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.
England, Hospital, Merseyside, Staff, UK | Healthy | January 17, 2019
(I get very severely sick: throwing up anything I try to keep down and having constant diarrhea. I can barely keep juice down. This is exacerbated by the fact I have costochondritis — the cartilage in my ribcage gets inflamed and swells when I get sick, causing mind-numbing amounts of pain. After three days of this, my family forces me to at least go the local triage center if I won’t go to the doctor. I manage to check in with no problem; there are only a few people there so I figure I’ll get seen pretty quickly. An hour passes with people who were there before me and who came AFTER I came in getting in to see the doctors before me. I’m annoyed but hey, they might have seriously bad injuries I can’t see. Then my stomach lurches and I realise I’m all of a minute away from throwing up again.)
Me: *painfully walking up to the desk holding my ribs and stomach trying not to vomit* “I need the bathroom key.”
Receptionist: *doesn’t even look up from her computer* “No, you don’t. Sit down.”
Me: “I am literally about to projectile vomit. I need the bathroom key now.”
Receptionist: “Sit down. It’ll pass.”
(I barely manage to take another step before I’m forced to bend over and vomit stomach acid and bile on the floor in front of two kids and their mother.)
Woman: “Oh, my god!” *rushes over rubbing my back* “Oh, my god. Are you okay, sweetie?”
Me: *crying and gagging* “Sorry! Sorry, oh, god. I didn’t mean it!” *throws up again*
Woman: “[Son]! Get her some tissues and wipes out of my bag!” *to me* “Oh, it’s okay sweetie; you couldn’t help it.”
(The woman and her son managed to help me clean myself up while the two receptionists did nothing. The nice woman helped me sit down again; after ten minutes someone put a slip hazard over the puddle of my vomit but didn’t bother even trying to clean up. Despite that, it still took another hour for me to finally get seen to and just got some painkillers tossed at me, while told I was imagining my costochondritis and to drink fluids.)
Dental Clinic, France, Student | Healthy | January 16, 2019
(I’m studying dentistry in France. Like every fourth- to sixth-year students, I work at the dental clinic, which is split into different wards with different dental fields: surgery, emergencies, radiology, etc. The way it is set up is that without A. having been seen in any other ward or B. a letter of referral from your dentist, we cannot remove your tooth, no matter how adamant you are on wanting to have it removed. We’re supervised by professors and have to get an OK from them to do anything, but we do all the work. Unlike most of my fellow students, I don’t take crap from anyone and am not scared to talk back to disrespectful or unruly patients. That led to me being called to talk to them every time one of my friends feel like they can’t handle it and don’t want to call a professor just because of that. Late one afternoon, a guy comes up to the surgery ward wanting us to remove one of his teeth. A friend briefly talks to him then comes and gets me because the guy refuses to understand what he’s telling him.)
Patient: “You gotta remove it! It hurts so bad!”
Me: “I get it, but I just looked at your file and it’s the first time you’ve ever been here. We don’t even have an X-ray or anything. We can’t risk removing anything without one. We don’t know if we can even keep it! It would be a shame to remove a ‘keepable’ tooth. Go to the emergency ward and check with them. If we can’t keep it, then you just come back up and I’ll remove it personally. You’ve got just enough time to squeeze in. They’re gonna close the admissions in, like, ten minutes, but if you get there before, they’ll see you. I’ll even make sure we keep the surgery ward open in case you come back up to us.”
Patient: “But it hurts! I want you to remove it now! I can’t wait at the emergency ward!”
(It should be noted that non-traumatic dental emergencies take weeks, if not months to develop. I have very little patience for people who come in after years of neglecting their dental hygiene and command me to do anything right this instant.)
Me: “I just told you, you have to go down to the emergency ward. They’ll X-ray it and if we have to remove it, I’ll do it. It won’t take more than thirty minutes, wait time included. They’re not especially busy at the moment, and neither are we.”
Patient: “Look into my mouth! If you’re really studying dentistry, you’ll know it can’t be kept!”
Me: “Oh, actually, I’m a liberal arts major doing an unpaid internship. I’m not studying dentistry or anything. I can’t help you. Either you get it X-rayed and you come back, or you can go home, take a big pair of pliers, and remove it yourself, for all I care.”
(He did go and get it X-rayed and it indeed had to be removed, which I obviously could tell before, but I wasn’t able to bend the rules. And even if I were, I wouldn’t have done it for an impolite bastard like him. Of course, if it had been a life or death situation that couldn’t have waited fifteen minutes, I would have done something for him. It wasn’t one of those.)
Denmark, Hospital, Nurse | Healthy | January 15, 2019
(When I was younger, I kept breaking my arms and legs. This takes place during that period. I think that I was about six years old. I break my right leg during gym class and go to the hospital with my parents. I go through the whole process of having doctors look disbelievingly at me, because surely my leg couldn’t be broken from such a minor fall; I have extremely brittle bones. However, the x-rays confirm that my leg is indeed broken and that I will need a cast. Right after the nurse has finished putting my cast on
Nurse: “All done. You can go to your own doctor in six weeks to have the cast removed.”
Me: *looking at my mum* “Mum, why is it my other leg that hurts?”
(The nurse had put the cast on the wrong leg! I can’t really blame her though. it was pretty late, and she was probably tired and overworked. I was tired, too. That is probably why I didn’t speak up about it being the wrong leg sooner.)
(In Slovenia, as elsewhere, the schools to become a doctor or a nurse are different; medical faculty to become a doctor and faculty of health sciences to become a nurse and other health-related professions. I am a woman, studying to become a doctor and attending medical faculty, wearing a badge saying so when in a hospital. I can’t explain how much every time I have this conversation stresses me out.)
Patient: *always a male, sees the badge* “Oh, so you are still in school?”
Me: “Oh, yes, I’m close to finishing medicine actually.”
(We usually use “medicine” instead of “medical faculty”.)
Patient: “So you’re going to be a nurse soon?”
(Or
Random Person: *after finding out I’m still a student* “So what are you studying?”
Me: “Medicine, close to being done actually!”
Random Person: “Oh, so why do you want to be a nurse?”
(This always happens with men. Never women. It’s happened to me over twenty times already and I hear the same stories from other female students. I usually try to gently correct them and most are genuinely confused, but you can imagine how the conversation continues with those that are convinced women should only be nurses.)
Just A Spoonful Of Forcefulness Makes The Medicine Go Down
Bad Behavior, Doctor/Physician, Florida, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | January 13, 2019
(I am seventeen years old and visiting a doctor with my dad concerning my severe anxiety problems. My dad has resisted taking me to see any therapy or psychiatry specialists for a long time, but has finally relented after realizing the issues I’ve been having aren’t just “hormones.” To my knowledge, this isn’t at a psychiatrist’s office, but a regular doctor — I think for insurance purposes. The first visit results in an anti-depressant medication for some reason. This first medication makes me less anxious but also causes me to sleep upwards of FIFTEEN HOURS a day, and I am incoherent and running into things, falling over, etc., within twenty minutes of taking it each day. I even have difficulty getting up out of a chair to walk the ten feet to my bed after taking it. I remember falling constantly and being hazy. The second visit results in a different medication that doesn’t have any noticeable effect, and also no real side effects, either. This third visit is the check-in to see how the [second medication] was working.)
Me: “I don’t know that these are working properly. I don’t feel anything different. I’m still anxious all the time.”
Doctor: “So. This medication isn’t working. Why are you depressed? Your mother — she loves you? Your father loves you? Think of happy things.”
Me: “Um. I’m not depressed. I have anxiety problems with insomnia and persistent heart palpitations.”
Doctor: “Okay, so, this medicine isn’t working. We’ll switch back to [first medicine]. [First medicine] worked.”
Me: “It… didn’t work, though. I wasn’t anxious because I was really sedated. I was sleeping almost the entire day and night.”
Doctor: “Yes. So, first medicine worked. Here’s a prescription.”
Me: “I’m not taking that again. It was awful.”
Doctor: “It worked. You will take [first medicine] again.”
Me: “No.”
(The doctor then ignores me completely and turns to my dad, instead.)
Doctor: *oddly firm and creepy* “The [first medicine] worked. She will take it.”
Dad: *pause* “Yeah, okay. Give me the script.”
(My dad took the script and we trashed it when we got to the car. It had gotten to the point where my dad was concerned the doctor was going to claim parental negligence and call CPS on him if he agreed with me! We never went back to that doctor again, and I’ve since had a lot of traditional therapy and am doing much better. Did I mention that doctor owned the pharmacy attached to his office? Shocker.)
Dallas, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Jerk, Texas, USA | Healthy | January 12, 2019
(I am pregnant with my firstborn. After a great deal of reading up on the subject and a conversation with my uncle, a prominent obstetrician, we decide to use a certified nurse-midwife and a birthing center. Unfortunately, the due date comes and goes, despite multiple efforts at bringing on labor naturally, including walks, cohosh, and cod-liver oil. Finally, the midwife sets it up for us to go to the nearby hospital for some Pitocin to be applied topically. By this point, I’ve been lying on a table in a cubicle for several hours and am already stressed out because of the overdue baby and because I’ve had to go to the hospital. I am sure they will make me stay, and I don’t want that. Finally, a resident walks in. He pokes around for a bit.)
(The resident walks out. By now, I’m hysterical. Thankfully, the midwife phones right that minute to check on me. I blubber out what the resident said about the cervix.)
Midwife: “She just means that it’s off to the side right now. It will move into position as part of labor.”
(I still think that the first resident’s completely gratuitous information was because he was annoyed that he wouldn’t get to do a delivery. The kicker? My contractions started the minute we were in the parking deck on our way out of there. Our son was born about nine hours later, in the birthing center, with the midwife
Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Medical Office, UK | Healthy | January 11, 2019
(I have a health plan provided by my employer. One of the benefits of the plan is a yearly health check. Once all is complete, I get a call from a “medical professional” to go over the results. I’m pretty healthy except for a bad cholesterol level. After talking on the phone about the rest of the results and my diet preferences, we get to my cholesterol.)
Medical Professional: “Based on the results from the blood sample, we have noticed that you have a very high bad cholesterol level.” *explains the difference between good and bad cholesterol* “…so we really do need to try and bring your bad cholesterol down. We can do this through medication and by controlling your diet. I would start with reducing the amount of red meat and dairy you consume.
Me: “I’m vegetarian, so I don’t eat meat, and I have an allergy to dairy.”
Medical Professional: “That’s good, very good. That’s a good start to reduce your meat intake, and the dairy, like cheese.”
Me: “Well, I’m vegetarian, so my meat intake is zero; I’ve been vegetarian for around twenty years. I’m also lactose intolerant and have an allergy which means I haven’t eaten cheese, milk, or any other dairy, like cream, in about ten years.”
Medical Professional: “Great, so that’s great. It’s settled; you will reduce your red meat and dairy.”
Me: “I haven’t eaten meat in twenty years, and I’ve been allergic to dairy for over ten years.”
Medical Professional: “So, you’ll reduce your meat and dairy? With your cholesterol being so high, I really do think you should consider some diet changes and reduce the intake of meat and dairy.”
(Pause.)
Me: “Could you please help me to understand how to reduce meat and dairy when I haven’t eaten any meat in over twenty years and I haven’t eaten dairy in over ten?”
(After about two or three minutes of being on hold
Medical Professional: “I think you should arrange an appointment with your doctor to go over these results, as you aren’t listening my advice.”
(Two weeks later in the doctor’s office
Doctor: “You should reduce your intake of meat and dairy.”
Me: “I’m vegetarian; I haven’t eaten meat in twenty years and I have a dairy allergy.”
Doctor: “Well, in that case, let’s go through what other options are available for you.”
Bigotry, Hospital, Jerk, Kentucky, Nurses, Strangers, Students, USA | Friendly Healthy | January 10, 2019
(My husband is having a day-long series of medical tests at a Veterans Administration hospital in Kentucky. I drove him there, so I am camping out in the waiting room working on some homework on my laptop for the supply chain management courses I am taking online. I have been working for about an hour and a half when I am approached by an elderly man.)
Elderly Man: “What are you doing on that computer?”
Me: “I am a Transportation and Logistics Management student at [Well-Respected Online college]. I am working on the homework for my supply chain management courses.”
Elderly Man: “Why aren’t you going to nursing school?! Nursing is the only respectable occupation for a woman!”
Me: “What? I can’t qualify for nursing school because I had a stroke a few years ago and my right hand is partially paralyzed.”
(I hold up my right hand and show that I can only use my middle finger and thumb.)
Elderly Man: “But you could be a nurse if you tried harder! Why are you playing with that silly supply chain management stuff? Only men do that!”
Me: “I also have an active Class-A commercial driver’s license to drive tractor trailers.” *reaches into my purse to pull out my license* “I like transportation!”
Elderly Man: “But nurses are so sweet! You should be sweet like a nurse!” *motions to one of the VA nurses*
(The VA nurse chimes in
VA Nurse: “I wouldn’t want her as a nurse with that hand of hers. She would never pass nursing school, anyway. I have met [My Name] before, and that woman is planning on going to law school after she finishes her bachelor’s degree because of the way she has argued her husband’s VA disability claim.”
Elderly Man: “How disgraceful! A woman working as a truck driver and wanting to become a lawyer! Why can’t women be sweet and realize their place in the world?!”
(I put my earbuds on and cranked some Bon Jovi on my laptop and tried to ignore the old coot until he was called for his appointment.)
Ignoring & Inattentive, Maine, Medical Office, Patients, USA | Healthy Right | January 9, 2019
(My husband is the customer in this one. He’s at his appointment to check his numbers for high blood pressure to see if he would be okay on his current prescription or not. While it’s important to note that he doesn’t have a hearing problem, he does tend to not listen, and sometimes it can be rather amusing.)
Doctor: “Now, breathe deeply.”
Husband: *does so*
Doctor: “Cough.”
Husband: “Clap?”
Doctor: “Cough.”
Me: “She said, ‘cough,’ dear.”
Husband: “Clap?” *claps*
(All three of us started laughing. The doctor admitted it made her day. I’ve teased him since about putting this online.)
Ignoring & Inattentive, Maine, Medical Office, Patients, USA | Healthy Right | January 9, 2019
(My husband is the customer in this one. He’s at his appointment to check his numbers for high blood pressure to see if he would be okay on his current prescription or not. While it’s important to note that he doesn’t have a hearing problem, he does tend to not listen, and sometimes it can be rather amusing.)
Doctor: “Now, breathe deeply.”
Husband: *does so*
Doctor: “Cough.”
Husband: “Clap?”
Doctor: “Cough.”
Me: “She said, ‘cough,’ dear.”
Husband: “Clap?” *claps*
(All three of us started laughing. The doctor admitted it made her day. I’ve teased him since about putting this online.)
Your Body Needs To Literally Eat Itself Before You Can Take A Break
Bosses & Owners, Canada, Doctor/Physician, Jerk, New Brunswick, Retail | Healthy Working | January 8, 2019
(I have Dermatomyositis. It’s a rather rare autoimmune disease, best simplified as: without medication, my immune system eats my muscle tissue. When the more worrying symptoms appear, my doctor has me go in for a rushed blood test — ten vials — first thing in the morning, and then tries to call me at work that afternoon after she gets the results. I am working at a store, on cash, ringing through customers, and I hear the service desk page the cash supervisor several times over the course of maybe a half-hour, telling her she has a call waiting on the line. I notice the frequency of the pages.)
Me: *thinking* “Wow, I hope she doesn’t have a family emergency.”
(At one point, the cash supervisor comes up to me while I’m in the middle of a transaction and tells me to turn my light off, then stands in front of my counter behind the customer to make sure no one else comes up to my till. Once the customer is rung through and out the door, she hands me a piece of paper with my doctor’s phone number and says I need to call her. My doctor wants to see me right away, which I explain to my supervisor, and she lets me go. I cab down to my doctor, and she tells me I most likely have Dermatomyositis — later confirmed by a muscle biopsy — gives me a prescription, and puts me on sick leave for six weeks, because she wants me to take it easy so that the damaged muscles can heal. All those times I had heard paging for my supervisor to pick up the phone over the course of a half-hour? That had been my doctor trying to get a hold of me, and it took a long time before my supervisor finally answered. Here’s roughly how the conversation went, according to my doctor
Doctor: “This is [Doctor], and I need to speak to [My Name].”
Supervisor: “Is this an emergency?”
Doctor: “I am a doctor wanting to speak to my patient. YES, it’s an emergency!”
Your Body Needs To Literally Eat Itself Before You Can Take A Break
Bosses & Owners, Canada, Doctor/Physician, Jerk, New Brunswick, Retail | Healthy Working | January 8, 2019
(I have Dermatomyositis. It’s a rather rare autoimmune disease, best simplified as: without medication, my immune system eats my muscle tissue. When the more worrying symptoms appear, my doctor has me go in for a rushed blood test — ten vials — first thing in the morning, and then tries to call me at work that afternoon after she gets the results. I am working at a store, on cash, ringing through customers, and I hear the service desk page the cash supervisor several times over the course of maybe a half-hour, telling her she has a call waiting on the line. I notice the frequency of the pages.)
Me: *thinking* “Wow, I hope she doesn’t have a family emergency.”
(At one point, the cash supervisor comes up to me while I’m in the middle of a transaction and tells me to turn my light off, then stands in front of my counter behind the customer to make sure no one else comes up to my till. Once the customer is rung through and out the door, she hands me a piece of paper with my doctor’s phone number and says I need to call her. My doctor wants to see me right away, which I explain to my supervisor, and she lets me go. I cab down to my doctor, and she tells me I most likely have Dermatomyositis — later confirmed by a muscle biopsy — gives me a prescription, and puts me on sick leave for six weeks, because she wants me to take it easy so that the damaged muscles can heal. All those times I had heard paging for my supervisor to pick up the phone over the course of a half-hour? That had been my doctor trying to get a hold of me, and it took a long time before my supervisor finally answered. Here’s roughly how the conversation went, according to my doctor
Doctor: “This is [Doctor], and I need to speak to [My Name].”
Supervisor: “Is this an emergency?”
Doctor: “I am a doctor wanting to speak to my patient. YES, it’s an emergency!”
Florida, Jerk, Middle School, Nurses, Patients, USA | Healthy | January 7, 2019
(At the end of seventh grade, I am sent home with a letter from the school nurse stating that my BMI is too high, I’m therefore overweight, and I need to be seen by my pediatrician. My pediatrician tells my mother that since I am extremely active, my diet is healthy, and my weight gain is obviously due to an impending growth spurt, to not worry about the weight for now. Over summer break I grow five inches taller. At this point, I’m looking rather scrawny, as it happens when children have large growth spurts. When school starts back up, I get called back into the school nurse’s office. She starts questioning me as to whether everything is all right at home, how is school, am I making friends, am I getting bullied, etc. She finally gets around to the point that she believes I have an eating disorder! I start laughing.)
Me: “Are you joking? I weigh 150 pounds! You said I was fat three months ago!”
School Nurse: “There is no way you weigh 150 pounds. You’ve obviously been starving yourself to get thin. It’s not healthy to do this to yourself.”
Me: “I’m a runner and play other sports. I grew five inches taller over the summer. I haven’t lost any weight. Got a scale? I’ll prove it.”
(I got on the scale and, lo and behold, I actually weighed 155 pounds. The school nurse thought there was something wrong with it and weighed herself. She weighed me again and realized that it was correct! She couldn’t resolve in her head that at 5’4” and 155 pounds I looked underweight due to my muscle mass versus body fat percentage. She called my mother, at which point my mother yelled at her to stopped harassing me about my weight or she was going to the principal over it.)
Awesome Workers, Doctor/Physician, Insurance, Maryland, Medical Office, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | January 5, 2019
In the spring of 2000, I came down with a cold that lingered nearly two weeks, then got weird. I went to see the doctor and she ordered several tests to be done at the hospital next door to the office building.
It was there that I was told that one of the tests she wanted done — a pulse oximeter reading — required pre-approval from my insurance company, which would take about three days to go through the process.
When I told my doctor about that, she was furious. It was a fairly simple test, but her office did not have the necessary equipment. Once she had a break between patients, she marched over to the hospital and spoke to a friend who worked in the emergency department. She then brought my husband and me through the back hallways to her friend, who placed a clip that looked like a clothespin on my finger. In a couple of seconds, the nearby machine showed the necessary data and I was finished with the test in less than five minutes. I was never billed for it.
It turned out that I had pneumonia. I was sent home with the needed prescriptions and instructions. I was back to normal in a few days.
The next time I went to that doctor, she told me that the office had acquired their own equipment.
It’s now eighteen years later, and her office has several of them. I noticed this morning that you can buy one online for about the price of two fast-food hamburger dinners. And the insurance company had wanted three days before approving the procedure!
(A patient comes in for a follow-up. I check their insurance card for charges.)
Me: “It seems that you have a $25 charge. You can pay that in cash, check, or credit card.”
Patient: “I don’t have charges anymore.”
Me: “Oh, did you get a new insurance company?”
Patient: “No, I just don’t have charges anymore.”
Me: “Do you have a new card that reflects that change? If not, I’m required to collect your charge. Then, if it turns out you don’t have one, we will refund it to you.”
Patient: “No, I don’t have a new card. But President Obama says I don’t have to pay.”
Me: “The president told you that you don’t have to pay?”
Patient: “Yeah. He says that Americans get healthcare for free now.”
Me: “Oh, I understand now. However, I think you’ve misunderstood. The Healthcare Bill doesn’t eliminate charges except for preventative, and doesn’t make healthcare free. It just restructures some health insurance policy and such. And it hasn’t gone into effect yet. So, you still have a charge.”
(She reluctantly pays her charge.)
Patient: “Expect to hear from President Obama about this. And don’t expect any sympathy either when he gives you the chair.”
Bizarre, Dentist, Nevada, Patients, Silly, USA | Healthy | January 2, 2019
(I am getting my top two wisdom teeth removed and the dentist gives me two little pills to swallow in order to get me through the procedure. My father was to this dentist for the same thing about two weeks prior and he had some… interesting hallucinations from it. Now it is my turn. I do remember some of this, but it was retold to me by my wife several hours later after the drugs wore off. This occurs during the time I am in the waiting room until I sit down in the chair.)
Me: “I’m… really feeling it now.”
Wife: “Okay, just lay your head down on my shoulder. They said it should act pretty fast.”
Me: *waking back up a bit* “We almost got them.”
Wife: “Huh? You almost got who?”
Me: “The Smurfs… They’re going rogue… I’m having a war with the Smurfs…”
Wife: “Oh, really?”
Me: “Yeah… yeah… Had to take out Joker Smurf… He was putting down IED presents… A sniper got him… Saved all of us…”
Wife: “Okay, well, just be careful.”
Me: *waking back up again and finding myself shuffling with her help and the nurse* “Brainy… Brainy stole our Blackhawk… I got him with the LAW… Had to blow it up…”
Nurse: *laughing really hard* “What is going on?”
Me: “Smurfs attacked… Brainy stole a helicopter… Gargamel… Gargamel is behind it all… He got big… like a video game boss… Commander killed him with a lightning gun…”
(My wife and the nurse are laughing like crazy as I’m laid back into the chair and start to doze off. Suddenly I bolt upright and look out the window.)
Me: “OH, MY GOD! LOOK AT THAT TURKEY!”
(At this point the dentist has come in and I hear him laughing.)
Dentist: “Turkey? You mean that bush?”
Me: “NO! It’s HUGE! AND PURPLE!”
(I guess I passed back out at that point and they were able to get my teeth pulled with no problems. I remember the Smurf War and could write a book about it, but the turkey thing was new to me. If I ever have to get teeth pulled again, whatever they gave me is what I’d request again! My wife wishes she had recorded it all… So do I.)
Australia, Doctor/Physician, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, Non-Dialogue | Healthy | December 30, 2018
My partner was applying for a new job which required a drug test. He didn’t have a regular doctor as we had recently moved, so he chose the closest to our house. On entering the doctor’s office the doctor simply asked him, “Do you drink?” and, “Do you use drugs?”. My partner replied, “No,” and was sent home with the doctor’s report.
Needless to say, the workplace required a more comprehensive drug test to be carried out — one with at least a urine sample.
Medical Office, North Carolina, Patients, Silly, Teenagers, USA | Healthy | December 29, 2018
(I am fifteen and skinny, and I keep losing weight, so I have to go to the doctor to be weighed once a month to prove I don’t have an eating disorder and that my ADD medication isn’t screwing up my metabolism. I suspect it IS the medication, but I really don’t want to be taken off it because it helps me enormously, so one day, I get the bright idea to hide sacks of pennies in my clothes to make myself heavier.)
Nurse: “Okay, just take off your jacket and shoes, and step onto the scale, please.”
(When I bend down to take off my shoes, one of the sacks of pennies falls out of my pant leg.)
Nurse: “Oh, what’s that?”
Me: “Um… pennies… because I’m going to the bank later. To turn them in. Yeah.”
Nurse: *still friendly but clearly not buying my bulls*** at all* “Riiight. Got any more?”
(Fortunately, my doctor just laughed and told me not to do it again. A week or so later, my dad went to the same doctor. While weighing him, the nurse told him to take his hand off the wall. My dad jokingly asked if she thought he was trying to cheat, and she told him the funny story of the girl who came in with her clothes full of pennies.)
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