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.
Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Massachusetts, Medical Office, Psychiatrist, USA | Healthy | August 1, 2018
(I’m waiting to see my psychiatrist for a medication check-up. This office schedules meds appointments in fifteen-minute blocks; they’re a quick in-and-out to make sure the meds are working before the prescription is refilled. I arrive five minutes before my appointment and am told I’m seeing a new doctor. I’m a little annoyed that they didn’t tell me this when the appointment was being set up — my father works in the mental health field and I’m uncomfortable being seen by his coworkers — but whatever; maybe my regular doctor is out sick. So, I go to the waiting room. And wait. And wait. At twenty minutes past my appointment time — so, five minutes after it is supposed to be over — I hear the receptionists chatting. They say something about the new doctor having computer problems. Okay, stuff happens. Forty minutes past my appointment time, the person who is waiting before me gets into a shouting match with the receptionists about how late things are running. I’m frustrated too, but an extra person yelling won’t change anything, and I have plenty of time, so I keep waiting. Finally, fifty minutes after my scheduled time, a harried-looking man calls my name and introduces himself as the doctor. I’m expecting him to apologize for the delay, or offer an explanation, or anything. Nope. He doesn’t say a word until we get to his office. Now my appointment starts in earnest.)
Doctor: “So, do think you’re depressed?”
Me: *pause* “This appointment is literally to treat my diagnosed depression, so, um, yeah.”
(He doesn’t respond at all to this. He doesn’t even look at me. He has a walking desk, so he’s power-walking in place while he types on his computer. And he keeps typing. For almost ten minutes. I almost stand up and walk out. But I’ve already been here forever, I don’t want to have to do this all again, and I need my meds refilled. So, I take out my knitting and work on that for a bit.)
Doctor: “Do you want to keep taking [Medication #1 ] and [Medication #2]?”
Me: “Yes, please.”
(He types for a few more minutes.)
Doctor: “I’ve sent in the prescriptions for those. I’ll see you again in five months.”
Me: “Thank you.”
(I get up to leave.)
Doctor: “Wow! You’re so fast at knitting! What are you making?”
Me: “A sweater. Bye.”
(I was at that office for over an hour, but in the appointment for less than fifteen minutes. He said almost nothing to me, and half of what he did say was about knitting. And when I went to the pharmacy, only one of the prescriptions had actually been sent over!)
No Spoonful Of Sugar Is Helping This Medicine Go Down
Bad Behavior, Florida, Jerk, Patients, Pharmacy, USA | Healthy | July 31, 2018
(When you come to pick up a prescription, I have to make sure it’s going to the right person or I get written up and, if I get written up enough times, lose my job. This particular pharmacy asks that we verify the address on file, but if they don’t know it, I’ll usually take some other manner of verification if necessary. It’s late, and there’s an hour and a half left to go of a seven-hour day, and all I want to do is go home, so I admit I’m a bit tired. A guy comes up who couldn’t be more than 22, I’d guess, and I smile and go to the register, asking him who he’s picking up for.)
Guy: “My girlfriend.”
Me: “Okay. What’s her name?”
Guy: “[First Name].”
(I need a last name in particular to search, and unfortunately most of the younger crowd usually never give their last name unless prompted. I have no idea why.)
Me: “What’s her last name?”
Guy: “[Last Name].”
(I go over to get it, which doesn’t take long, and return.)
Me: “And what’s her address, please?”
(He gives me this look like I’ve told him that the sky is green or that he’s standing on his head.)
Guy: “I’ve picked up before and they’ve never, ever asked me for her address before.”
(Then he clearly hasn’t picked up for her before at this pharmacy, because we always ask for the address. I say it so often that even when I’m doing things that don’t require it, I sometimes end up saying the words. Sometimes I end up asking them their address before I ask their name, before I can stop myself.)
Me: “Um… We always ask for the address.”
Guy: “No one has ever asked me before!”
Me: “Well, sometimes if you don’t know it, we’ll try another way to verify. Do you know it?”
Guy: “No!”
Me: “Okay, what’s her date of birth?”
(That, he knows. He tells that to me and I’m assured that I have the right person. A new law was passed in July that on certain types and classes of medicines, I now have to ask for a form of ID and enter it into the computer. What he’s picking up falls into that class.)
Me: “I need to see your ID, please.”
Guy: “Why?”
Me: “It’s the law as of the first of July. I have to have an ID.”
Guy: “Does that mean I have to get hers from the car?”
Me: “No, I need yours, since you’re picking it up.”
Guy: “But… does that mean I have to get hers?”
Me: “Um… No. I need yours.”
Guy: “I don’t have mine.”
Me: “Then she has to come in and pick it up.”
Guy: “Why can’t I just go get hers and give it to you?”
(Now I can understand his hesitancy. There’s a big storm that has been going on all day, but neither weather nor annoying teenagers are going to make me break the law.)
Me: “Because it’s her license. Whatever license I have has to be for the person picking up. It’s the law.”
(We go back and forth about this for another minute, to the point that my pharmacist has to come over and back me up, telling him that we have to follow all rules and regulations, and if it’s her license, it has be her. He finally goes out to get her and comes back in. I think this is a wonderful opportunity to do my job right now that she’s here.)
Me: “What’s your address?”
Girl: *throws her ID on the counter* “On file.”
Me: *blink*
(I’ve never had a customer refuse to give their address. Sometimes they’ll pretend to give me a hard time or forget some of the numbers, but I’ve never had someone give me a smart a** remark about it being “on file,” because most have the intelligence to realize that there’s a reason I’m asking for it and it’s most certainly not to hear myself talk. I want to keep my job.)
Me: “I’m sorry; we ask that for verification. If you don’t know yo—”
Girl: *interrupts snottily* “I know my address. It’s [address].”
(She picked up her license from the counter and proceeded to throw it again. I decided I’d had enough of dealing with the twat that was clearly just too lazy to come in and sent her boyfriend in for her, since I could see no legitimate reason for her not to come in besides the rain. And part of me wanted a little bit of revenge for these people half my age giving me a hard time, so I took my time, every bit of it that I could, prolonging the transaction just because they were antsy. As they left, she shot me a glare, snatched up her prescription, and then went to the industrial scale nearby that people use to measure weight and proceeded to jump up and down on it once or twice before leaving.)
Bad Behavior, Laurel, Maryland, Pets & Animals, USA, Vet | Healthy | July 30, 2018
(I work the front desk in a highly recommended vet hospital that has both appointments with doctors and a walk-in emergency service. Emergency visits are always a trip. A young man walks in, carrying his dachshund mix. He tells me that his dog is having respiratory distress, so I take her back to see the doctor first before getting his information. It turns out that the dog has been having breathing troubles for two days. The doctor is not impressed with that info and, with client approval, takes some x-rays to see what might be going on internally. It’s cancer, a lot of cancer in all of the places. The dog is not comfortable outside of oxygen, so the vet goes to talk to the owner to explain that euthanasia is the only humane option. By this point, the owner’s father has come to join him and has brought his own dog. He is handling the dog very roughly and occasionally whacks the dog lightly with the end of the leash when he thinks the dog is misbehaving.)
Father: “Vets just want to take your money! Don’t worry, [Dog], they’re not going to see you. This is where dogs come to die.”
(He is making other clients uncomfortable, so I warn the ER doctor as she goes in to speak with them. The client is understandably shocked and upset, but the father is whole other matter.)
Father: “We’re not ready to put her down yet. Can you give us meds to keep her comfortable for another week?”
Vet: “Sir, she isn’t comfortable at all outside of oxygen. It would be against medical advice to take her out of oxygen and take her home.”
Father: “I’ll take her out of oxygen if I want to! It’s not like she’s suffering!”
(The vet was literally so angry she had to leave the room because yes, this dog was suffering! The father continued to be resistant, but the client agreed that it was in her best interest to euthanize her immediately, and handled the rest of the visit like a rational adult.)
Crazy Requests, Medical Office, Patients, Texas, USA | Healthy | July 29, 2018
(I work for a company that takes hospital calls and after-hours calls for doctor’s offices. The majority of our doctors DO NOT take certain type calls after office hours, and only specific doctors can be called. Some patients refuse to acknowledge that and only make themselves look the bigger fool. It is late on a Friday.)
Me: “Hello! You’ve reached [Service]; how can I help you this evening?”
Caller: “I need [Doctor] paged.”
Me: “All right, ma’am, [Doctor] is not on call; however, the on-call doctor will be taking the page.”
Caller: “No. I don’t want the on-call doctor; I want [Doctor].”
Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I am unable to do that. It’s against policy to page doctors not on call.”
Caller: “I don’t care; I want [Doctor] paged now.”
Me: “All righty, ma’am, I’ll need this information.”
(I list off information needed and the caller interrupts.)
Caller: “Why do you need that information? You’re the doctor’s office; you should be able to look at the computer.”
Me: “Ma’am, I’m not the doctor’s office. I’m [Service]; I handle after-hours calls at a separate location.”
Caller: *huffily gives half the info needed*
Me: “I also need the reason you need to page the after-hours doctor.”
Caller: “I need my birth-control refilled. I ran out today and I need more.”
Me: *trying not to let the aggravation seep into my tone* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m unable to page the doctor for this reason. Prescription refills are to be handled by the office on Monday when they open.”
Caller: “But this is an emergency!”
Me: “I apologize, but I am unable to send that page.”
Caller: “You’re the doctor’s office! You have to send it to the doctor! What am I supposed to do until then? Not have sex?”
Me: *just over her attitude* “Ma’am, the doctor’s policy is that prescription refills are to be handled by the office on Monday.”
Caller: *rains down a multitude of expletives before threatening to get me fired and hangs up*
(She STILL calls almost every other month with the same issue. Friendly reminder: if you see you have two days for ANY prescription, please, please, please call it in before then and don’t wait until after hours to get a refill!)
Bad Behavior, Boston, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Massachusetts, Nurses, USA | Healthy | July 27, 2018
(I’m Bipolar I and not medicated. We’ve tried a few different combinations of drugs for me, but unfortunately I either have side effects or it simply doesn’t help anything. While therapy has been helpful, it’s not perfect; I still need the occasional trip to a psychiatric hospital. For this particular incident, I am sent to a completely different hospital, which I later learn is more adequately equipped to handle patients seeking drug rehab. However, even that seems to be inaccurate, as I learn during my three-and-a-half day visit. On day one, a patient and the head of the wing are talking in a common area
Patient #1: “When do you think I can go home?”
Doctor #1: “Sunday. Your insurance lets us hold you another week.”
(For a little context, during a previous group session I had with [Patient #1], he mentioned he’s been here almost two weeks and the head of the group commented on how much progress he’s made. As my stay continues, it isn’t uncommon to overhear the nurses gossiping about how they can’t believe the doctors still won’t discharge [Patient #1]. Day two: one of the other patients is a new mother with apparently no thought filter. As a result, she frequently talks about how she has to pump if the subject even remotely drifts towards family or children. One of the other patients finally gets fed up with it and a fight nearly breaks out. Unlike the mother, the other patient is allowed to leave the wing to go have lunch in the cafeteria.)
Doctor #2: “Okay, [Patient #3], you just lost your cafeteria privilege for today.”
Me: “But doesn’t [Patient #2] have to stay up here, too?”
Doctor #2: “Of course.”
Me: “So, you’re going to lock them in the wing together when most of the staff is down in the cafeteria?”
(After enough of us band together, the doctors finally agree the best thing they can do for both patients is to separate them. Also of note, a fourth patient is discharged at the end of day two, with a certain nurse helping her gather her things. On day three, though I’ve only had three or four sessions with her, I bid [Patient #3] farewell as she is gathering her things from the storage locker with the same nurse who assisted yesterday’s discharge. Just as I go to leave
Patient #3: “Where’s my backpack?”
Nurse #1: “Your what?”
Patient #3: “My backpack. I came in with a pink backpack from [Brand]. Where is it?”
Nurse #1: “We only had one like that. It was [Patient #4]’s, wasn’t it?”
Patient #3: “Wha?!”
Nurse #1: “She said that bag was hers. We gave it to her when she left last night.”
Patient #3: “YOU GAVE HER MY BACKPACK?!”
Nurse #1: “Sorry. We’ll call the police and report the theft.”
Patient 3: “WHAT THE F***’S THAT GOING TO DO? SHE’S BEEN GONE A DAY ALREADY! WHY DIDN’T ANY OF YOU NOTICE THE BAG WASN’T LABELLED FOR HER?” *begins crying*
Nurse #1: “Calm down! It’s just a backpack!”
Patient #3: “THAT BACKPACK HAD MY WALLET IN IT! WITH MY LICENSE AND SOCIAL SECURITY CARD! YOU LET HER STEAL MY IDENTITY!”
Nurse #1: “We can replace those things!”
Patient #3: “IT HAD THE ONLY PICTURE I HAVE OF ME WITH MY FATHER! YOU CAN’T REPLACE THAT! HE DIED AFTER I WAS BORN!”
Me: “Get the f****** police already, you dips***!”
(I didn’t know what else to do. The police do show up, though I have no idea how this story ends or if anything was done about [Nurse #1]. On day four — my release day — I’m sitting in the common area playing cards, waiting for my girlfriend to show up and drive me home. Needing a fourth for Hearts, one of the nurses agrees to join us.)
Nurse #2: “[My Name], you sure know how to pick ’em. Of all the weeks you could’ve shown up!”
Me: “I’m amazed, too.”
Nurse #2: “Yeah, but this ain’t even the worst of it. One patient last year always ran his mouth. ‘I’m in for bestiality!’ ‘I’m a member of the local KKK and they think this’ll cure me!’ and on and on. All cause he didn’t want to admit he tried to kill himself after his girlfriend broke up with him.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Nurse #2: “Yeah, he just kept making excuses to justify the cuts on his arms.”
Me: “You can’t tell us that! His medical records are still privileged!”
(I’ve never been back. I haven’t looked it up yet, because I’m truly frightened that it might still be open.)
Might Actually Be Worth Getting Whooping Cough, Instead
Dublin, Ireland, Jerk, Medical Office, Reception | Healthy | July 27, 2018
(I’m midway through my pregnancy and have been putting off getting the whooping cough vaccine, so I call my doctor to schedule an appointment.)
Me: “Hi. I was wondering if I could book an appointment for the whooping cough vaccination?”
Receptionist: “What’s your name and date of birth?”
Me: “That’s [My Name] and [date].”
Receptionist: “It says here you’re 22 weeks.”
Me: “Yep.”
Receptionist: “Then, no, you can’t have an appointment.”
Me: “Um, right. Is there any reason why not?”
Receptionist: “The vaccine is only available from 26 weeks.”
Me: “Oh, right. I thought [Doctor] said I could get it from 16 weeks. I must have misheard. It’s okay, though, I can wait another four weeks.”
Receptionist: “Let me check with the doctor. Hold the line.”
(Pause.)
Receptionist: *sarcastically* “Well, I guess the doctor just knows more than me, huh? Clearly I’m just a receptionist, so I wouldn’t know anything. Apparently you can get it from 16 weeks.”
Me: “So, can I book an appointment?”
Receptionist: “At 11 on Monday.”
Me: “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
Receptionist: “The vaccine isn’t free, you know.”
(Most health care is free while pregnant in Ireland, but things like vaccines aren’t.)
Me: “Yep, that’s fine. I have no issue paying.”
Receptionist: “Good, because you have to pay. You’re not getting it free.”
Me: “I know.”
Receptionist: “Because it’s not free. You have to pay.”
Me: *Pause* “Is there anything else you need from me?”
Receptionist: “No, but when you come in for the appointment you have to pay.”
(I work as a speech therapist. While I mostly work with children, I have a handful of adult patients with brain damage. As most of them aren’t able to walk, I visit them at home. All of the patients have fixed appointments once or twice a week. After some recent changes, I end up with an awkward schedule — driving from one end of the town to the other, back and forth — that makes me lose about two hours a week due to driving. I plan to coordinate this better and ask all of my patients if they are okay with different times and/or dates. It works well with everyone at first. I talk to one of my patients, a senior citizen, whom I visit every Monday and Wednesday.)
Me: “I plan to change my weekly schedule. Would it be okay if we moved Monday’s sitting from 11:00 to 13:50?”
Patient: “Well, the physical therapist is there until 13:45, so it should be fine.”
(On the next Monday, I arrive at 13:55. The physical therapist is still with her.)
Me: “Oh, am I early? I am sorry. I thought you two would be done by now”
Physical Therapist: “Oh, no, we still have 15 minutes left. We always have until 14:10.”
Me: “I’m sorry; I didn’t know that. [Patient], we need to reschedule our Monday’s appointment.”
Patient: “Huh? Why? I thought it would be only once. I figured we could cut the therapy a bit shorter today and go back to normal next week.”
Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, as I already gave that time to another patient. I am so sorry that I didn’t make it clear that the change would be permanent. My schedule is packed, but what about Tuesday, 11 o’clock instead of Monday?”
Patient: “I am at the daycare on Tuesdays and Fridays”
Me: “That isn’t a problem for me. We have lots of patients in day care. I could visit you there, if that’s okay with you?”
Patient: “Yes, let’s do this.”
Me: “Okay, so now, instead of Monday, I will visit on Tuesdays every week.”
(With everything being clear, we start practicing. On Wednesday I visit her as always, reminding her of our new permanent appointment once again. The next Tuesday, I drive to the day care facility to find her completely surprised, but not by the fact that I showed up there today.)
Patient: “Where were you yesterday?”
Me: “We’ve moved the appointment from Monday to Tuesday. That’s why I’m here today.”
Patient: “Yes, we talked about you coming here on Tuesday, but I didn’t know that meant Monday would be cancelled.”
Me: “We have to have therapy twice a week, so instead of Monday and Wednesday, we now do Tuesday and Wednesday.”
Patient: “Ah, I see.”
(We go on normally. Everything works fine for two weeks, until I get stuck in traffic one Tuesday morning and don’t make it to her. I call her to let her know. The next day, I visit as usual.)
Patient: “Where were you on Monday? I thought you’d be here on Monday.”
(I start explaining again why I can’t come in on Mondays and how we moved it to Tuesday.)
Patient: “But I thought that would be only once. I didn’t know you wanted to come to the day care every week. Every time you come, I miss out on the games and quizzes we do there.”
Me: “I am sorry, but that’s why I asked you if it’s okay before I actually changed the plan. I don’t have many options left right now.”
(I feel bad for her, as I obviously didn’t explain it to her properly, so I explain it again and make extra sure she understood what happened. Finally, I offer to sacrifice one of my lunch breaks to make room for her.)
Me: “The only open appointment would be Thursday at 11:30.”
Patient: “No, that’s not possible, either. Can’t we do Monday, 11:00?”
Me: “As I already explained, I am on a huge tour and can’t be back before 13:30, which won’t work because of the physical therapy. Is there something else you do on Thursdays?”
Patient: “No, it’s just so inconvenient. Why can’t we do Monday?”
Me: “Because I asked you if we could change the time and date. If you had said no, I wouldn’t have changed anything. But I did, and your old appointment is no longer available. What would be a more convenient time for you?”
(Surprisingly, Monday at 11 was still the only time she was willing to agree, so I had to re-reschedule about ten patients, and now I’m back to my old awkward plan.)
Ignoring & Inattentive, Medical Office, Paramedic, Patients, UK | Healthy | August 27, 2018
(I’m 22 years old, female, and reasonably healthy for my age while living away at university. When I’m home at my parents for Christmas, I suddenly get a sharp pain in the centre of my chest, radiating out to the centre of my right rib cage. It’s not too severe at first, but I cannot walk straight and end up laying on the floor for two hours.)
Mom: *sitting on my bed, trying to keep me calm, talking to the out-of-hours telephone service, as well* “This pain has never happened before; I’m not really sure what to do here.”
Phone Responder: “All right, there’s not much we can do, unfortunately; judging by your description it could be a diaphragm spasm or a fructose allergy causing the tightness. You can give her pain relief, but all we can recommend is to call your GP in the morning.”
Mom: “All right, thank you.”
(Thankfully, the pain passes in about three hours, so we figure it’s a one-time thing and continue our lives. I get more pains, like this one and worse, about two or three times a year until I’m 24, where I finally go to my GP after a particularly bad “attack” where I end up vomiting from the pain.)
Me: *describes the symptoms in detail* “I was speaking to a family friend who’s had gallstones and says she had the same pains. Could it be that?”
Doctor: “Hmm, I doubt it; you’re simply too young and too healthy for it. It’s probably acid reflux. Try some [Known Heartburn Brand] for a while and see how you get on with that.”
(I leave and do as he asks, and for a while it seems to work… until this year at the age of 25. I have a pain so bad I begin violently vomiting, begging my mom to call an ambulance because I’m convinced something inside me has ruptured because of the severity of the pain. She does, and thankfully they arrive within minutes. I’m unable to talk because of the pain, so my mom is the one having to describe everything.)
Mom: *helping me explain the pain and pointing where it is on her own body, since I’m curled up into a ball on the bathroom floor* “She’s had these pains before, but never this bad. We don’t like to bother emergency services unless it’s severe.”
Paramedic: “We’ll try paracetamol and [heartburn medicine] first to see if that helps. Is that okay?”
(I nod, and the paramedics do as they promised, but after 20 minutes the pain is still worsening and I’m not able to think on anything else anymore. I can’t breathe, I feel like I’m dying or I’m going to pass out, and it’s overall a terrifying experience.)
Paramedic: “All right, since that’s not helping we’re going to give her some gas and air until we can move her over to the bed and check her over, okay?”
Mom: “That’s fine; she’s definitely not allergic to anything, so she can have whatever is needed.”
(Thankfully, the gas and air dulls the pain enough for me to get off the bathroom floor onto my bed, but it’s still severe and I’m shivering from the intensity. The paramedics do all their checks, pressing on the area with the pain, which causes me to cry again.)
Paramedic: “I think she’s got something wrong with her gallbladder. It’s unusual for her age, but it’s the only explanation for this pain and the area of it. I think it would be wise for her to go to hospital to check for sludge stuck in there or stones.”
(My mom agreed, but I insisted that she stay home so she didn’t have to see me in pain anymore. Once I was in the ambulance, I was also given morphine and some anti-vomiting medicine, as I was still being sick. At the hospital, the pain was starting to fade and eventually the emergency room nurse discharged me with the diagnosis of stress from just finishing university. I was tired, delirious, and fed up at this point, so even though I tried to argue, I didn’t have the strength and I left. I went back to my GP a few weeks later, and with a note from the ambulance team included in my file with their suspicions, and my mom not letting me leave without an answer, I was booked in for an ultrasound and a blood test. The ultrasound revealed I had some of the biggest gallstones the staff had ever seen in someone of my age, and I’m now waiting on surgery to remove my entire gallbladder. Just because someone doesn’t match the “average” symptom group doesn’t mean it’s absolutely not that illness, and if I had been listened to in the first place, I wouldn’t be losing my gallbladder!)
Comeuppance, Dentist, Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Nurses, USA | Healthy | August 27, 2018
(I haven’t been to the dentist for several years, but an old family friend — who cleaned my teeth when I was a child — has recently moved to the area, so I go to her for a cleaning. The following takes place with her hands and tools inside my mouth, so I can’t spit.)
Hygienist: “You really need to brush your rear teeth better. I know you can, because they’re clean right now. But your lazy brushing has caused all sorts of problems back here. And you really need to lay off the soda. Really, sugar in general. And high-acid foods and drinks. Soda is pretty much the worst, though. And greasy food isn’t much better! You clearly eat too much fast food, and it’s not good for you. Your back teeth are just falling apart because of all that junk food!”
(Her tirade continues for more than ten minutes. She lectures me like I’m still a child despite that I’m in my mid-20s, before she finally removes her hands so I can pause to rinse and spit. She immediately reaches to start again, but I hold up a hand.)
Me: “We need to get something straight. I don’t eat high-acid foods, or greasy foods. I can’t afford to eat out, even cheap fast food. And I have soda maybe once a month. And while I don’t claim to be perfect, and do occasionally forget to brush before bed when I’m exhausted, I am meticulous about cleaning all my teeth, especially the molars. The reason why they’re so bad off is that I have severe acid reflux. I have had it my whole life. I even had an ulcer a few years back. That’s why I can’t eat any of that crap, and why I can’t help my teeth being somewhat decalcified. Until my doctor and I get the reflux under control, there’s nothing I can do to improve my teeth.”
(I sat back, opened wide, and let her resume cleaning. She was silent for a few minutes, before softly starting to catch me up on the doings of her own kids, who I hadn’t seen in years and was glad to hear about. The rest of the appointment went smoothly after that, and the dentist was informed of my reflux before walking into the room, so he didn’t repeat her mistake. I ended up needing all five of my wisdom teeth removed — apparently I had an extra one — due to extreme decalcification. They were honestly getting spongy by that point. But the visit ended well, and I still go back to the same folks, sans lectures now.)
Extra Stupid, Hospital, Language & Words, Missouri, USA | Healthy | August 26, 2018
(I am sitting in the waiting room, hoping my ankle isn’t broken, when I overhear this
Mom: *to dad, dragging her five-year-old girl behind her* “Yeah, the doctor said it was just idiot pathetic vomiting. We have to come in if she tries it again.”
(It took me a while to figure out this lady was trying to pronounce, “idiopathic,” meaning, “of unknown cause.” That poor kid!)
Australia, Extra Stupid, Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive | Healthy | August 25, 2018
(I work at the main information and patient enquiries desk for a major hospital. I get asked the full range of questions, some often way out of my scope of knowledge, but I try my best to at least point people in the right direction! People often give me very few details of what they want and just assume I will read their mind. I cannot check patients in for appointments; I must direct them to the clinic they are seeing.)
Me: “Good morning! How can I help you?”
Visitor: “[Last Name].”
Me: “Is that an inpatient you’re looking for?”
Visitor: “I have an appointment. [Last Name].”
Me: “Okay, what type of specialist are you seeing?”
Visitor: “[Last Name].”
Me: “Okay, I don’t need your name, just what type of doctor you’re seeing. What’s it for? Your heart? Bones? Lungs?”
Visitor: “[Last Name].”
Visitor’s Friend: “1:30.”
Me: *to friend* “What type of specialist?”
Visitor’s Friend: “[Last Name].”
Me: *trying so very hard to remain calm* “What. Kind. Of. Doctor?”
Visitor’s Friend: “Oh! I’m not sure. Hang on; let me check the paperwork…”
(I’m rather clumsy, and this time it lands me in the ER. The doctor that’s checking me out is actually my neighbor.)
Doctor: “All right, what did you do this time?”
Me: “Well, I woke up and wanted to finish reading my book from yesterday, but I wanted to make breakfast, as well, so I walked downstairs whilst reading, and I kind of fell…”
Doctor: *long pause* “At least you read, right?”
(I managed to break a bone in my arm, and needed a cast.)
Australia, Bizarre, Hospital, Time | Healthy | August 22, 2018
(I work on a switchboard for a major hospital. We take all external and internal calls then direct them to the appropriate department.)
Me: “Good morning, [Hospital].”
Caller: “Hi, can I speak with someone about rescheduling my appointment?”
Me: “I’m sorry, but you will need to speak to the outpatients department, and they do not open until nine am; you will have to call back a bit later!”
Caller: “Oh, what time is it now?”
Me: “It’s 8:15.”
Caller: “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was so early! I hope I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Me: “Um… No?”
(Yes, he was completely serious; he continued on the conversation as normal after that! I’ll never know if it was just an instinctive reaction for him to say that, or if he genuinely thinks we sleep when there are no calls?)
Crazy Requests, Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive, Illinois, Nurses, Patients, USA | Healthy | August 20, 2018
(I am an NCT — a nursing care tech — basically one rung down from a nurse. We check vitals, help transport patients for surgeries or procedures, track their progress and double-check their treatment plans, help patients shower or get to the bathroom, and generally make sure that nurses and patients have what they need, and that none of the patients are showing signs of any impending medical problems or complications. We are legally not allowed to give medicine, administer treatments, contact patient family members for any reason, or give medical advice. All of this information is told to the patients when they arrive, and is in the information packet all the patients are given, along with a flow chart about who to call for what problem. Additionally, in my hospital, all NCTs wear green scrubs, all nurses wear blue, and all doctors wear white. This patient, who has been here for about a week and a half, calls me in.)
Patient: “My back feels just awful. Could you go get my next dose of painkillers a little early?”
Me: “I’m not allowed to give you any medications, I’m afraid. I can go get your nurse, though, or you can call her with this number on the board. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Patient: “Well, can you adjust my IV at least?”
Me: “I can’t do that, either; I’ll have to grab your nurse.”
Patient: “What about my sister? Did you call her with the new care plan?”
Me: “That’s also the nurse; I can’t contact your family.”
Patient: “Well, what about my diagnosis? What do you think I should do?”
Me: “I’m not allowed to offer any medical advice, either. Let me call your nurse, okay? She’ll be able to help you with all of this.”
Connecticut, Crisis Housing, Emergency Services, Extra Stupid, Hartford, USA | Healthy | August 19, 2018
(I’m an EMT. My partner and I are called to a homeless shelter/halfway house for a “sick call.” This means a non-life-threatening issue. We arrive and unload the stretcher. There’s about ten stairs and a small elevator right inside the door. I start to open the door of the elevator when I’m greeted by staff.)
Staff: “You’re going to the second floor. Oh, that elevator doesn’t work.”
Me: “Okay. Do you have another one?”
Staff: “Sure, it’s up here around the corner.”
Me: “Great. How can I access it?”
Staff: “Come on up the stairs and go to the end of the hall.”
Me: “That’s not going to work. Do you have another access point? A ramp, maybe?”
Staff: “We have an elevator around the corner here.”
Me: “That’s great, but if this elevator doesn’t work, how am I going to get my stretcher to the second floor?”
Staff: *exasperated* “There’s an elevator right over here! Right around the corner.”
Me: “I understand that. But how would you like me to get my stretcher up these stairs to get to that elevator?”
Staff: *blank stare*
Me: *to my partner* “Let’s just leave it here, see the patient, and figure it out from there.”
(When we got to the other elevator it was so small our stretcher wouldn’t have fit, anyway, even if we folded the back.)
At The Checkout, Harassment, Health & Body, Kansas, Retail, Strangers, USA | Healthy | August 18, 2018
(I am working the register at my store. My coworkers are all busy elsewhere, and it is a slow part of the day, when an old man walks up and purchases a small item. Things are going normally until I hand him his change. It should be noted that I have a mild form of adult acne.)
Customer: “Do you know you have a red thing on your face?”
(He points toward a small flare up of acne on my cheek. I blink for a moment, because while part of me knows what he’s pointing at, no one has ever said anything directly to me about it before.)
Me: “What do you mean?”
Customer: “You have a red thing on your face. I know what that is. It’s caused by anxiety.”
(I have never had anxiety issues, and now that I have confirmed what he’s talking about, I speak with a deadpan tone.)
Me: “Sir, I have acne.”
(I’ve never really been self-conscious about my acne, but I don’t like the way he’s talking about it. He takes his receipt and starts heading for the door while still talking to me.)
Customer: “Yes, and that is caused by anxiety. I have seen this before.”
(My tone has gone cold, and in my head I’m wondering why my personal health is his business.)
Me: “Sir… my mother is a nurse.”
(What I’m hoping he’ll pick up on is the implication that, “if something were seriously wrong with my face, she would know,” but he doesn’t get the hint.)
Customer: “I worked fifty-five years in medical technology maintenance.”
Me: “So, you never actually practiced medicine, then.”
Customer: “I have seen this before. It’s anxiety.”
(He then starts rambling something I don’t quite follow, but he makes it sound like he’s had bugs grow out of his own acne in the past. Or seen them grow out of acne in other people. Or maybe even caused them to grow out of other people’s skin infections. The main thing I key in on is his use of the words “grow out of,” which does not give me mental images of bacteria. It genuinely sounds like he’s talking about live insects growing out of people’s faces, which is incredibly creepy.)
Me: “Are you a doctor?”
(I ask this bluntly, trying to convey with my tone and expression that if he is not a licensed medical professional, I do NOT want his opinion on my face, and he needs to stop talking.)
Customer: “I work with medical equipment. But I have seen this before. It’s anxiety. It is.”
(Thankfully, after that the customer just kind of nodded and walked out the door. To date, he’s the creepiest customer I’ve had to serve.)
Extra Stupid, France, Medical Office, Reception | Healthy | August 17, 2018
(This takes place when I’m in college. I get a call around ten am from the secretary of a doctor’s office, saying the doctor will be late for the appointment. The secretary got the wrong number and I’m not the person she was trying to reach. As I have class all morning, I only see the missed call and the message at noon. I assume it’s too late to call back to say they have the wrong number, because the appointment was scheduled the morning, anyway, so the patient probably already went to the doctor’s office. I don’t think about it anymore, but the next day I get another call from the secretary. This time she calls while I’m on my break, so I answer.)
Secretary: “Hello, [Patient]. This is [Doctor’s Office]. I’m calling you about your file; I need some info.”
Me: “Oh, actually, you got the wrong number; I’m not [Patient].”
Secretary: “What do you mean it’s the wrong number ? It’s…” *she dictates my phone number* “…right?”
Bizarre, Medical Office, New York, Non-Dialogue, Oceanside, Phone, USA | Healthy | August 16, 2018
When I was a kid, my family had a separate phone line for our fax machine. One day, we received a fax containing a prescription for medication for my mom’s uncle who lived a few towns away.
We were quite bewildered, as we didn’t think mom’s uncle had our fax number, nor did he have any apparent reason for sending this particular document to us. We eventually found out that our fax number was only one digit off from that of a local pharmacy, and the fax had come from a doctor’s office. Apparently someone at the office was trying to send the prescription to the pharmacy but misdialed.
It was a complete coincidence that the prescription just happened to be for someone we knew.
Doctor/Physician, Florida, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | August 15, 2018
(My father was recently diagnosed with a genetic heart condition, and his doctors want all of his children to be checked for the condition. I make an appointment with my doctor so I can get a referral to a cardiologist.)
Doctor: “What are you here for today?”
Me: “My father was just diagnosed with [heart condition], and his doctors have ordered all of his kids to be tested for it. I just need a referral to a cardiologist.”
Doctor: “You’re way too young to be worrying about that. A heart condition wouldn’t affect you right now.”
Me: *initially speechless* “Well, I’d rather get the tests done so it isn’t a problem later.”
Doctor: “As I said, you’re too young. I’ll see you back in a few months for your annual.”
(The doctor left. Needless to say, that doctor did not see me back again. When the practice asked why I was attempting to switch doctors — something they usually don’t allow — I happily told them the whole story and requested that it be put on the doctor’s file as an official complaint. I eventually got the referral and did not have the genetic condition, but they did find a minor issue that just needed to be noted and checked every few years
Bad Behavior, Dentist, Patients, Pennsylvania, USA | Healthy | August 14, 2018
(My dad is a dentist, and his office is a suite attached to the house. As a child, I am home sick from school, and Dad is with a patient. The door to the office chimes, followed by a long bang. By the time his hygienist comes out to check, the waiting room is empty. Meanwhile, I wake up to a man standing at the foot of my bed. I yell in a panic, and he looks strangely at me, and then puts a hand to his cheek.)
Patient: “I know my appointment isn’t until tomorrow, but this is killing me. Can you fit me in today?”
(Sick and scared, I kept yelling until my dad came running in, still wearing his mask. The patient had walked into the waiting room and, finding it empty, had broken down the door between the office and the house. Then, he had wandered through the house until he found the ten-year-old asleep in bed, and tried to reschedule his appointment. My father was furious and refused to work on him. The guy was surprised.)
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