To Các bạn trong Healthcare với mình

Bleeding Puns
Hospital, Iowa, Punny, USA | Healthy | November 20, 2017
(I’m in the ER with some potential heart issues. At one point, I get a very nice lady in to draw some blood, and she’s joined by a coworker who’s about to go off shift. My elbow veins aren’t cooperating, so I have to get blood drawn from the back of my hand as well. It goes faster after that, and soon, the lady who’s leaving heads out, then pokes her head back in the door.)

Phlebotomist: “Thanks for letting me stick around!”

(My mom and I couldn’t stop laughing. Definitely made the whole visit bearable!)

MRI = Milk Restrictive Invention
Australia, Hospital, New South Wales, Sydney | Healthy | November 20, 2017
(It took my husband and me several years to conceive. I wasn’t overly impressed with my induced labour of 48 hours that resulted in emergency C-section, and I struggle with breastfeeding that can’t be resolved by any method. I am feeling pretty down about not being able to do anything unassisted and am not 100% happy about having to top up every meal with formula but I am determined to keep going with breastfeeding. I’ll admit this is probably out of stubbornness, but it means a lot to me. Meanwhile, I have to have an MRI that I had to reschedule while pregnant and when I make the appointment, I ask if it is safe while breastfeeding. I am assured it is and though I am dubious, I will admit that I don’t look into it further, assuming they know better than I do. The appointment comes up and I leave my six-week-old baby for the first time with my husband and drive myself (also for the first time since the operation) to the radiologist.)

Receptionist: “Yes?”

Me: “Hello, I have an appointment for an MRI. My name is [My Name].”

Receptionist: “Here.”

(She thrusts paperwork at me. I fill it out, listing my allergies and so on, and note that there’s a question asking if I might be pregnant or breastfeeding. I put a tick next to it and finish the form. Handing it back to the receptionist, I ask about the question. She says it’s fine and tells me to sit down. Since I am the last patient of the day, I am taken in before I have a chance to ask her more and I figure it’s better to ask the tech anyway. The radiologist technician glances briefly at my form and sprints off down the corridor with me struggling to keep up. He obviously wants to get out for the day because he’s saying all his introductory explanation spiel to me similar to the squirrel from Hoodwinked. When he comes up for air, I manage to talk.)

Me: “The form asked me if I am breastfeeding.”

Tech: *casually* “Yes, you can’t breastfeed.”

Me: *thinking over his poor choice of words*

Tech: “…are you breastfeeding?”

Me: “Yes, I am breastfeeding. I did ask about this when I booked the appointment. They said it’s fine.”

Tech: “We have to put the dye in you and it’s toxic so you can’t breastfeed for three days after the MRI.”

Me: “That doesn’t explain why they didn’t tell me this when I booked.”

Tech: *looks confused*

Me: “I asked reception today, too. She said it’s fine.”

Tech: “What would they know?”

Me: “Actually, I’d imagine they’d know who can and cannot come for an MRI since it’s their job to book and take appointments.”

Tech: “Oh, yeah, probably then. Well, I can’t answer for them but the dye is toxic. You can’t breastfeed for three days. So just don’t breastfeed and you’ll be all right.”

Me: “That’s okay. I will just reschedule.”

Tech: “Can’t you just stop for a few days?”

Me: *feeling pretty crappy* “I am sorry but I can’t just casually stop breastfeeding.”

Tech: “Just breastfeed more and store up milk for three days.”

Me: “…”

Tech: *cheerfully* “You know you can freeze it, right?”

Me: “It would take me at least a month to build up three days worth.”

Tech: “Okay, we’ll reschedule for a month. That will give you time.”

Me: “…”

Tech: *getting irritated* “Or, just go buy formula. It’s really not that bad.”

Me: “Of course formula isn’t bad, but that’s not the point. If I stop I might not be able to keep going at all.”

Tech: *getting angry* “Then go buy a pump and just throw it away for three days. But make sure you wash it properly because it’s toxic.”

(I am thinking this is not his business and I don’t want to talk about it, but also as I am now teetering on a cliff between furious and devastated, I go on.)

Me: “I need to physically feed her and I can’t just stop. Yes, I pump, but I need to do both. It’s not your business but I have been through too much to throw it away casually like you want me to. Forget the MRI. I am leaving.”

Tech: *cheerful as his workday has ended sooner than he expected* “No worries. We can book you in when you’re ready.”

Me: “Thanks, but I will go somewhere else, with properly trained staff who know what services they can and cannot provide and give proper information in an understanding way, when I am no longer breastfeeding.”

(I was temporarily impressed with my own ability to string more that three words together because I never stick up for myself and I was shaking like a leaf, and I made my way back down the maze-like corridors without getting lost. I also managed to get my referral back from the receptionist who talked to the tech in front of me about how I couldn’t get the MRI because I am breastfeeding, to which the receptionist asked “so when do you want to rebook?” and I responded “like h*** I will be,” before leaving and getting in my car. I cried in the car and they never knew it. For that, I was thankful.)

Oh The Eye-rony
Canada, Marriage & Partners, Ontario, Optometrist/Optician, Toronto | Healthy | November 19, 2017
(I walk into my optometrist’s office and find a new secretary. I’m curious about what happened to “Jane,” the last one, especially since “Jane” and the doctor were married! I’m the only one in the office right now so I decide to be nosey

Me: *after the preliminary sign in conversation* “So, Jane is no longer here?”

New Secretary: “No, she’s gone.”

Me: “I’m surprised considering her relationship with the Doctor.”

New Secretary: “It was all very awkward, Jane needed to start wearing glasses but she refused to. The doctor had to fire her because she was giving out the wrong prescriptions to people and messing up things like that.”

Me: “Ooh, that’s not good. Wait, she was married to an optometrist and worked in an optometrist’s office and refused to wear glasses?”

New Secretary: “Yup. I shouldn’t say this but I believe it was a case of vanity gone wrong. They’re getting divorced now, too.”

Me: “Gee, I wonder why?”

Let’s Hope It Was A Clean Break
Australia, Home, Ignoring & Inattentive, Queensland | Healthy | November 18, 2017
(Our two storey house has a lot of windows, many of them quite high up, so we use a window cleaning service. We’ve used the same guy every time. One day, he brings a coworker with him. He introduces me to the coworker, who responds to my greeting by saying curtly

Coworker: “Yeah, hi. Where are your taps? We need to get started.”

(I’m working in my home office, which is upstairs. I see the ladder resting against the side of the house and our window cleaner ascending it. He gives me a friendly smile and wave and right then, the ladder wobbles and he falls. I race outside and he’s lying on the grass unconscious. I rush into the house for the phone and as I do, I pass the coworker.)

Me: “[Window Cleaner] has just fallen from his ladder; he’s out cold! I’m calling an ambulance!”

Coworker: “You do that.”

(He doesn’t make a move to check on his colleague; he just carries on cleaning. I call the ambulance and rush back outside.)

Me: “Didn’t you hear what I said? [Window Cleaner] has had a bad fall. Why aren’t you checking on him?”

Coworker: “You just said you’d called the ambulance. What do you want me to do about it? Do you want your windows cleaned or not?!”

(I’m not about to stand there arguing with him and I rush round the house to open the gate for the paramedics and to stay with my window cleaner until they arrive. As they are assessing him he starts to come round, but is later revealed to have a broken ankle, a broken collarbone, and a concussion. After the paramedics have taken him away, I go back to the coworker.)

Me: “I think he’ll be okay. They’ve taken him to [Hospital]. Shouldn’t you follow the ambulance or let his wife know or SOMETHING?”

Coworker: *after a long pause in which he just stares at me* “That’ll be $160.00.”

Using His Outdoor Voice Inside
Australia, Medical Office | Healthy | November 17, 2017
(I am opening the clinic, getting to work at 8:30 am when we open at 9:00 am. I am an avid believer of keeping the shutters closed and main lights off until I am completely ready to accept people. I leave the back-door unlocked for the remainder of staff to come in, as not everyone has a key. The back door has a ‘Staff Only’ sign. Walking around the department in the dark, paper-like bed sheets in my arms, I hear a strange yelling sound. Outside it is incredibly windy and the back door is unlocked so I assume it has something to do with that. While replacing toilet paper in the bathrooms, there is another yell. This time I poke my head out the back door and see nothing. I am finally behind the desk logging into the systems when a loud slamming sound makes me jump and in full view of the back room across the hall I see an unhappy older man march in. The lights are still off. The shutters out front are closed. There are no escape doors for me. The setting made it seem terrifying, but I really only stood there in shock. It is 8:40 am.)

Patient: *yelling as he walks up* “Your doors are closed! I have an appointment at nine!”

Me: “Y-Yes. We don’t open for another twenty minutes, sir.”

Patient: “I have an appointment! Do you expect me to wait outside in the cold? I’m not waiting outside!”

(I am still genuinely scared and consider calling the police because he is being very aggressive and I fear for my safety. Then I think, why is he not waiting in his car? Did he expect everyone to open twenty minutes early just because he was there?)

Me: “I’m not prepared to take anyone yet. That’s why everything is still closed. My computer hasn’t finished signing in.”

Patient: “FINE! I’ll wait here! I’m not waiting outside!”

(Still scared, but somewhat mad now, I left the desk and made myself busy. Then I went to the tea room and waited until 8:50. Meanwhile, the techs had come in with strange looks, wanting to know what the man’s situation was. After that, I returned, turned on the lights, and opened the shutters. His car was parked outside. Point of the story: patients genuinely scare staff when they get like this. When it comes to people’s health, they are capable of anything. I thought he was going to hit me!)

It’s Our Morning Period
Arizona, Medical Office, Phoenix, USA | Healthy | November 17, 2017
(Our office is only open a half-day on Friday. This takes place at about 11:00 am.)

Patient: “So, today is your half-day, right?”

Me: “Right; we’re only open half the day on Fridays.”

Patient: “Are you open in the morning or the afternoon?”

Me: *looks around at the waiting room full of patients, including her* “Uh… Morning.”

Patient: “Oh, that would make sense.”

Vets Need To Vet Their Pharmacists
New York, Pharmacy, USA, Vet | Healthy | November 17, 2017
(I take my sick dog to the vet and they don’t have the medicine he needs, so they send me to a store to pick it up from their pharmacy.)

Me: “Hi, I’m here to pick up medicine for my dog.”

Rep: “What’s the name?”

Me: “Well, my name is [My Name], but my dog is named Austin.”

Rep: “The medicine is for Austin? What’s Austin’s date of birth?”

Me: “I honestly don’t know what they would have for that; he is a rescue.”

Rep: “Do you have a phone number for Austin?”

Me: “My number is [number].”

Rep: “I don’t need your number. I need the patient’s number.”

Me: “He’s a golden retriever. He doesn’t have a number.”

Rep: “Look, I need information or I can’t give you anything. I can’t even find the prescription.”

Me: “It was called in by [Vet Hospital, with ‘Veterinary’ in the name].”

(The rep yells to the people behind him

Rep: “Did we get a call from a [Vet Hospital, but without the word ‘Veterinary’]?”

(I try to correct him, but he brushes me off and the other employees tell him no.)

Rep: “Look, try talking to someone at the drop off window. Right now, you can’t prove you even have a prescription.”

Me: “I don’t have a prescription, but my dog, Austin, does from his veterinarian.”

(The rep glares at me and points to the drop off window. I go over.)

Me: “Hi, I’m here to pick up medicine for my dog, Austin, that my veterinarian called in.”

Drop-Off Pharmacist: “I have that here. What’s your phone number so I can verify?” *I provide it* “Okay, our customer service rep at the main register will check you out.”

(I get back in the first line with the same rep.)

Rep: “What’s this? They found it? Well, I still need you to verify Austin’s information, or call him to get it.”

Me: “Again, Austin is a dog. See? The medicine is listed for veterinary; there’s even a picture of a dog on the package.”

Rep: “Okay, you need to talk to the pharmacist.”

(He puts the medicine on the back counter. I wait five minutes and the pharmacist comes out.)

Pharmacist: “What questions do you have?”

Me: “None, actually. The vet said just to give him a pill twice a day.”

Pharmacist: “Okay. [Rep], why did you call me up?”

Rep: “Is it even legal to give this to her? She doesn’t have the patient’s information.”

Pharmacist: “The patient is a dog. It’s fine.”

Rep: “A dog? Who needs medicine for a dog? Whatever, here.”

(He hands me the bag with the medication.)

Me: “I haven’t paid.”

Rep: “Yeah, you did; I rang you out.”

Me: “No.”

Pharmacist: “This wasn’t paid for. Let me personally ring you out over here. I’m going to write down my information and the name of the other employee who helped you. If you have any questions, comments, or complaints, please send them to this email address. Please send them. We need to have a certain number of complaints before we can let an employee go.”

Screaming For A New Nurse
Hospital, Mississippi, USA | Healthy | November 16, 2017
(This occurs when I am 19 years old, and in the hospital giving birth. I am a fairly tiny person, my baby is pretty huge, and I’m in my 23rd hour of labor, so you can see how I might be stressed out. The first time I let out a pained scream…)

Nurse: *disgustedly* “You know the screaming doesn’t actually help, right?”

(My mom and boyfriend gawk at her.)

Boyfriend: “Are you kidding? Did you seriously just say that?”

Nurse: *defensively* “Look, I’m just saying that it’s 3:00 am; people are trying to sleep. She’s being really loud.”

Mom: “GET THE F*** OUT OF HERE!”

(She huffed and walked out of the room without a word, leaving another nurse to scramble in to help. I saw her a few more times during my stay, and thankfully she kept her mouth shut.)

Cold-Blooded Humor
Alberta, Canada, Hospital | Healthy | November 16, 2017
(I received a call from my doctor after having some blood work done, telling me to get to the ER immediately for a blood transfusion, as my hemoglobin levels were critically low. A friend of mine takes me and stays with me for support. She likes to try and lighten the mood with a sarcastic sense of humor. This occurs when the nurse brings in the first bag of blood and hooks it up to my IV…)

Me: “Oh, wow… that’s a strange sensation!”

Nurse: “What? It’s not burning is it? Does it hurt?”

Me: “Not at all… It’s just really cold! I’ve never felt cold inside my body before.”

Friend: “Cold? Geez, Nurse! Can’t ya warm it up a little for her?”

Nurse: “…umm.”

Friend: “Just throw it in the microwave for a few minutes! My friend says it’s too cold here!”

Nurse: *mouth agape with a look of horror*

Me: “[Friend]… I don’t think she knows you’re joking.”

Friend: “Oh… Oh, my god! I’m totally joking! Just trying to lighten the mood!”

Nurse: “Oh, thank goodness! I mean, whatever you want to do on your own time, sure… but I’m not wasting precious O negative in this hospital for your little experiment here!”

(We had a good laugh after that. And after two bags of the red stuff my hemoglobin levels were back up to normal!)

Addicted To Death
Alberta, Canada, Hospital | Healthy | November 16, 2017
(I am eleven years old. My mother works in the kitchen of the local hospital and sometimes her duties involve delivering food trays to the patients. I remember her talking about the times on one floor where she would hear people moaning and crying, begging for morphine, as they lay painfully dying from whatever cancer was taking them from this world. One day, when I am out front of the hospital, I begin talking with a nurse who is waiting for the bus. We touch on a few topics until I remember my mother’s worlds about the terminally ill patients.)

Me: “My mother works in the kitchen and delivers food trays. She has told me about the dying people begging for morphine. Why don’t you give them what they need?”

Nurse: “Because they could become addicted, of course!”

Me: *I pondered her words for a few moments then replied* “Well, why don’t you give them the morphine they need, and then when they die, cut them off?”

Nurse: *giving me the stink-eye* “Little smart-a**!” *walks away in a huff*

Too Bad You Can’t Transfuse Out Racism
Bigotry, Hospital, USA | Healthy | November 16, 2017
(This happened to one of my professors in the 1970s while they were working in a hospital’s blood bank dispensary. It wasn’t uncommon at that time for people to be somewhat fixated on the concept of receiving blood from their own race only. Some people falsely believed that “black blood” would “turn you black,” and all sorts of other ridiculous racist things. A patient who has recently received a blood transfusion somehow gets their number.)

Caller: “What color was the blood you gave me?”

Professor: *knowing what they’re asking, but refusing to play* “Red.”

Caller: “No. Where did it come from?”

Professor: “From someone’s veins, out of the goodness of their hearts.”

Caller: “No, I mean, what type of person did it come from?”

Professor: “A generous, kind, and loving one. Look, I don’t know their race, and it doesn’t matter anyway, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did know.”

Caller: “F*** you!”

Leaving You High And Dry
Awesome, England, Hospital, Inspirational, Kind Strangers, London, UK | Healthy | November 15, 2017
(I’ve gone to the hospital for an ultrasound scan. On my way to the hospital, I am caught in a flash rainstorm and have no umbrella, so I am completely soaked through by the time I arrive.)

Doctor: “Ms. [Surname]?

Me: “Hi.”

Doctor: “Oh, you poor thing; you’re soaked though.”

Me: “Yeah, it was raining really hard out there.”

(We enter the ultrasound room.)

Sonographer: “Hi. I’m [Sonographer], and I’ll be doing your scan today. If I could ask you to lie on the bench…”

Me: “Sure. Uh, I’m sorry; I’m going to make it a little damp, I think.”

Doctor: “Don’t apologise; we’re just sorry you’re so wet. Wait, hold on. We have spare hospital gowns somewhere.”

Sonographer: “In the waiting room. I’ll grab one. Hopefully your clothes can dry a little when we do the scan.”

(She goes out.)

Doctor: “Right. Let’s see if I can switch the air-conditioner off in here, or get it to run hot.”

Me: “Thanks!”

Doctor: “Not a problem.”

(The sonographer comes back with a hospital gown, so I get changed. After the scan is done…)

Doctor: “All done. Do you have to be anywhere? Otherwise, maybe we could see if there’s somewhere for you to sit so your clothes can dry.”

Me: “That’s very kind, but I have to go back home and carry on working.”

Doctor: “Hmm, I wonder if we can get you a hairdryer for a quick solution, then.”

Sonographer: “Let me think…” *pause* “I’m pretty sure we don’t have any we can use, but if you take the first left, there are some toilets with a pretty good hand-dryer, which you might be able to stand under.”

(I ended up having to rush back, but I was extremely grateful to the doctor and sonographer for trying to find a way to dry me off!)

Will Come Down With Swine Flu
Medical Office, Montana, USA | Healthy | November 15, 2017
(I work at a small clinic which has a break room right next to my desk, so I smell everyone’s reheated lunch. I don’t eat pork.)

Me: “Do you have to eat that at my desk? It smells awful!”

Coworker: “Oh, you’ll be fine. Your hot cop is coming in today.”

(I have a regular patient who is a cop.)

Me: “He’s not ‘my hot cop.’ He’s twice my age.”

Coworker: “Whatever.” *walks away, taking her rancid lunch with her*

Me: *yelling* “Oh, sick! NOW IT SMELLS LIKE BACON IN HERE! I FREAKING HATE PIGS!”

(Right then my “hot cop patient” walked around the corner, and if looks could kill… Needless to say, when he came in for follow-up, I just happened to come down with the flu that day.)

Take (Medi)Care To Stay Alive
Grandparents, Home, Rhode Island, USA | Healthy | November 15, 2017
(I am with my grandmother, who gets tons of sales calls, which everyone in the house finds obnoxious. One day, I answer the phone for her.)

Salesperson: “Hello, this is Medicare. Can I speak to [Grandmother]?”

Me: “She’s dead.”

Salesperson: “Okay, I’ll make a note of that on her file. Goodbye.”

(He hangs up. My grandmother is staring at me in shock.)

Grandma: “DID YOU JUST TELL MEDICARE THAT I DIED?! I’LL LOSE MY INSURANCE!”

(Naturally, I freak out. I’m near hysterical as I call the company and tell them what I had done.)

Medicare Person: “Did someone call the house? Because Medicare only calls if you have made an appointment in advance. We still have her alive on here.”

(So luckily they were scammers. However, I will never do that again. Ever.)

One Bjorn Every Minute
Family & Kids, Funny Names, Home, New York, USA | Healthy | December 6, 2017
(My husband and I have chosen a name for our child that is rare in our area. We’ve also gone with an older variant of its spelling which has a near silent letter. For the sake of the story let’s say it is Bjorn. Our doctor’s office does confirmation calls for our newborn visits.)

Receptionist: “This is a reminder call from [Family Doctor]’s office that ‘Bejorn’ has an appointment tomorrow at nine am.”

Me: *repeating back as an excuse to give pronunciation* “Bjorn—” *j sounds like a y* “—appointment tomorrow at nine am. Got it. Thank you.”

(At the appointment the receptionist calls for ‘Bejorn.’ I ponder a moment if it is better to correct the pronunciation or let it go. I smile and decide to say something so it doesn’t continue to pop up.)

Me: “It’s actuality Bjorn with the j being a y sound.”

(The receptionist doesn’t seem put off and the rest of the visit goes smoothly. Our family doctor is already familiar with the name having also been the one to deliver him. I’m getting a rare moment of sleep when the office calls to confirm my newborn’s next appointment. The voicemail made me laugh.)

Receptionist: “Hi this is [Receptionist] from [Family Doctor]’s office calling to remind you that…” *long pause where you could almost hear them thinking* “…your SON has an appointment tomorrow at 11 am.”

(Well played.)

Hungary For Some Medicine
Budapest, Hospital, Hungary | Healthy | December 6, 2017
(When I left Germany for a semester abroad people warned me that every foreign student has at least one horror story to tell from their experience. This one is mine. I go to Hungary. All my classes are in English, and most of the people I interact with are fluent in either English or German, so while I only know the most basic Hungarian — introduction phrases, greetings, how to order food — my Hungarian is not good and I communicate in English most of the time. Two months into my stay, I wake up with massive pain in my ears, and they are wet, like liquid is coming out of them. I call my mother, a nurse, who tells me it might be a middle-ear inflammation and that I need to go see a doctor immediately. But since my European insurance only covers emergencies, I have not been to a doctor so far and have no GP in town. I start searching online for an English-speaking doctor I can go to. I eventually find out that my best bets are the so-called “emergency centres” of each town district, apparently some kind of doctors’ offices where you pay cash and later are reimbursed by your insurance company. I decide to call the centre of my district. The person who answers the phone hands me over to the doctor on call. I describe my symptoms and my suspected diagnosis and she tells me to come to them right away. I take a cab to the office, where I only find a nurse unable to speak English.)

Me: “Hi! I called earlier; I am here to see the doctor.”

Nurse: “No doctor!”

(With both of us using translator apps, we end up establishing that the doctor is not here and I will have to wait two hours. So, I wait in pain, cold, with my nose running like crazy, in the “waiting room,” a room completely empty except for one metal bench. The doctor arrives more than 90 minutes later. While she gathers her tools, I describe my symptoms again. As soon as I mention pain in the ears, she stops and turns around.)

Doctor: “You are in the wrong place. You need to see a specialist.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what? I told you all that on the phone; you told me to come here!”

Doctor: “No, you need to go to the hospital.”

(She gives me a paper that I hope describes the reason she is sending me away, and the name of a hospital. The hospital is way closer to my place than the emergency centre is and I am quite angry, sick and miserable as I am, that I wasted more than two hours when she could have told me to go there on the phone. But it is already past noon by now, on a Friday, so I hurry, as normal business hours will end soon. I reach the hospital. The receptionist, again not an English speaker, motions for me that I am in the wrong place.)

Me: *using my translator app* “I was told to come here!”

(The receptionist brings me inside where a nurse can translate for me that I need to go to another entrance, two buildings down. I thank them and am on my way. By now, I am suffering even worse. My head feels like it will split open, my ears just radiate pain, and my nose is basically dripping like a faucet. I reach the right entrance and hand the paper I got at the emergency centre to the receptionist.)

Receptionist #2 : *pushes the paper back to me and talks fast Hungarian*

Me: “Please, I do not speak Hungarian. Beszelek nincs magyarul!”

(She turns around and ignores me. I use my translator, type in, “Hello. I think I have an middle ear infection. I need a doctor; can you help me?” and hope the app will not mess it up too bad. I show the result to her, but she just looks away. I try to hand her my phone so she can type an answer in the translator, but she pushes it away, too. She ignores all my other attempts of communication. In my desperation, I use my last resort: I call the emergency number. As I am in a European capital, they should have some people speaking English. I finally end up talking to someone that understands me. By now, I am desperate and crying.)

Me: “Hello! I hope you can help me; I need an English-speaking doctor. I went to the emergency centre in [District];they refused to treat me and sent me to [Hospital]. But here, they won’t treat me either, and no one can tell me why! Please, I am in pain; I need a doctor!”

Operator: “That is no problem. I will find the closest doctor! Hmm… Yes… Okay! You need to go to the emergency centre in [District].”

Me: “STOP! I WAS THERE! I JUST TOLD YOU THEY REFUSED TO TREAT ME!”

(I am full-on crying now. I collapse to the floor, sobbing. The foyer is empty except for the receptionist that still ignores me.)

Operator: *sounding angry* “You need to calm down! I cannot understand you when you shout! I told you where to go, so go there! Emergency centre in [District]!”

(Finally, someone notices me. While I disconnect the call, a young med student runs to me, offering her help, and asking me what is wrong. I hand her my paper, explain what I have just been through, and tell her that the receptionist refuses to tell me where to go or to communicate at all. She goes and talks to the receptionist and returns with another piece of paper.)

Student: “Everything is all right. Your doctor sent you here because the ENT-walk-in clinic is here. But the clinic closed at noon. So, you need to go to the surgical ENT-ward. It is really close. I’ll write down the address for you. You go in there, hand the receptionist there your papers, and they will bring you to a doctor.”

(The address is just around the corner from my building. I go there, but when I see the building I lose all hope. I am not standing in front of a hospital; I am standing in front of a fast food place. I just want to go home, but I know that I need pain meds and antibiotics, and the search for a doctor will not get easier on the weekend. So, I enter the next pharmacy I see.)

Me: “I am so sorry, but can you help me? I have been searching for a doctor for more than four hours now. I am in pain, but everyone refuses to treat me! They gave me this address at the hospital, but there is only [Fast Food Place] there! And I know what they say about antibiotics in cow-meat, but I’m pretty sure I need more than a burger right now!”

(The pharmacists rush into action. One leads me to a chair and brings me water while the other one starts using the phone.)

Pharmacist: “Okay, I just talked to the hospital and found out what’s wrong. You need to go to [Address] Square, not [Address] Street. It is about 200 meters down the road. They can help you. Come by after and let us know you were taken care of, sweetie!”

(I finally find the right building. The nurses of the ward won’t talk in English, but with the help of my papers they find me a doctor. He is amazing; he even types up my medical papers twice, one time in Hungarian and one time in English. He even allows me to come back to the ENT-ward the next week for my checkup, so I will not have to go through that trouble again. I go back to the pharmacy to get my meds and the pharmacists hug me and tell me to go home and rest. Sadly, that is not the end of the story. I feel way better after a while. Next Friday I return to the ward for my checkup 20 minutes after they open. I hand the nurses the papers the last doctor gave me, but they seem confused. My translator app message, “Hello, I am here for my checkup with [Doctor]!” is ignored again. A man in scrubs notices me.)

Man: “Can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I was here last week, [Doctor] told me to come back for my checkup.”

(He talks to the nurses and turns back to me.)

Man: “Someone will be with you in a minute.”

(I sit down in front of the window of the cubicle the nurses sit in and start reading a book. I am in plain sight all the time. I eventually even finish my book. More than two hours have passed. Further communication with the nurses seems futile and I am considering what to do when the man from before comes around the corner again. He sees me, turns red, and starts shouting at the nurses in Hungarian.)

Man: “I am so sorry; a doctor will be with you in a second.”

(As it turns out, that man was the chief resident. My doctor from my last visit had been called out of the ward and the nurses were supposed to tell a different doctor to see to my checkup, but they did not. The other doctor was there in two minutes. I know that I cannot expect all locals to understand English when I am the foreigner in a country whose language I do not speak. But even if you do not have a common language, try to help. Get someone to translate, try to use translator apps, or even use hand movements. But please, do not just ignore a crying girl that is asking for your help!)

Acting Narcotic Robotic
North Carolina, Pharmacy, USA | Healthy | December 5, 2017
(I have an invisible chronic illness, Chronic Pancreatitis, that was caused by complications from gallbladder surgery a few years back. I am on tons of medication on a daily basis just so I can function normally and work a demanding full-time job. One of these medications is a narcotic; because of the multitudes who abuse it, a lot of judgement is passed on those who legitimately need it.)

Me: “Hi there! Just need to get this filled.”

(I hand my prescription over to a pharmacist that I don’t recognize. These prescriptions are very specific for when you can fill them, and are dated accordingly. Everything on mine is legit, as I literally just left the doctor’s office.)

Pharmacist: *takes a long time to look at it, and keeps looking back up at me* “Are you sure it’s time to fill this again?”

Me: “Um… Well, yeah. I just picked that up from my doctor, and the fill date is listed. You can also check your system, because this is the only pharmacy I use.”

(The pharmacist gives me a weird look and says it’ll be ten minutes, so I go sit down to wait. A few minutes later I hear her on the phone, and I don’t really pay any attention until I hear her say my name. Turns out she is calling my doctor’s office to verify it, the whole time shooting nasty sideways looks at me. Okay, totally fine; I know they have to be careful and check these things, so I brush it off. A couple minutes later when I walk up to the counter to pick it up

Pharmacist: “You know, this stuff is really bad for you. You shouldn’t be taking this.”

Me: *stunned* “Well, it helps me stay upright so I can work. Haha.”

Pharmacist: “My sister was on this and it was horrible. I would have to tell her all the time about how bad it was and that she had to get off of it, and she was addicted. It was really bad and she had such a hard time. You shouldn’t be taking this!”

Me: “Well, I’m going to let my doctor decide that. Can I check out now, please?”

(I understand how many people get hooked on narcotics, and the rising epidemic in this country, but they do have benefits that people like myself need. I don’t even think this lady was worried about the bigger social issue; I think she just got it into her head that it was a horrible medication from her bad experience with her sister. I’m sorry, lady; you are a pharmacist who should know better, and until you gain your medical doctorate and start practicing gastroenterology, keep your opinions about my treatment to yourself!)

Will Be Getting Ribbed About That Forever
Health & Body, Medical Office, Physical, The Netherlands | Healthy | December 5, 2017
(My uncle has some work-related back pains for which his GP refers him to a physical therapist. The therapy he needs is pretty painful, so when he comes home from a session one day saying the therapist has gotten him good, his wife — my aunt — thinks nothing of it and goes out running errands. When she gets home after a few hours and calls to my uncle to help her with the groceries, she notices he’s moving very carefully, wincing, and not breathing well. When she asks what’s wrong, my uncle tells her his ribs on one side have been hurting bad since therapy, and it isn’t getting better despite taking some painkillers. My aunt gently prods his ribs, eliciting a yelp. Knowing my uncle is pretty tough, my aunt gets worried and pulls up his shirt, uncovering a HUGE blossoming bruise on one side of his back. My aunt freaks out and orders my uncle to get in the car NOW because they’re going to the hospital. On the way there, she gives my uncle the third degree: What did he do? Did he fall? Did he get into a fight? What is he hiding from her? My uncle swears nothing happened; he went to therapy and came back, his ribs have been hurting since, and that’s that. The doctor at the hospital takes one look at the bruise and orders an x-ray, which reveals several BROKEN ribs. The doctor also interrogates my uncle, but gets the same response: all he did was go to physical therapy for his back pains.)

ER Doctor: “Did the therapist work on your ribs as well?”

Uncle: “Well, yes. Wait, are you saying…?”

ER Doctor: “That you should get a different therapist? Yes.”

(My uncle made a full recovery and got a different therapist who cured his back pains. The therapist who broke his ribs is still in practice and also coaches a youth sports team. I was on that team for several years and now hate sports. The guy received a Royal Ribbon for his investment in youth sports.)

That’s One Ticked Off Dog
Illinois, Non-Dialogue, Pets & Animals, Stupid, USA, Vet | Healthy | December 5, 2017
I was working the other day when a client called in frantically about her dog having a tick on its leg. I asked the doctor if we had time to fit her in and he agreed to see the dog.

The client arrived on time and we got her and her dog into an examination room. I happened to overhear her telling the vet that she had tried burning the tick off, tweezing it, and pulling it off.

The doctor looked at it for a few moments, looked up, and said, “Ma’am, this is a mole.”

Not Insured Against Bad Attitudes
Medical Office, USA, Virginia | Healthy | December 4, 2017
(I am currently working front desk at a private practice doctor’s office. I answer phones, schedule patients, do referrals, etc. This exchange occurs over the phone.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Doctor]’s office. My name is [My Name]. How may I help you?”

Patient: *with a snarky attitude* ”My name is [Patient] and I need to know if my medication has been approved by my insurance.”

(Sometimes certain medications need a prior authorization in order for the pharmacy to dispense the med. I tell the woman no problem and get her info so I can pull up her chart.)

Me: “Okay, ma’am, it looks like it’s still being processed right now.”

Patient: *with even nastier attitude* “This is ridiculous. I need my medication.”

(I then look to see what medication she is talking about and it turns out it’s Zantac. This is an over-the-counter medicine that you can buy at any grocery or drug store.)

Me: “I’m sorry about that, ma’am, but PAs can take anywhere from one to six weeks. Sometimes medications that can be purchased over-the-counter take longer.”

Patient: *yelling* “I KNOW IT’S OVER THE COUNTER BUT I WILL NOT SPEND MONEY WHEN I CAN GET MY INSURANCE TO PAY FOR IT! I NEED MY MEDICATION NOW AND YOU BETTER DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS.”

(I then forwarded the call to the doctor’s nurse who informed her that she would get to it as soon as possible, but since the patient’s medication was available over-the-counter, she has to work on the others that aren’t. She also gave her a list of stores and other medications that will help her problem if she needs it immediately. Seriously, just go to the store and get some.)