During my freshman year in high school, my science teacher assigned us to interview people in the community about how they use science in their careers. Although I don’t remember most of the people I spoke with, I can tell you that I spent meaningful time with a local community pharmacist who changed my life.
What I saw was a man who loved his career and truly cared for his patients. In an instant, I knew that I wanted to become a pharmacist, and I never wavered from that goal throughout high school.
Knowing what you want to be when you grow up at age 14 is unusual, but it is very liberating. I simply had to work backwards to figure out how to achieve my goal of becoming a pharmacist.
After high school, I chose to attend Ohio Northern University (ONU) because it had a unique pharmacy program. Rather than attending college for 2 years and then applying to the pharmacy program, ONU students were admitted to the College of Pharmacy from day one.
Although it was expensive, being in pharmacy school from day one and avoiding the risk of rejection made it worthwhile for me.
In college, I spent a lot of time in the library. Although the classwork was difficult, I did well with one exception: organic chemistry.
I did fail organic chemistry—a notorious “weed out” course—but I successfully retook the class over the summer and graduated on time with the rest of my classmates. Failing a course is a difficult stumbling block, but I stood strong and persevered.
Today, I’m thankful for the wonderful pharmacy profession for so many reasons.
First, I’m thankful that community pharmacists are the health care professionals most accessible to the public. If my local pharmacist wasn’t accessible to me, then I likely would have taken a different career path.
Second, I’m proud of the work we pharmacists do, the diversity of our career options, and the relationships we share with our patients and fellow health care providers.
Pharmacy is a profession that makes a real difference in people’s lives. It certainly has made all the difference in mine.
Hospital, Jerk, Nurses, Texas, USA | Healthy | July 2, 2019
(I’m small and only 16, so I am required to go to the children’s hospital. My parents leave me alone overnight. I’ve been admitted for a possible reemergence of a serious issue, so I’m obviously not allowed to run down to the corner store or anything like that.)
Me: “Excuse me, do you have pads?”
Female Nurse: *freezes*
Me: “You know, for… monthly things?”
Female Nurse: “I… I’m sorry, sweetie, what?”
Me: “I’m bleeding, so I need pads.”
Female Nurse: “I’ll check.”
(She practically runs out of the room. I watch her talk to three others, all with mortified expressions on their faces. Finally, she comes back.)
Female Nurse: “Here you go, sweetie. But this is a children’s hospital, so you need to tell your mother that we don’t have those kinds of things here, okay? Have her bring you some in the morning.”
Me: “But I’ve had this since I was ten…”
Female Nurse: *sputters* “Well, ten isn’t really a child, now is it?” *runs off*
Australia, Children, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive, New South Wales, Westmead | Healthy | July 1, 2019
(My three-year-old son has just spent a week in hospital following surgery on his elbow. The team of doctors has done their rounds and the consultant has left his young resident — who looks about twenty — to give us our final instructions for discharge.)
Me: “So, is he going to need rehab or physiotherapy? Or is he right to resume all his regular activity?”
Resident: “Yeah, he’s fine to do everything a normal, healthy three-year-old boy does. No worries.”
Me: *very happy, as getting this child to be still and rest in hospital all week has been no easy feat* “Great! So, running, jumping, climbing trees, sandpit, and playground is all okay?”
Resident: “Oh, no! He can’t do any of that!”
Me: “So, what, exactly, is it that you think a normal, healthy three-year-old boy does?”
California, Children, Doctor/Physician, Los Angeles, Medical Office, Patients, USA | Healthy | June 30, 2019
(My daughter, around three or four years old, is acting increasingly lethargic, so I take her to urgent care. As always, there is a long wait and she steadily gets more and more bored and restless until the doctor finally comes in. The doctor looks at her and then at me.)
Doctor: “Okay, what brings you here tonight?”
Me: “My daughter has become really lethargic.”
(My daughter can’t sit still anymore and gets up.)
Doctor: “Hi, honey. Can you jump around a little for me?”
(My daughter goes wild, pogo-ing around the room.)
Me: “She wasn’t like this at home! I am so sorry I’ve wasted your time.”
Doctor: “Eh, that’s okay. To be honest, I’m a pediatric specialist. I’m just working here to make a little extra money. Most of my patients die. It’s really nice for me to see a healthy kid.”
(We shook hands and he walked out. This was almost 20 years ago, and I’ve never forgotten how quickly my embarrassment was replaced with sadness.)
Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, Oregon, USA | Healthy | June 28, 2019
(I receive a message from my primary physician.)
Doctor #1 : “Your vitamin D is low, but all your other lab results are fine.”
(Later, I go to a doctor who specializes in some of my chronic illnesses. She looks at the lab results herself.)
Doctor #2 : “Your vitamin D is very low, and you’re borderline anemic.”
Me: “What?! My other doctor didn’t tell me that!”
Doctor #2 : “Well, you’re technically in the normal range for children, but just barely. You’re almost 18 and you’re way below the threshold for adults. Plus, with your chronic illness, you need even more iron than the average person. This isn’t nearly enough. Let’s get you started on an iron supplement.”
(Just because the numbers are within range — by a single point! — it doesn’t mean they’re anywhere close to ideal, doctors.)
Assisted Living, Lazy/Unhelpful, Nurses, Patients, Revolting, The Netherlands | Healthy | June 26, 2019
(I work as a trainee in a care home. I’ve been there just three days. This is my second traineeship, which will teach me specific nursing skills, like inserting a bladder catheter, stoma care, wound care, etc. It’s afternoon and I’m working with two coworkers who aren’t happy with me being there. Normally, they’d sit in the staffroom telling trainees what to do, but since this is my third day, I haven’t got a clue as to what to do exactly, which means that they need to show me. An alarm call comes in from the apartment of a married couple. We go there to see what’s wrong. When we get through the front door, the smell of faeces hits us. Going through to the living room the smell gets worse. We find the husband, who has Alzheimer’s, nearly in tears. He points us to the bathroom where we find his wife, sitting on a stool, covered from her shoulders to her knees in faeces. She has managed to partly undress and it’s immediately clear that her stoma bag has exploded.)
Coworker #1: “Yeah, not dealing with this!”
Coworker #2: “Me, neither!”
(And they both just leave. I can’t believe what I’ve just witnessed. When the woman sees them leave and sees me, she starts bawling her eyes out. I know she hasn’t had her stoma for long and she’s only seen me once, this morning, when I asked her if I could watch her stoma care and help her. She knows I haven’t handled anything like this before.)
Me: “All right, let’s get you undressed.”
(I peek around the door and ask her husband to grab five towels, two bin-bags, and underwear for his wife. To my amazement, he comes back with exactly what I asked for a short while later.)
Patient: “You never did this before; you can’t handle this. It’s a mess!”
Me: “Yes, it is, but we’ll do this together. You’ll see; it’ll be fine.”
(I dress up in gloves and a plastic apron and begin to undress her, throwing the clothes on the ground near the shower, but far enough from her that she won’t stand on the faeces. I give her the showerhead and start peeling off the stoma plate. This, together with the stoma bag, goes into one of the bin-bags. By now, she starts feeling a bit better. The smell still isn’t nice, but since a lot of faeces is being washed down the drain, it’s getting better. Her husband asks if everything is all right. I tell him yes and ask him to make a cup of tea.)
Patient: *crying* “Why did they leave? Why did they leave you here?”
Me: “I don’t know, but I’ll get you sorted. Your husband is making tea, so when you’re dressed your cuppa is waiting.”
Me: “Yeah, well, I want this to be my job, so it’s no big deal.”
(When she’s clean and feeling better, I transfer her to the toilet so she can get dressed. Normally, I’d do this on the stool, but since it’s not entirely clean in that area I have to transfer her. Meanwhile, I rinse out her clothes and put them in the other bin-bag, to go into the washing. When she’s dressed in her underwear, I help her with her stoma materials. I walk her to the bedroom to get dressed further and clean the shower as best as I can without the proper materials. She’s still wobbly from her experience, so I go and check on the husband. He’s boiled the water, but then forgot what he was supposed to be doing. I make tea for both of them and, when I’ve written in their patient book what has happened, I go and check on them again.)
Patient: “Thank you, dear, for everything you’ve done. Now, go get the signature you need for that stoma care. You’ve done great, considering they’ve left you while they knew you hadn’t handled anything like this before.”
Me: “Thank you. I’ll try to talk to them about this. It’s horrible that they left you like that. They shouldn’t have.”
Patient: “I know, but I’m glad you were there.”
(I take her clothes to the laundry room and the coworker there washes them immediately. I find one of the cleaners, tell them what happened, and ask them if they have time to clean the bathroom. They agree. I then walk to the staffroom where I know both coworkers and the manager will be for their tea break.)
Me: *slamming my workbook on the table before both coworkers* “Sign here and there.”
Coworker #1 : *looks at where I’m pointing* “I can’t sign this; I haven’t seen you doing stoma care.”
Me: “Of course, you haven’t. You both walked out on the patient while she was covered in faeces from her shoulders to her knees. If I remember correctly your words were, ‘I’m not gonna deal with this,’ and you left her there, in tears, covered in faeces.”
Me: “You did the exact same thing. You walked out on her, too.”
Manager: “What? You left a patient who needed help? [My Name], can I see the book?”
(I give her the book and she signs without hesitating.)
Manager: “You go home early today; you’ve done enough. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” *points to the two coworkers* “You two, in my office. Now!”
(The next day, I’m a little scared to go back, as I know leaving a patient who needs care is a really bad thing to do. When I get to the staffroom, both coworkers who should’ve been working aren’t there.)
Manager: *when everyone else is present* “I just want to tell you guys that [Coworker #1 ] and [Coworker #2 ] have been placed on unpaid leave for six weeks due to negligence. They’ve left [Patient] with our trainee when she badly needed help. This is inexcusable. You all can understand that, right? Now, [My Name], can you come to my office later to fill out a few witness statements about what happened yesterday?”
(I agreed and we all went to work. I was inundated with questions from other coworkers about what had happened and they were all appalled by my responses. After I’d filled out the witness statements, a couple of weeks went by where we heard nothing more of either coworker. After four weeks, we found out one had been let go as she’d had a warning about negligence before, and the other found another care home to work with.)
England, Hospital, Leeds, Patients, Time, UK | Healthy | June 25, 2019
I went to see my doctor as I’d had a weird pain in my arm for a week and then it had swelled up at the weekend. He sent me to the hospital for a scan, which confirmed I needed to stay in hospital, but they needed to find me a bed so I went back to the investigations ward to wait. And wait. And wait some more.
At 10:00 pm, there was a teenage lad whose parents were grumbling about how they’d been there for four hours and they were fed up waiting for the boy to be discharged.
A few others joined in, waiting five, six hours… After a while of this, I decided to pipe up.
“I’ve been here since ten o’clock this morning. I got diagnosed nine hours ago and I’m still waiting for a bed because I don’t get to go home tonight.”
There were a few beats of silence before the original grumblers declared me the winner and happily waited for their son to be discharged. It actually helped break some of the tension in the room and got people talking to pass the time until I finally got a bed, so yay for winning “waiting time” to trumps, I guess.
Doctor/Physician, England, Hospital, Jerk, UK | Healthy | June 24, 2019
My best friend had surgery in 2017 to remove an ovarian cyst that had gone undiagnosed until it was large enough to cause a protrusion in her abdomen. The surgery to remove it was initially successful and after a couple of days, she returned home, only to be back in hospital three days later with a truly life-threatening infection.
Over a week later, the infection has been largely treated and my friend is moved out of intensive care and onto a ward, still on a cocktail of medicines that leave her somewhat delirious. I’m visiting her along with her mother and two sisters when a doctor enters and begins telling my friend how her infection was the most severe he’d ever seen where the patient recovered. He asks if he can have her permission to write a paper about it. My friend at this point isn’t even with it enough to tell us her surname, and all four of us rather sternly tell the doctor to ask again when she is properly recovered. Embarrassed, he leaves.
I get that doctors deal with this stuff a lot and it’s normal to them, but seriously? She almost died and spent ten days in the ICU, and you think the day she gets back out onto a ward she’s going to be bouncing around the room eager to grant permission for your paper?
My friend made a full recovery and did eventually grant the doctor permission. She told me he said that in blood cultures a score of 10 is an infection, and hers came back with a score of 1,174.
Bosses & Owners, Health & Body, Jackson, Jerk, Mississippi, Salon, USA | Healthy | June 23, 2019
(For my first job, I work at a tanning salon. I have had epilepsy my whole life. During the interview, I explain everything to the general manager and the procedures in case I have one at work. Well, the inevitable happens and I have a seizure when it is just me and one coworker, with a store full of customers. One of the customers calls 911 and I wake up surrounded by the fire department. Naturally, I have to take off for a few days to recover. This is the conversation between me and the general manager as soon as I return for my next shift.)
GM: “[My Name], I need to see you in my office.”
(We sit down and she hands me a piece of paper.)
GM: “You need to sign this incident report.”
(I look over it carefully and sign it at the bottom. She looks at me sort of sideways and then continues.)
GM: “Why didn’t you just not come into work that day?”
Me: “Well, it’s not like I woke up and knew it was going to happen. I only have about ten minutes to one hour of warning. And I did call you almost exactly an hour before and told you how I was feeling. You told me to stay.”
GM: “Yeah, I didn’t think it was actually going to happen.”
Me: “Um, okay? Then what do you want me to do about that?”
GM: “You need to get a hold of yourself. I can’t have you seizing out in front of everybody and scaring away my customers. Did you skip your medicine or something?”
(I start to choke up and begin to cry because I can’t believe she just said something so rude, as if I can just control my disability whenever I feel like it.)
Me: “No, I didn’t skip my medicine. These things happen like clockwork every single month regardless, and you were fully aware of that at my very first interview. If I could control it like you seem to think I can, I would never have another seizure again. I can’t believe you just said something like that to me.”
GM: “Oh, don’t be so sensitive. Dry your tears and go clock in.”
(I just looked at her before I walked out of her office. This created a permanent wedge between me and the general manager. Neither one of us ever spoke of it again, and I didn’t have another seizure at work for the rest of the time I worked there. I eventually quit on the spot one day because I couldn’t handle the way she talked down to me like I was some insubordinate. Who would really say something like that to someone?!)
England, Hospital, Leeds, Patients, Time, UK | Healthy | June 25, 2019
I went to see my doctor as I’d had a weird pain in my arm for a week and then it had swelled up at the weekend. He sent me to the hospital for a scan, which confirmed I needed to stay in hospital, but they needed to find me a bed so I went back to the investigations ward to wait. And wait. And wait some more.
At 10:00 pm, there was a teenage lad whose parents were grumbling about how they’d been there for four hours and they were fed up waiting for the boy to be discharged.
A few others joined in, waiting five, six hours… After a while of this, I decided to pipe up.
“I’ve been here since ten o’clock this morning. I got diagnosed nine hours ago and I’m still waiting for a bed because I don’t get to go home tonight.”
There were a few beats of silence before the original grumblers declared me the winner and happily waited for their son to be discharged. It actually helped break some of the tension in the room and got people talking to pass the time until I finally got a bed, so yay for winning “waiting time” to trumps, I guess.
Doctor/Physician, England, Hospital, Jerk, UK | Healthy | June 24, 2019
My best friend had surgery in 2017 to remove an ovarian cyst that had gone undiagnosed until it was large enough to cause a protrusion in her abdomen. The surgery to remove it was initially successful and after a couple of days, she returned home, only to be back in hospital three days later with a truly life-threatening infection.
Over a week later, the infection has been largely treated and my friend is moved out of intensive care and onto a ward, still on a cocktail of medicines that leave her somewhat delirious. I’m visiting her along with her mother and two sisters when a doctor enters and begins telling my friend how her infection was the most severe he’d ever seen where the patient recovered. He asks if he can have her permission to write a paper about it. My friend at this point isn’t even with it enough to tell us her surname, and all four of us rather sternly tell the doctor to ask again when she is properly recovered. Embarrassed, he leaves.
I get that doctors deal with this stuff a lot and it’s normal to them, but seriously? She almost died and spent ten days in the ICU, and you think the day she gets back out onto a ward she’s going to be bouncing around the room eager to grant permission for your paper?
My friend made a full recovery and did eventually grant the doctor permission. She told me he said that in blood cultures a score of 10 is an infection, and hers came back with a score of 1,174
Bosses & Owners, Health & Body, Jackson, Jerk, Mississippi, Salon, USA | Healthy | June 23, 2019
(For my first job, I work at a tanning salon. I have had epilepsy my whole life. During the interview, I explain everything to the general manager and the procedures in case I have one at work. Well, the inevitable happens and I have a seizure when it is just me and one coworker, with a store full of customers. One of the customers calls 911 and I wake up surrounded by the fire department. Naturally, I have to take off for a few days to recover. This is the conversation between me and the general manager as soon as I return for my next shift.)
GM: “[My Name], I need to see you in my office.”
(We sit down and she hands me a piece of paper.)
GM: “You need to sign this incident report.”
(I look over it carefully and sign it at the bottom. She looks at me sort of sideways and then continues.)
GM: “Why didn’t you just not come into work that day?”
Me: “Well, it’s not like I woke up and knew it was going to happen. I only have about ten minutes to one hour of warning. And I did call you almost exactly an hour before and told you how I was feeling. You told me to stay.”
GM: “Yeah, I didn’t think it was actually going to happen.”
Me: “Um, okay? Then what do you want me to do about that?”
GM: “You need to get a hold of yourself. I can’t have you seizing out in front of everybody and scaring away my customers. Did you skip your medicine or something?”
(I start to choke up and begin to cry because I can’t believe she just said something so rude, as if I can just control my disability whenever I feel like it.)
Me: “No, I didn’t skip my medicine. These things happen like clockwork every single month regardless, and you were fully aware of that at my very first interview. If I could control it like you seem to think I can, I would never have another seizure again. I can’t believe you just said something like that to me.”
GM: “Oh, don’t be so sensitive. Dry your tears and go clock in.”
(I just looked at her before I walked out of her office. This created a permanent wedge between me and the general manager. Neither one of us ever spoke of it again, and I didn’t have another seizure at work for the rest of the time I worked there. I eventually quit on the spot one day because I couldn’t handle the way she talked down to me like I was some insubordinate. Who would really say something like that to someone?!)
Bigotry, Illinois, Medical Office, Nurses, USA | Healthy | June 22, 2019
(I’m at a popular glasses chain for my yearly check. I’ve been going to this chain and the attached eye doctor for many years. Note: I am Latina. My last name usually gives this away. I’m very light-skinned, though.)
Nurse: “Okay, so you’re [My First and Last Name].”
Me: “Yes.”
Nurse: “[Address]? [Phone Number]? Still correct?”
Me: “Yes.”
Nurse: “Single or married?”
Me: “Single.”
(I notice the nurse peer at the screen, turn around and study me, and then squint at the screen again.)
Me: “Is everything okay?”
Nurse: “Whoever entered you in the computer listed you as ‘Hispanic/Latina.’ Don’t worry; I’ll fix it.”
Me: “I am Latina.”
Nurse: “Seriously? But you’re so light!”
Me: “We do come in all shades, you know.”
Nurse: “Wow!”
(The rest of the exam proceeded normally. I know my area doesn’t have a huge Latino/a population but come on now.)
Hospital, Parents/Guardians, Patients, Silly, USA, Wisconsin | Healthy | June 21, 2019
(My mother is hearing-impaired. She’s not totally deaf, but if she’s not wearing her hearing aids, you need to speak very loudly and slowly for her to understand you. She’s been this way since she was five years old due to a case of German measles damaging her auditory nerves. Fast forward twenty years. She is pregnant with me and my brother — I’m female. She knows she is having twins because her doctor heard two heartbeats, but because this is before sonograms are a thing, she does not know what the genders of the babies are. She just assumes that they will both be the same, and she and my dad choose two girl names and two boy names. She goes into labor, but things are just not progressing. Her doctor decides she needs a C-section. This is also in the days before epidurals are commonly used, so they knock her out for the operation, having her remove her hearing aids so they won’t get lost. The babies are delivered and my mom goes to recovery. As she starts to wake up, the nurse comes up to her. Note that my mom is still not wearing her hearing aids.
Nurse: “[Something unintelligible].”
Still-Groggy Mom: “Huh?”
Nurse: “Waa waaa wa waa waa wa waaa…”
Yet Still Groggy Mom: “What?”
Nurse: “YOU HAVE A BOY AND A GIRL!”
Mom: “Oh, they can’t be mine.”
(Rejected before she even saw me! Thank heaven it was the drugs talking!)
Extra Stupid, Hospital, Nurses, USA, Wisconsin | Healthy | June 20, 2019
(I have been experiencing undiagnosed depression and severe anxiety caused by a serious accident while I was in the military. As such, after being let go from my job for something I didn’t do, I end up getting admitted into the psych ward at the Veterans hospital. Before admittance, you have to get your blood drawn to test for drugs.)
Screening Nurse: “Okay, hon, this is the nurse that is going to take your blood.”
(The nurse tries to insert the needle in the crook of my arm and misses.)
Nurse: “Oh, darn! Let me try again.”
(He tries again and misses.)
Nurse: “Let me try on the top of your wrist.”
Me: “Umm… Isn’t that going to be harder? I am a very easy stick; maybe you should try on my right arm.”
Nurse: “No, I can get the vein on the top of your wrist.”
Me: “Um, okay.”
(The nurse proceeded to miss twice more on the top of my wrist. The third try, he wiggled the needle around to try and catch the vein — don’t ask me why he thought that would work — and as a last-ditch effort and with no warning, he went vertical with the needle and rammed it straight down into my wrist. I darn near hauled off and punched him, but I settled for cursing. Miraculously, he did manage to get blood… which lead to another problem. He never put the cap on the end of the tube, so instead of the blood stopping at the end of the tube, it just spewed all over me, the chair, the nurse, and the floor. Once we stopped all that nonsense and got my test results back, which were clean, I finally was admitted into the psych ward where I had to explain to the nurses that, no, I did not try and cut my arm off, their nurse just sucks at blood draws, and that’s why my arm was covered in bandages. Welcome to the VA, folks.)
Oh, That’s Not Water Breaking; That’s The Interns Crying
College & University, Doctor/Physician, Non-Dialogue, Pranks, Teachers, USA | Healthy | June 19, 2019
I studied medical laboratory science in college. As we were studying hormones, we came to hCG, which is the hormone tested for on a pregnancy test. The professor was explaining how, at the very end of a pregnancy, hCG levels can drop off, yielding a negative pregnancy test on an obviously pregnant patient.
Then, he added this gem: “You can really freak out nervous medical interns by calling them up and telling them the pregnancy test on a very pregnant woman is negative. I’m not saying I’ve done it, but I’m not saying I haven’t.”
Cedar Rapids, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Iowa, Language & Words, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | June 18, 2019
I worked as a nurse in a coronary care unit. Medical professionals have their own language, and sometimes forget the average person doesn’t speak “medicalese.” One of my patients was newly diagnosed with myocardial infarction, the medical term for a heart attack. I accompanied his doctor in as he talked to the patient, telling him he had a myocardial infarction.
After we left the room, I asked the doctor if he thought the patient understood what he was told. He assured me he did. When I returned to the patient’s room a few minutes later, I asked him if he understood what the doctor told him.
He said, “Oh, yes. I’m so relieved. I thought I’d had a heart attack.”
Cedar Rapids, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Iowa, Language & Words, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | June 18, 2019
I worked as a nurse in a coronary care unit. Medical professionals have their own language, and sometimes forget the average person doesn’t speak “medicalese.” One of my patients was newly diagnosed with myocardial infarction, the medical term for a heart attack. I accompanied his doctor in as he talked to the patient, telling him he had a myocardial infarction.
After we left the room, I asked the doctor if he thought the patient understood what he was told. He assured me he did. When I returned to the patient’s room a few minutes later, I asked him if he understood what the doctor told him.
He said, “Oh, yes. I’m so relieved. I thought I’d had a heart attack.”
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