the summer. When they do, I give them a preventative OTC treatment from [Pet Store], and I check them to be safe. I also do a couple preventative treatments if they haven’t gone outside, just in case something makes it into the building, because he sometimes runs into the hallway.”

(Cue more selling pressure, and scolding. By the time that finishes, we are half an hour into the appointment, and the only part of the exam she’s done is weighing the cat. She finally starts the rest of the exam, and we notice right away that she isn’t handling our cat properly at all. She has made no effort to get him comfortable with her; instead she is flipping between being overly hesitant and grabbing him roughly. He starts to get defensive, trying to jump off the table, and even baring his teeth at her, which is incredibly out of character. He’s a very social, non-aggressive cat, usually. I try to comfort him.)

Vet: “Stay out of the way.” *shoos me back*

(The vet skips half his exam, refusing to go near his mouth or paws, and not offering us any information on his health. When the exam finishes and the vaccination is completed, it is time to pay for the visit. The total was much higher than we anticipated, even with estimating higher than last year’s physical and vaccination.)

Me: “Why is it so much?”

Receptionist: “That’s because the fecal sample is an additional charge.”

Me: “You mean the fecal sample I was told was ‘standard for an annual exam,’ and led to believe was included in the price? It’s only a few dollars less than the exam was!”

(At this point, our cat was angry, stressed, and trying to claw his way out of his carrier, so we swallowed our anger and paid in the interest of getting our cat home as quickly as possible. It took me 20 minutes to convince my boyfriend — who hadn’t been able to make any of the previous vet appointments — that that is not how they usually go, and that the old vet would have been done the exam in the time this one spend scolding us and trying to sell us things. It took an additional 20 minutes to calm our cat down. The fecal test results came back the next day and I was informed it was ringworm, then given information that contradicted that diagnosis. I took both of our cats to a different vet a few days later, and upon explaining to the new vet what happened, he was appalled. He took extra care to make sure both cats were comfortable, especially before going near their tummies. When he received the fecal test results from the first clinic, I was informed it was actually roundworm and had probably come from one of the other cats at the shelter. I had them treated immediately and confirmed with the veterinarian that had we treated them for the original diagnosis, it would have done nothing to help, as ringworm is a fungal infection, whereas roundworm is a parasite. Ultimately, it worked out for the best, because we found a vet who truly cares about the wellbeing of our cats. And the cats, for the record, are best friends now, no synthetic pheromone spray needed.)

Desperately Looking For A Positive

Bigotry, Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Medical Office, UK | Healthy | May 16, 2019


(I have gone to the GP with recurring dizziness. The doctor is new and we have never met prior to today. I am male.)

Doctor: *feeling the underneath of my jaw* “How long have you experienced dizziness?”

Me: “About three weeks. I think it might be an inner ear infection, but I don’t have any other symptoms.”

Doctor: “I see, and does it…”

(His eyes narrow onto my chest tattoo.)

Doctor: “You have tattoos?”

Me: “Just this one.”

Doctor: “Hmm, it’s possible this could be HIV and/or AIDS.”

Me: “WHAT?!”

Doctor: “It’s a pretty serious condition which can spread from infected needles.”

Me: “I know what it is. It just surprises me that you think dizziness and a tattoo would make you jump to HIV. This is a twenty-odd-year-old tattoo by the way.”

Doctor: “Hmm… Your medical history shows you have had STI tests before, and with your lifestyle—“

Me: “My ‘lifestyle’ has nothing to do with this, if I get your meaning.” *assumes he has seen my husband listed as my next of kin in my records* “And I have only had one STI test in my life, which was done as part of a sexual health class when I was at college. Now, HIV usually begins to show signs within ten years of contracting it. My tattoo is over twenty years old, and my STI test was what, ten years ago? I do not have HIV.”

(The doctor begrudgingly agreed with my defense and checked my ears. He found nothing and arranged a set of tests for me. I went to my appointment with my husband as I was a little shaken by the experience, and the first thing they asked us was if we had ever been sexually active with each other and how long I had suspected having HIV. The doctor decided to put me down for the test regardless of what I said. Once we explained the situation, the nurses apologised, but in the end, I agreed to take the test to learn more about it. My husband took it, too, to be a good sport. While stressful, it was a jovial experience. A week later, we both went to our GP to find out our results — mostly mine. We had the same doctor as I’d had the first time. It turns out I had a potassium deficiency which was causing my blood pressure to fluctuate while I was standing. Our HIV tests came back negative, but this didn’t stop the doctor belittling us and our “lifestyle” for a good ten minutes while going over the results. We complained about him and he was gone by my next visit. I later heard he was also judgemental with the minority population, and had submitted more requests for HIV testing than the rest of the practice combined.)

Night Nurse, The Pain Is Getting Worse

Canada, Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive, Lazy/Unhelpful, Nurses | Healthy | May 15, 2019


(I am a 22-year-old female and have always had problems with my feet, which are completely flat and also wide. I’ve been having intense pain in my left foot for a few years, and not one doctor or specialist I’ve gone to has had an explanation. Finally, I am told by a foot surgeon that I have a deformity in both feet that has caused arthritis and is the reason I am unable to walk properly. I am advised to have two metal screws implanted in my left foot to alleviate the pain and hopefully correct the structure of my foot. I go in for surgery and this happens when I stay overnight after the operation. “Nurse” is my day nurse and “Night Nurse” is the nurse assigned to give me the pain medication during the night.)

Nurse: “I’m going to take your vitals and let you get some rest. Your night nurse will come in to give you the pain medication soon. Can you swallow pills?”

(I tell her I can and expect to have no problems. Boy, am I wrong. Over the course of the night, I am pretty loopy from the anesthesia and all I want to do is sleep. A night nurse comes in to take my vitals again sometime in the night and says someone else will give me pain medication later. This repeats for some time with her and one other nurse until the morning, where I’ve recovered enough to realize I am in intense pain and nobody has given me the pain medication I need. Early the next morning, I am exhausted and crying from the pain when my parents come to see me.)

Mom: “What happened?! Why are you crying?!”

Me: *crying* “I’ve been up almost all night and nobody gave me pain medication!”

Mom & Dad: “WHAT?!”

(They track down a nurse and repeat what I’ve said.)

Nurse: “Um, a night nurse would have given you medication. You’re supposed to take it every three hours.”

Me: “Well, no one gave me anything. They woke me up to take my vitals several times and that was it!”

Nurse: “I’m going to look into this. Let me talk to the other nurses.”

(She leaves for a bit, then comes back with the night nurse who I recognize from last night. They both don’t look happy.)

Night Nurse: “We gave you medication last night. You just don’t remember it.”

Me: “You and some other nurse woke me up to take my vitals and said someone else will give me the medication. If I took the medication, I wouldn’t be in so much pain!”

Nurse: *hands me a pill bottle* “Just to make sure, these are what you’re supposed to take. Have you had these at all?”

Me: “No! I haven’t taken any pills!”

Night Nurse: “Well, did you tell someone that you needed it?”

(My parents and the other nurse just stare at her in disbelief.)

Mom: “Of course she needs it! You’re in charge of making sure she gets the medication on time!”

Night Nurse: *snotty* “She’s a big girl. She has to tell us if she needs it or not!”

(My nurse rushes the night nurse out before the situation escalates. My parents are furious and my nurse is also frustrated. I’m angry, too, of course, but more exhausted, and I just want to go home to recover in peace.)

Nurse: “I am so sorry. I had no idea this happened. There is no excuse for that. You are absolutely right: the night staff is responsible to get you that medication and they should have been keeping an eye on you.”

Me: “Can I just go home? I really don’t want to be here anymore…”

Nurse: “Unfortunately, now that I know you haven’t had any medication, I have to keep you here to catch up on the doses. I can’t send you home until I get this in your system and make sure you’re okay.”

(I was more upset by this, but I knew she had to do her job and didn’t say anything else. Over the next few hours, I was finally given the pain medication and I basically slept all day until she told me I could go home in the evening. Thanks to the night nurse’s negligence, I had to keep taking the medication for an extra few days until the pain got under control. We filed an official complaint against the nurse, but nothing has happened so far.)

Coughing Up A Better Diagnosis

Colorado, Denver, Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | May 14, 2019


(I have a history of coughing up blood for no particular reason. Despite a lack of a diagnosis explaining why it happens, it has happened three times. Two out of the three times, it was copious amounts. The first time, it happened when I was 16 and within a few hours, I had coughed up several cups before I was able to get to a hospital. A vein in my right lung had burst! The docs never figured out why it happened, but it happened again when I was 18. Fortunately, it was only a few mouthfuls – it ended up just being a busted capillary. Then, it happens again when I am 22. I have dealt with multiple nurses and doctors in the ER down the street telling me I am probably just exaggerating, which is incredibly infuriating. To prove that I am telling the truth, I begin to collect the blood by spitting it into a container and keeping the container in the fridge. It’s disgusting. Between Wednesday afternoon and Friday morning, I have coughed up and collected almost two cups of blood. I have a bronchoscopy at a different hospital go bad – a negative reaction to the light anesthesia they give me – so they send me back to the ER to be admitted. It is then that I deal with the most stuck up doctor in my life. I have no makeup on — obviously, who has time to worry about that when one’s life is possibly on the line? — and in the past that’s led people to mistake me for a high schooler more than once. It seems to fool this doctor, too, unfortunately. He approaches me with a haughty, unbelieving demeanor, and treats me like some sort of hysterical, loony teen. I start arguing with him about my honesty in the situation, and it begins to escalate to a frustrated yelling match. While I regret resorting to yelling at a doctor, I don’t regret how this ends. Not one bit. I finally reach a breaking point, yank my purse from my mother’s arms, shove the container of blood at the doctor, and scream.)

Me: “THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN COUGHING UP!”

(The doctor’s face goes completely white as he gapes at me, stares at the container, looks back at me, and takes it to run out of the room. Another doctor comes in right then, and the first doc grabs his arm to drag him out with him. They close the door behind them, but there is a huge window in the door, so I can see both of them holding up the container, arguing, and acting generally panicked. Join the club, dudes. When Doctor Jerkface comes back in, he has a huge change in attitude; he’s now sweet, attentive, and eager to help.)

Doctor: “All right, honey, don’t you worry. We’re going to admit you to the ICU right away. We’re going to take care of you and figure out why this is happening.”

(I let myself become the smug jerk in the room and give him a victorious smirk.)

Me: “You’re d*** right, you’re going to.”

It’s Their First Time Or It’s Going To Be A Big Baby

Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive, Non-Dialogue, Northern Ireland, Reception, UK | Healthy | May 13, 2019


Several years ago I had a summer job working as a clerical officer in an NHS Hospital. One of my reception duties involved checking patients into the antenatal clinics. The receptionist explained to me that when patients arrived for the clinic I had to take their name, and if it was their first appointment, I had to write “no file” on their letter and bring it down to the nursing station. Women who had previously been to the clinic did have a file, so I had to pull out their file, check their details were correct, and bring the file down to the nursing station.

The receptionist showed me how to do the first few arrivals and then said I could take over. The next patient arrived for her antenatal appointment. I smiled at her and her husband, greeted them warmly, and the woman handed me her appointment letter. “Okay, Mrs. [Patient],” I said, trying to appear professional. “Is this your first appointment?”

The woman looked surprised and glanced down at her belly. “No…” she said. She was quite large by this stage! Her husband just smiled, clearly amused. “Oh… Sorry!” I stammered, then retrieved her file, checked her details, and asked her to take a seat in the waiting area. As she and her husband walked off, the receptionist leaned over to me. “Yeah, it’ll be obvious to you if it’s their first appointment!” she said, smiling. I apologised again, but the receptionist told me not to worry, as we all make mistakes!

The receptionist went on holiday, and I managed to cover reception surprisingly well. And during the next three antenatal clinics, I never again made the mistake of asking a woman obviously in advanced stages of pregnancy if it was her first appointment!

“Women Troubles” Is NOT Women Causing Trouble

Australia, Bigotry, Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office | Healthy | May 11, 2019


(From my first period at age 12, I have been having horrible pain with each menstruation. Several months later, the pain is so bad that I can’t stand. My mother is alarmed and takes me to the ED. They suspect appendicitis and operate, only to find a healthy appendix. I am referred to a gynaecologist.)

Gynaecologist #1 : “So, I hear you’ve had a bit of a sore tummy, huh?”

Me: “Yes, it really hurts, and I—“

Gynaecologist #1 : “Now, [My Name]. You’re grown up now. This is part of being a woman; you just have to put up with it, all right? Take some paracetamol when the pain starts and get on with it, all right?”

(I’m embarrassed to have caused such a fuss and take what he says to heart. For the next 12 years, I put up with horrendous, increasing pain, assuming all women go through it. Every cycle, without fail, I spend a minimum of 12 hours in such pain I am vomiting. It gets so that I am in pain all the time, even when I’m not menstruating. Finally, at 25, I have an epic period of 17 days of vomit-worthy pain. My parents convince me to go to the ED in my new city where I live.

The ED doctors give me a high dose of morphine and check for acute problems, then refer me to a gynaecologist. I am already convinced that this one will think I am wasting his time, too, and begin rehearsing apologies. Finally, I meet the new gynaecologist.)

Gynaecologist #2 : “So, I hear you’ve been sore?”

Me: “Yes…” *describes situation*

Gynaecologist #2 : “Can I feel your stomach? Hmm. Okay, I’m not going to, but if I pressed hard, would it hurt?”

Me: “Yes.”

Gynaecologist #2 : *taking his hand away* “Does it hurt now?”

Me: “Yes.”

(The gynaecologist went a little grim and told me that I needed an operation immediately. He fit me in the following week and ended up excising a LOT of tissue. It turned out that I had a condition that caused infertility if it was untreated, and the main symptom was immense pain. Luckily, the disease hadn’t yet damaged my tubes so I can still conceive naturally. With medication to manage ovulation and possibly more operations should the tissue regrow, I should be completely healthy. Most importantly, I’m not in constant pain. How lucky that I found a doctor who knew that “women troubles” was no longer a proper medical diagnosis!)

Talking Complete Bull-imia

Chile, Dentist, Jerk, Santiago | Healthy | May 3, 2019


(I have recently changed my dentist. I’m 30 and I have never had any cavities before, but I go to a consult since I notice something weird in two of my teeth. I suspect they are cavities but they don’t hurt or bother me at all, and I don’t know what cavities look like.)

Dentist: “You have four cavities! What a disaster!”

Me: “Well, it’s the first four in 30 years.”

Dentist: “This looks so bad! We need x-rays!”

Me: “I’d have come earlier but they didn’t hurt and they look very small, so it took me a while to notice them.”

Dentist: “Four cavities! This is insane! Are you bulimic?”

Me: “No.”

Dentist: “You sure? It clearly looks like bulimia.”

Me: “I’m not bulimic. I’m not alcohol abusive, either; I barely ever throw up.”

(The doctor doesn’t believe me, and sends me to do the x-rays. I come back to have the cavities fixed.)

Dentist: “Are you sure you don’t throw up? This amount of cavities is not normal!”

(By then, I feel filthy. I don’t throw up and I brush my teeth, but the big deal she is making makes it look like I am her worst case in years. She fixes my cavities, which are all very superficial, and I go home pretty worried and thinking about buying a different mouthwash, toothbrush, and toothpaste. My boyfriend is having some friends over and I tell them what happened.)

Friend: “Four in your life? I get four cavities removed every time I go to the dentist!”

Boyfriend: “You can’t see them because they are in the back of my mouth, but I’ve had several big fixes.”

(The following day, two of my four fixes fall out while I’m brushing my teeth. I go to have them re-fixed. The dentist keeps telling me to suck it up, still implying I have an eating disorder. The remaining two fall out within a month, but this time I go to a different professional. I’m already expecting to get yelled at for my poor dental condition.)

Dentist #2: “Hi, darling! You look good! Let’s fix these, shall we?”

(She is now my usual dentist.)

Eye Don’t Understand What’s Happening Here

Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Kentucky, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | May 3, 2019


(I wear contacts, and I’ve had problems seeing when using my contacts for a while now. It has finally gotten to the point where I can’t stand it and go to the eye doctor to get my prescription checked. A student does the actual exam and finds my new prescription, and I can already tell a difference. She leaves and the actual doctor comes in.)

Doctor: *takes a look at the paperwork the student completed* “Well, it looks like your prescription stayed the same, so you can just order some more of the same contacts.”

Me: *shocked* “Really? I’ve been having double vision and I can’t focus my eyes at a close range very well.”

Doctor: “Nope, it’s the same. Are you sure you’re having problems?”

Me: “Yes, I’ve also been getting headaches from straining my eyes to focus.”

Doctor: *repeats the exam TWICE to find my eye prescription* “Well, I found the same thing she did, which is a slight decrease in prescription in your right eye. This is very unusual since eyesight doesn’t normally get better with time, so I think your prescription should stay the same.”

(We go back and forth a few times; I keep insisting that I need a change. It’s very unusual for me to advocate for myself this much, but I really can’t take the eye strain anymore so I KNOW I can’t stay with the same prescription. He finally agrees to let me try the lower prescription on a trial and come back in two weeks to see how I like it. The trial contacts have to be ordered by the receptionist, and I notice the doctor go around and point to the screen and tell her to “order these instead,” but I don’t think anything of it. I go back in a week when they come in. The receptionist hands me the trial contacts and I have a look at the prescription number.)

Me: *confused and irritated look on my face*

Receptionist: “Is something wrong? You look confused.”

Me: “These are supposed to be trial contacts for a new prescription. Why are they the same as my current contacts?”

Receptionist: *takes the contacts back, looks at her computer and back at the contacts, and starts getting flustered* “Um, I don’t know. Let me look at this…”

(She eventually got a different doctor in the practice to come to look at my file. The other doctor took one look at my file, immediately went to get me the correct contacts — which DIDN’T have to be ordered — and told me to come back and see her instead of the first doctor. At my appointment with her, she told me that my prescription should actually be even lower than the first doctor prescribed. The only conclusion I can come up with is that the first doctor didn’t believe me and was trying to trick me into staying with the same prescription, twice! [Doctor], why was it so hard for you to believe I couldn’t see?!)

A Shot Of Humanity

Awesome, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Nurses, USA | Healthy | May 2, 2019


(I have a serious phobia of needles due to a traumatic incident when I was a child, and because of this I always need someone present with me to cope with the situation. I am due to have very minor surgery on my arm, but I will need two needles during the operation. My boyfriend schedules off to go with me, but on the day of, he is called into work. I can’t cancel or I will incur a large fee, so I decide to tough it out and go. When I am called into the room, the nurse starts asking me questions, and I let her know that I have a phobia of needles. As soon as she leaves the room I enter into hysterics. I end up calling a friend, and he calms me down by the time the doctor returns with the nurse. They keep my friend on speaker, the nurse holds my hand, and they all keep me laughing so much I don’t have time to cry. These are just some of my favorite moments from the hour-long procedure.)

Doctor: “You’re telling me you’re getting birth control, but you’re afraid of a little prick?”

(Another moment…)

Friend: “You still alive over there?”

Me: “I sure hope so. Is everything going all right?”

Doctor: “Oh, you’ll know something’s wrong when you hear me walk out the door saying, ‘I am not dealing with that paperwork today.’”

(Another moment…)

Me: *to nurse* “Is it really bad?”

Nurse: “Don’t ask me, I’m not looking! Why do you think I need to hold your hand?!”

(Another moment…)

Me: “Thank you so much for being so nice to me. I know, as an adult, I should be able to handle this all by now. I know it’s not logical; I just work myself up and go into hysterics.”

Doctor: “And while you were in the room with me, you didn’t cry once. Sometimes it’s not your fault that you’re scared. Sometimes it’s the fault of the people around you for not knowing how to make you feel safe.”

(I can’t thank those three enough for not only making a terrible experience into a great memory, but for helping relieve some of the self-hatred I had due to my phobia. If I ever need a shot again, I know exactly where I want to go!)

Bringing Your Emergency To The Emergency Room

Doctor/Physician, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | May 2, 2019


A standard practice in the US is for pharmacies to call physicians for refills on prescriptions, not patients. If there are issues with getting refills, the physician’s office will contact the patient for a visit.

I’m currently seeing a new physician who I’m not happy with, but the waitlist is two months long to see a different doctor. I’ve found that this doctor doesn’t listen and doesn’t seem to take mental health issues seriously. She tried to switch my medications — without telling me — despite the fact that I’ve been stable on this medication for over five years. She also accused me of faking foot pain, despite evidence that I had an untreated break in my foot two years ago which didn’t heal well, and tried to convince me to get unnecessarily invasive tests at a specialist clinic for no reason. She also made me get tested for Hepatitis and HIV because I have tattoos — which are all over a year old — even though I just had those tests done two months prior as part of my regular checkup with my old doctor, which was in my medical record.

I’m on a mental health medication known for terrible withdrawal symptoms after just one missed dose. It’s very important that I take it every single day. I notice that I am out of refills, so I notify my pharmacy and they send out a refill request. It is denied because I still have a month left. I have the pharmacy send in another refill request two weeks later. The doctor doesn’t respond. The pharmacy contacts me, saying there were some issues and they can’t get a refill. I call my doctor’s office. They say they will have my doctor send in a refill that day. Still no refill and no request for an appointment. I call again two days later, still nothing. I now have less than a week left. I call every day for the rest of the week, still nothing. On Saturday morning, I’m tired and scared because I’m out of medication and don’t have any refills. I decide to go to the ER because it’s the closest place open on a weekend; there are two urgent care centers but one isn’t open on weekends and the other doesn’t have someone who can write prescriptions working that day.

I go into the ER and explain my issue. I’m clearly not having an emergency, but thankfully there are no other patients that morning and they’re able to write me a one-week prescription and send me on my way in under thirty minutes. While I’m at the ER, I’m clearly frustrated but grateful for the lovely doctor and nurse who are assisting me. The nurse gives me a giant hug and a chocolate muffin from the break room, and both the doctor and the nurse file a report against my doctor.

Monday morning at eight am, I get a call from my doctor’s boss. She saw on my chart that I had an ER visit for the sole purpose of getting a medication refill and wanted to know why. I explained the situation, and also mentioned being worried that I couldn’t afford an ER bill because emergency room visits aren’t covered under my insurance if they’re not considered an actual emergency, such as a broken limb.

A few days later, I check my insurance claims to see what my ER bill is going to be, expecting a bill of at least $2,000 out-of-pocket. My entire ER bill has been comped, as well as my past visits with the terrible doctor. I end up paying $0 for the entire debacle. I also get a three-month refill instead of one month, and it is also comped instead of the usual $45 per month.

I have since found a new physician, but at the same clinic because they went so far above and beyond to correct one doctor’s mistakes.

Has A Bad Ring(worm) To It

Bad Behavior, Doctor/Physician, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | May 2, 2019


When I was very young, my family lived in a rural area where we only had access to one clinic that took our health insurance. While we could have driven into the city — about three hours — if there had ever been a situation that the clinic couldn’t handle or if we’d needed a special consultation, for the most part, my parents stuck with the local clinic. The clinic was very small; I don’t believe that there were ever more than four doctors on staff, and most of them were not there full time. Although the clinic tried to hire doctors who practiced family medicine — so they could see all ages of patients — there was one pediatrician on staff, and because of this, my brother and I were just automatically sent to him, as were most kids in our area. He often rushed through appointments and was impatient when my parents had questions, although since my brother and I were generally healthy kids, our family didn’t have too many issues with him… until I was four.

When I was four, I developed a strange rash on my neck, back, and legs. My mom took me to the clinic, where the pediatrician took one look and said that I had ringworm. He prescribed a salve, an oral antifungal medication, and an antifungal shampoo, since the rash on my neck was near my hairline and ringworm can cause permanent hair loss if it develops on your scalp. I was on the medication for over a month before the symptoms subsided, and we thought that it was over… until I had another rash a few months after that. And a few months after that. The doctor kept prescribing the same regime every time. I was miserable because the oral medication messed up my stomach, and my parents were driving themselves crazy trying to sanitize anything that I ever came into contact with to hopefully prevent a recurrence and to avoid my brother getting infected.

This happened about four times over the course of two years; although my parents asked if there could possibly be something else going on, since ringworm is not supposed to be a chronic condition, the doctor blew them off every time and essentially told them not to question his authority, since he’d gone to school for this and they hadn’t. He was very condescending, and when my parents asked for advice, he’d just repeat stuff about hygiene and washing up. My parents had actually just decided to take me into the city for a second opinion if I had another rash when the usual doctor stepped down and we got a new one.

My parents brought my brother and me in for our flu shots, and the new doctor noticed the beginnings of the rash on my arm. He asked my parents about it, and they told him that they weren’t interested in putting me on the same antifungals since they clearly weren’t working and were just making me miserable. He was confused and asked why I’d be on antifungals for eczema. A couple of quick tests confirmed that he was correct, that I definitely didn’t have ringworm, and instead of multiple infections, I had one condition that flared up every few months. I got a prescription for an anti-inflammatory cream, and the doctor suggested that my mom change our laundry detergent, and then the rash was handled. But that wasn’t the end of the story.

The new doctor checked my file and confirmed that the old doctor hadn’t done any testing to diagnose me the first time — no black-light test, no biopsies or cultures, nothing — and had just marked that it visually presented as ringworm. Each subsequent time I came in, the old doctor stuck to that rather than reassess. After that, my parents requested a copy of my file, and then saw the notes that the old doctor had made, which basically amounted to him complaining about working with dirty, poor, uneducated families who couldn’t keep their kids clean. He hadn’t bothered to do any further testing when my parents told him that they’d complied with all his suggestions for how to make sure that I didn’t catch “ringworm” again, because he just assumed that anyone who lived in our rural area must be a dumb, ignorant hick who couldn’t really value hygiene.

My parents were furious. We later learned that he had been asked to step down from his position in the clinic precisely because he’d had this attitude with most of the families who came into the clinic, and had said as much to one of the nurses, not realizing that a patient had overheard. One of the things he must not have realized about smaller communities like ours is that word spreads like wildfire. Dozens of families were suddenly requesting records for their children, and people found multiple stories like mine where the pediatrician diagnosed without testing, or made assumptions about families that impacted the way he handled their treatment. There was a community-wide effort to send complaints to the state medical board. I know that there was at least one successful lawsuit against him, and last I heard, that pediatrician’s license to practice medicine was revoked.

Meanwhile, our new doctor treated my eczema, saved my brother’s life during an allergic reaction, became a hero in our community for doing house calls, and has received state-wide recognition for being willing to go above and beyond for his patients.

Your Strong Opinion Is Not Strong Enough

Doctor/Physician, Hawaii, Honolulu, Jerk, Medical Office, Nurses, USA | Healthy | May 1, 2019


(My one-and-a-half-year-old needs a TB test — for the curious, it turns out negative. She’s always been very strong, and I know it’s going to be tricky to get her to hold still for the jab, so I offer to help the technician.)

Me: “She’s pretty strong; would you like me to help hold her?”

Tech: *eyes rolling and voice dripping with sarcasm* “I’m just sure she is. Every parent says that.”

Me: *stepping back* “Okay, have fun.”

(For the next few minutes, the tech finds himself unable to do the quick little jab because my daughter is able to fight him off. Finally, he admits defeat.)

Tech: “Could you hold her, please?”

Me: *sickly sweet* “I’d be happy to.”

(I wrapped my arms and legs around her tightly, and it was still a struggle, but the tech administered the test. If he’d just humored me instead of being condescending, it would have been much easier for him!)

Putting The Lying Into Lying Down

Bad Behavior, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, USA, Utah | Healthy | May 1, 2019


(I have epilepsy and have had several partial-complex seizures. I have been delivered by ambulance to the city hospital; unfortunately, the neurologist on call is one who I stopped seeing when he accused me of faking seizures in order to get attention, possibly because he is friendly with the neurologist who molested me when I was a teen.)

ER Nurse: “Her ID says she has epilepsy. We need to make sure she’s had her medication today.”

Neurologist: “There’s no need. She’s just being dramatic.” *to me* “[My Name]! Stop trying to make everyone feel sorry for you.” *to the nurse* “Give her some [anxiety medication]. She’ll tell you it gives her panic attacks; she’s a chronic liar. Just do it.”

(I am not sure what happens next, but I wake up in the darkened room alone. Confused and sick, I throw up in a trash bin and wander down an empty hall until I find an exit. I remember walking blankly until I find a street sign, then calling my sister and asking her to pick me up. About an hour later, I am home in bed when the phone rings and my mother answers.)

Caller: “This is [Caller] from [Hospital]. Your daughter was here earlier today. She isn’t currently in the room and hasn’t been seen in a few hours; would you like us to begin looking for her?”

Mother: “She’s with us now, and safe, no thanks to you.”

Caller: “Oh, okay. When can she come in to give us her billing information?”

(I did go back, with my parents… and a lawyer. He suggested that charging me for improper treatment that I had never consented to, and had been harmed by, might not be in their best interest. They dropped the bill. They also sent my mother flowers, which was weird.)