Health Care stories

This Doctor Is Such A Headache
Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, The Netherlands | Healthy | March 27, 2020
(I have had headaches all my life, but they suddenly become chronic, so I visit the doctor.)

Me: “I have a headache about five days of the week, and I have sleeping problems. I’m not sure which one is causing the other, though.”

(I proceed to give the doctor a list of things I’ve tried and checked, such as diet, climate, schedule, workout regimes, etc.)

Doctor: “I usually recommend a headache diary, but it seems you know pretty well what you’re doing. I suggest reading an hour before going to bed, instead of looking at a screen; that will help.”

Me: “No, that’s not it. I have gone screenless for three weeks but still had headaches. Also, reading before going to bed makes me have trouble falling asleep.”

Doctor: “Oh. Well, I still recommend reading an hour before bed instead of screen time.”

Me: “I am an avid reader, and I assure you that this is not the solution.”

(After going back and forth a few times…)

Doctor: “Well, I still recommend you try it.”

(She then proceeded to walk me to the door, indicating that the consultation was over. When I was back at home fuming, my husband suggested going to get my eyes checked. It turns out, I needed glasses! I could still see sharply, but the strain on my eyes caused the headaches. They were mostly strained by… reading. I’m glad I didn’t listen to the doctor, because more reading would have worsened the headaches. I have a new doctor now.)

What A Doll
Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Non-Dialogue, USA | Healthy | March 22, 2020
I was born prematurely and at low birth weight. I was four pounds, five ounces at birth. I had none of the typical newborn baby fat; my cheeks were flat and my head was bulging, while the rest of me was skinny and angular. To be blunt, I looked like an alien. Other than that, however, I was perfectly healthy and was discharged a day later. My mother took me for my first doctor’s appointment to a well-known, established pediatrician in town, who was known for being rather coarse in mannerisms but otherwise knowledgeable.

He went through all the usual tasks of a newborn check-up including checking normal infant reflexes. One of them was the step reflex, in which a newborn appears to walk or step when they are held upright and their feet touch a flat surface. The doctor, for some reason, used his hand as the flat surface, and this procedure ended with him supporting my neck and back with one hand and my feet with the other. He looked at me, looked at my mother, and then mimed — with me — a jaunty little dance through the air. To my mother, he remarked, “Look, it’s E.T. riding a bike!”

He honestly couldn’t understand why my mother didn’t find that nearly as amusing as he did. Or why my mother found a new pediatrician.

And she gets annoyed when I point out that, in his defense, I did look like a tiny, baby alien dressed in doll’s clothes.

Enough Of This Song And Dance!
Austria, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Jerk, Non-Dialogue, Patients | Healthy | March 14, 2020
CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

I am a musical theatre major, meaning that I spend the better part of my day in a ballet studio dancing or working out, and during what’s left of that day I’m either singing, acting, or both. After having an inherent heart condition fixed as a young teenager, I am proud to say that I am mostly healthy, a couple of minor-ish issues — as well as notorious unresponsiveness to most kinds of medication — aside.

About fifteen months ago, though, I get sick with something that is labelled “minor, superficial pneumonia” at first, and after sitting in my body for about two weeks turns into “asthmatic-spastic bronchitis.” Later, it becomes full-blown asthma bronchiale which, thanks to hyperreactive bronchia, I am very used to catching around twice a year. Usually, after a couple of weeks, it’s gone again, and my asthma falls asleep into insignificance once more.

Not this time.

The weeks come and go, and nothing happens. I’m fully incapable of doing anything at the conservatoire — but thankfully most of my professors are amazing and give me all the support they can possibly give me — and I’m getting more and more frustrated. My pulmonologist, after failing to succeed with several more antibiotics and cortisone therapies, is unwilling to give up on me and refers me to all possible colleagues. I get tested for pertussis, even for tuberculosis — and pretty much everything else — but they can’t find anything.

After just barely passing my semester with the worst possible acceptable grades, I go home for my semester break. By that time, this has gone on nearly two and a half months already. My pulmonologist tells me to continue my treatment, or rather, the search for a concrete diagnosis, as she is at her wit’s end.

I do, and they actually get the idea to do a bronchoscopy where, at last, they find not only a virus, but also bacteria that seem to cause all the trouble, sending me into a spiral of a constant asthma attack, which expresses itself with the symptoms of a chronic, constant bronchitis. They send me home with more antibiotics, telling me I can’t do much more but “sit it out and hope it’ll be gone in four to six months,” and put me on sick leave for my upcoming semester, since I can neither sing, dance, nor do anything on the acting front. I move back in at home with my most amazing, most supportive parents, and I begin my journey of doing not much of anything at all.

All throughout the time, I’m feeling flu-ish sick, with often insufferable headaches and horrible sore throats, short- as well as flat-breathed, and I obviously also cannot get rid of that cough. I have better days and worse, but the worse days definitely outweigh the good ones. Basically, I’m knocked out of my life entirely, and I often even have to think twice if I want to take a brief trip to town.

The months pass and nothing happens. There’s no improvement that lasts longer than two weeks and doesn’t follow a massive breach again. I lose another semester, as well as a fair share of friends. And, due to lack of movement, unsuccessful medication treatment, and, as I only just recently found out, my hypothyroidism acting up again, as well, I gain quite some weight; I’m not obese and still fit into most of my clothes, but you wouldn’t believe me the dance student, either.

I haven’t been idle over that time; I’ve been looking into common and alternative medicine and am in the middle of a doctor marathon, to not much avail except for the revelation of several more issues to work on, and about a month ago — as this has been going on for longer than a year already, and I’m beyond frustrated and only very desperately trying to scratch the final pieces of my patience together — I am referred to the pulmonologist department of my local hospital to finally treat my set-in-stone asthma diagnosis, as many doctors seem to purposefully ignore the bacterial aspect of my issues.

I have so many hopes for this appointment. But when I walk in, I see that, instead of [Doctor #2 ], who I am supposed to have the appointment with, I am met by a super young, and super overwhelmed-looking [Doctor #1 ].

I present him with all kinds of older to recent-ish but not super recent bloodwork and diagnoses and some very real proof that there are indeed physical issues to be resolved.

I explain, “…and this is why your colleague from the immunology department referred me over to you. It’s a rather pressing issue because my new semester is about to start, and I’d hate to miss the third one in a row. I really can’t do any dancing, singing, or much of anything at all, so I’m quite desperate about making progress. But unfortunately, I have issues with medication showing proper effect; it’s been like that since my heart issues way back as a child and starts with super simple things like common painkillers needing super high doses to start working.”

The doctor doesn’t even seem to listen properly. “Well, we couldn’t find anything physical in your test results…”

All they did was a basic lung function test, the results of which often fluctuate depending on my day.

I respond with confusion, “Um… But… I am officially diagnosed with asthma bronchiale already. Also, my lung function results fluctuate really badly, from unacceptable to–”

The doctor cuts me off. “There are no physical issues, and your lung function seems to be low but not concerningly so.”

“Well, as I explained before, it really fluctuates and–”

He interrupts again. “Well, this is definitely not a physical issue, and your lung function is–”

I cut him off this time. “But I really just said…”

[Doctor #1 ] ignores me and gets up to get [Doctor #2 ], who doesn’t even bother to sit down, and very clearly looks like she has no interest whatsoever in being here or helping me.

“Well, as my colleague already informed you, we cannot find any physical issues to work with, and clearly, you are not asthmatic.”

I sigh inwardly. “I really just explained to your colleague before that I have my official asthma diagnosis; I just need treatment for it, which is difficult because most kinds of medications have a really hard time to show any kind of effect besides the side effects, if they even work at all–“

[Doctor #2 ] says, interrupting me harshly, “If you were asthmatic, we would be able to treat you with cortisone inhalers, and those never showed any effect, so all you really have is a hyperresponsive larynx.”

I’m absolutely stunned at how they both have so successfully ignored anything I’ve said in the past couple of minutes. “But… as I said… and my lung function… I know it looks better now but it really, really depends on the day and… It’s really not only the cough; there are so many other issues that–”

Cut off again! “And your lung function isn’t that bad. I’ll just give you [super intense nervous system medication that is usually prescribed to epilepsy and severe anxiety patients, neither of which I even remotely suffer from] for your hyperreactive larynx. As for the fatigue, here’s a referral to outpatient rehab.”

[Doctor #2 ] gets up and leaves again without giving me the chance to say anything at all.

“It’s really not just the cough; it’s–“

[Doctor #1 ] proceeds to explain the effects of the just-prescribed medication without listening.

My mum, who had accompanied me, hasn’t had much of a word, either, so we just decide to give up on that lost cause and leave, both of us boiling inside. Not for one second do I consider having that prescription filled and taking this stuff, no matter how desperate I may be. Looking on the piece of paper, I was handed, I also find out that [Doctor #2 ] put “fatigue,” “chronic cough,” and “obesity” on my rehab prescription, which I am still livid about.

Later that day, I have a routine follow-up appointment with a new cardiologist, who not only is as appalled by this behaviour as we are, but also draws blood and reveals several very physical indeed issues, among them high inflammation signs, my hypothyroidism being at a not-dangerous-but-alarmingly-low level again, and the bacteria still being very, very present within my body. I’m referred to another pulmonologist immediately.

While I am, indeed, missing my third semester in a row, quite unsurprisingly, that new pulmonologist has not only found out that my lung function is currently at a new low point, but confirmed a “clearly asthmatic reaction and movement,” put that into the diagnosis, and promised to investigate if there is anything else behind it that I need to be treated for.

Fascinatingly enough, he has also listened to my medication issues and prescribed me two new inhalers that he’s hoping will help me as one of the 5% who actually do not react to common cortisone treatments.

Anti-Antibiotics
Australia, Doctor/Physician, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office | Healthy | March 13, 2020
(I am twelve weeks pregnant. I have already seen one doctor who left the medical practice and I am seeing a new doctor. He goes through my test results, which the previous doctor had already spoken to me about.)

Doctor: “It says here that these numbers are fine, but the other doctor had you on an iron supplement. You don’t need that.”

Me: “Are you sure? The other doctor was quite worried about my numbers.”

Doctor: “I’m sure. And you are taking antibiotics for a UTI, but you don’t have one.”

Me: “The other doctor said I had proteins in my urine which indicated a UTI.”

Doctor: “No, definitely not.”

Me: “Okay, I need a referral for a twelve-week scan.”

Doctor: “You don’t need that.”

Me: “My daughter had a congenital heart defect; I’d prefer to get all scans.”

Doctor: “The only reason they want to diagnose in the womb is to do surgery in the womb.”

My Husband: “They needed us at a bigger hospital when she was born, in order to give her surgery.”

Me: “Can you just write the referral, please?”

Doctor: “You don’t need it, but if you insist.”

(We left the office and quickly realised he had written a referral for a twenty-week scan which the ultrasound place can’t take. I organised an appointment with another doctor who also checked my blood. She immediately pointed out that I had a UTI and should be taking antibiotics, and that I had low iron and should take a supplement.)

This Doctor’s Stubbornness Runs Deep
Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive, Lazy/Unhelpful, Military, USA | Healthy | March 11, 2020
(Whenever I start coming down with any sort of respiratory infection, my voice gets deeper. The deeper the voice, the worse the illness is. I am stationed overseas in the nineties when a couple of coworkers notice that my voice is getting deeper. I go to Sick Call the next morning, and the corpsman, familiar with my history of pneumonia, sends me to the nearest US military hospital about 100 kilometers south to get seen by actual doctors.)

Doctor: “What brings you in today?”

Me: “I’m coming down with some sort of chest bug. Every time my voice gets deep, I get sick a few days later.”

Doctor: “What sort of symptoms are you having?”

Me: “At the moment, just the deep voice.”

Doctor: “That could mean anything. It’s probably acid reflux.”

(So far, the doctor has not examined me in any way.)

Me: “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? Sir?”

Doctor: “I’ll prescribe you an antacid for a week or so. You should also prop up the head of your bed just a bit, to help control the reflux.”

Me: “First, I’m not here for acid reflux. I’m coming down with some sort of twitching awfuls, because my voice is getting deep. When I start sounding like James Earl Jones, I always get pneumonia or bronchitis or some other chest ailment within a couple of days. Every time. Since the deep voice just started being noticeable, I’m trying to get ahead of the disease. Second, I have a waterbed. Propping up the head of the bed will have no effect.”

Doctor: *frowning* “Sure, it will work. Just put a boot under the corners of your headboard. This will raise your upper body slightly and help prevent acid reflux from irritating your larynx.”

Me: *sighing internally* “With all due respect, sir, you cannot tilt water. It always stays level.”

Doctor: “Just raise your headboard a couple of inches. You’ll see.”

Me: *sighing out loud this time* “Sir, it’s a waterbed. Here’s a demonstration: run a little bit of water into that portable basin next to the sink.” *pointing at the small metal basin*

Doctor: “Okay.” *runs water into the basin*

Me: “Now, tilt the basin up on one end.”

Doctor: *lifts one end of the basin slightly*

Me: “Notice that the water stays level, no matter how high you raise either end of the basin? That’s why raising the head of my waterbed will be less than useless.”

Doctor: “Oh. I guess you’re right. I suppose we’ll have to get you an appointment with the gastroenterology clinic to cure your reflux.”

Me: *facepalm* “Sir, I don’t have reflux. Could you please listen to my chest?”

(I was given a prescription for antacid and told to go back to work, all without the doctor conducting an examination. Three days later, I was back in the hospital as an inpatient… with pneumonia.)

The Most Relatable Toddler
Adorable Children, Doctor/Physician, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | March 8, 2020
(On the morning of my son’s two-year-old “well-child” checkup, he wakes up unusually grumpy. Shockingly, the news that he has to go to see the pediatrician does not improve his mood, so in an effort to get him to stop whining in the back of the car, I make an absolute rookie mistake. I promise him that after his appointment, I will take him on a trip to his favorite place. I then discover that I have the kind of two-year-old who neither understands nor accepts the concept of “after,” and as such, the following interaction happens at least six times in the next 45 minutes

Son: *wordlessly bawling at the top of his lungs*

Nurse: “Oh, no, what’s the matter?”

Son: “I WANT TO GO TO TARGET.”

Nurse: “Me, too, honey. Me, too.”

(At least he did not scream at the doctor. Instead, he gently wept and whispered, “Please. Target.”)

To Censor Or Not To Censor: The Editors’ Dilemma
Doctor/Physician, Non-Dialogue, Pennsylvania, Punny, Silly, USA, Vet | Healthy | March 5, 2020
Our English Setter has had surgery to repair an ACL injury. She chews on her stitches and manages to pop one. We load her in the car to make the 45-minute drive to the vet, calling ahead to make sure they know we’re coming, as we know we’ll be pushing closing time for them.

We get there a few minutes before close and our vet comes into the waiting room to greet us. He picks up our girl and proclaims dramatically, “What did you do that for, you b****?!”

His vet tech (and we) totally lost it.

And he replaced the stitches with staples for us

What A Pain In The Foot
Belgium, Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Jerk | Healthy | February 13, 2020
(I trip and somehow my foot doubles up under me. At the ER, though, the doctor tells me the acute pain is not from the fall but a consequence of me being overweight — which, admittedly, I am. However, the pain persists with no show of diminishing and I decide to go back to my GP. He acknowledges that the x-ray taken at the ER was not conclusive and decides I need another kind of picture, one with radioactive isotopes. Note: I’m thirtyish at the time and I’m with my parents as, clearly, I’m unable to drive. Waiting for my turn, I overhear the following

Doctor: “I don’t care what she says. She is sixteen and she is here with her mother. Of course, she is not going to admit to being pregnant. I’m not going to inject her–” *with the isotopes* “–without a negative pregnancy test.”

Me: *quietly, to my mother* “They didn’t force me to do a test and I’m here with my mum, too.”

(I didn’t find out whether the teenager was pregnant or not. When reviewing my pictures, the doctor told me, “Ma’am, one thing is sure: you are in pain.” As it turned out, I had injured my foot during the fall and had to wear a cast for six weeks.)

This Doctor Is Not The Antibiotic Cream Of The Crop
Doctor/Physician, Health & Body, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, UK | Healthy | January 30, 2020
(I go to the doctor due to fainting.)

Doctor: “Have you ever had eczema?”

(Eczema is a dry skin condition and cannot cause fainting.)

Me: “Yes, but not for years and I don’t currently have it.”

Doctor: “It’s just eczema; take cream and you’ll be fine.”

Me: “But why am I collapsing?”

Doctor: “You’ll be fine; just put antibiotic cream on.”

(Three hours later, I collapsed and hit my head, ending up in A&E. It turns out I’m epileptic.)

Make Cheesy Choices, Suffer Cheesy Consequences
Conference, Doctor/Physician, Funny Names, Silly, USA | Healthy | January 26, 2020
The healthcare organization where I work is setting up an educational conference for our members, who are mostly doctors and nurses. When people register for the conference online, they have the option of customizing their name badges with nicknames and Twitter handles.

My coworker is preparing attendee name badges and notices something. An attendee, a doctor whose last name includes the word “cheese,” has customized his nickname to “The Cheeseman.” After much deliberation, we decide to print the name badge as-is.

At the conference, my coworker meets the attendee, hands him his registration packet, and shows him the name badge.

Doctor: “Wow… I don’t remember doing that. I must have been s***faced!”

Coworker: “We can print you a new one, if you’d like.”

Doctor: *Solemnly, and a little sadly* “No… No, I deserve this.”

He took his badge and wore it for the entire conference.

The Fall (And Rise) Of Medical Care
Assisted Living, Doctor/Physician, Editors' Choice, Lazy/Unhelpful, The Netherlands | Healthy | January 24, 2020
(About ten years ago, I worked on an island off the Dutch coast in a nursing home. This happened on one of my night shifts. Note, at that time there were no helicopters allowed to fly at night. It’s just after 12 when I get a call from a resident. I can’t hear her, so I run as fast as I can to her to see if she needs help. The moment I step through the bathroom door, I can see she’s broken her hip. As she’s quite a big woman, my coworker and I can’t get her off the ground, so we call the local GP, who sends the ambulance to help us out. I ask him what medication she should be given, as she’s already in a lot of pain. The GP replies that I can give her paracetamol and call him if it’s not enough. Ten minutes later, the ambulance is onsite and they lift the resident into her bed. I give her 1000 mg paracetamol and cross everything in hopes it’ll at least do something. Forty-five minutes later, it’s clear it didn’t do anything — not surprising, really — and I call the GP again. He tells me to give her another dose of paracetamol and he says she’ll be transported off the island on the quick ferry around 8:00 am. I tell him that I don’t think paracetamol is going to cut it, but he insists. Another 45 minutes later, I call him again, saying it didn’t help and her condition is worsening due to the immense pain she’s in. I can see her getting a fever, amongst other things. He tells me to give her paracetamol again. By this time, she’s had 3000 mg in just over 90 minutes! It’s not good, but I’m not allowed to give her anything else, nor do I have the right papers to decide on anything else. I’m really frustrated and get the feeling the GP is not listening to anything I say. I go and have a look at the medication cabinet and find an unopened bottle of morphine that was described to a resident that died two weeks ago. I call the GP again and ask him to allow me to give her morphine, instead. He says yes, go ahead. Then, the following conversation takes place.)

Me: “All right, if you’ll send me the prescription by fax I’ll get right on it.”

GP: “Yeah, just give her [dose]; I’ll write the prescription in the morning.”

Me: “No, you know I’m not allowed to do that; it’s morphine. I need that prescription.”

GP: “In the morning!” *hangs up*

(I call right back.)

Me: “[GP’s First Name], I’ll give you exactly five minutes to write and fax that prescription, before I’ll head over to your house, grab you by the hair, and drag you out of bed to write it. Understood? Your time starts now!” *hangs up*

(It’s not nice of me, I know, but I’m really tired and I feel unheard. I walk over to the fax and within three minutes, the prescription has arrived. My coworker — who’s been doing all the work I should have been doing in the meantime — and I give the resident the morphine and within ten minutes I can see it’s finally working and the pain gets a bit less by around three in the morning. I start doing some other work, like writing a report for the hospital and packing a bag for the resident. At around five, I get a phone call.)

GP: “Hi, [My Name], since you haven’t called again I gather the morphine has started working?”

Me: “Yes, it has. She’s doing a bit better; she’s still in pain, but the edge is taken off.”

GP: “Yes, well, you know I said she’d be getting on the quick ferry? I’m having a problem as I need that spot for a woman in labour.”

Me: “So… she’s flying at dawn?”

GP: “Well… no. The helicopter is standing by for a man with heart problems.”

Me: “Right. So, normal ferry it is?!”

GP: “You see, that’s the problem. There’s nobody at the ferry headquarters who can accompany her. I can’t do anything other than hope to get her on the next ferry at noon.”

(That would be over 12 hours after she’s taken the fall and I know she’ll get worse if this takes too long.)

Me: “You know, I’m on the normal ferry this morning. I can accompany her.”

GP: “Really?”

Me: “Yes, if [Ferry Company] allows it, I can do it.”

GP: “I’ll call them and let them know.”

(They did allow me to accompany her; they even reimbursed my ticket and gave me breakfast! In the end, I did report my behaviour to my boss and told her what I’d said to the GP. She laughed it off and told me not to worry, as she thought it was hilarious.)

The Tooth Of The Matter Is, They Suck
Dentist, Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Lazy/Unhelpful, Pennsylvania, Reception, USA | Healthy | January 22, 2020
Around mid-October, I begin to feel pain on the upper side in the back of my jaw. I didn’t have my wisdom teeth out as a teen, so I know I’ve waited too long to have them removed. At this point in my life, I’m on state Medicaid; I find a dentist who takes my insurance and see them in early November. The dentist confirms it’s my wisdom teeth coming in and refers me to an oral surgeon, as the X-rays indicate that all four are bone-impacted.

I call the oral surgeon’s office and get an appointment for December 28th. It goes well; they take another set of X-rays that informs us that the roots of my top wisdom teeth have grown into my sinus cavity. The bottom two are close enough to my nerve that he wants all four extracted, I will have to be anesthetized for it, and they need to come out ASAP. He assures they’ll submit the paperwork and the insurance will get back to me within two weeks.

I leave satisfied.

Two weeks roll around, nothing. I give calling the insurance an extra day, due to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. They inform me that they have no record of any submission at all. They call the oral surgeon’s office and assure me that the office will resubmit the paperwork. I ask her how long it will take — by this point, one wisdom tooth has partially erupted; the other side of that tooth is pushing on my last molar — and am informed if the office submits online, it will take two days.

I then call the oral surgeon to find out how they might be submitting the paperwork, so I can find out how long I’m going to be in pain. I speak with a lovely woman who, in response to my question, replies, “I don’t know,” and hangs up on me. I call back immediately; it goes straight to the office message.

I call the insurance company back and ask if anything can be done. At this point, I can only wait for them to submit the paperwork, but I am urged that if they don’t, to contact state Medicaid and make a complaint.

I wait 24 hours and call the surgeon again. This time I get another woman, who is actually helpful. Surprise, surprise, no one submitted my paperwork. They also can only submit by mail, so there is at least a two-week wait. [Employee #2 ] assures me that she’ll submit the paperwork. She apologizes for her coworker with an exasperated sigh that tells me this isn’t the first problem [Employee #1 ] has caused.

Two weeks pass. I finally get a response from the insurance company in the mail: the extraction is approved, but general anesthesia is not. According to the paperwork, whoever submitted used the wrong code for the new year and it needs to be resubmitted, again.

It’s now Mid-February and I have been dealing with wisdom tooth pain since October. I can barely eat or sleep because of the pain.

I call state Medicaid and make a complaint about the way I was treated and how the situation was handled. I am told that my complaint is not valid because I did not receive services from the surgeon. They also will not approve the general anesthesia because I do not have any medical reason for it, i.e., fear of needles, anxiety, etc. To have all four bone-impacted wisdom teeth removed. At one time. No need. At all.

I find another dentist farther from my area and make the earliest appointment they have. They recommend me to another surgeon, even farther than the first surgeon. I get an appointment with the second surgeon within the week. He apologizes for the first surgeon and assures me that they’ll handle it properly.

It’s now the beginning of March. I get the paperwork from the insurance regarding the new surgeon’s submission; everything’s perfect. I have the surgery on March 27th, half a year after the pain started. It takes longer than expected, as my mouth is small; the surgeon has to take my bottom wisdom teeth in pieces to work around the nerves. I am advised to stay on bed-rest for the next five days.

Everything works out just fine — months pass and my jaw has healed completely. I end up getting a full-time job and dental insurance — different from state Medicaid — through them.

Sometime around August, I get a letter in the mail from my insurance, denying payment for an appointment from the very first dentist I saw about a referral to an oral surgeon.

I call that dentist and have my files transferred as quickly as I can.

Mental Health Professional Can Do Nothing For Retail Workers
Doctor/Physician, Pharmacy, Retail, USA | Right | January 16, 2020
(I am ringing out a patient of my pharmacy who also happens to be a mental health professional. He gives me a new discount card to see if it will give him a smaller copay than his insurance does. I am skeptical, as the prescription is an expensive one, but I’ve been wrong before, so I process the card anyway, just to be sure.)

Me: *when the copay comes up significantly smaller* “Oh, hey, I was wrong! Here’s your new total; that’s a nice deal!”

Customer: *with practiced couch-side manner* “You didn’t have to say you were wrong so enthusiastically. Is there someone at home who demands that sort of subservience from you?”

Me: *blinking* “No one at home, sir. But, y’know, I work in retail.”

Customer: “Oh, right. You poor thing.”

(He left me his card, but I haven’t taken him up on the matter yet. If you’re reading this, sir, I’m completely okay! I’m humble enough to admit when I’m wrong, but retail has also endowed me with the backbone to stand up for myself when I know I’m right, too!)

You Have To Spell It Out To Them
Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Jerk, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | December 29, 2019
(I have recently been diagnosed with epilepsy at age fifteen and am at my fourth or fifth neurology appointment. For some background, some types of epilepsy can be categorized as “reflex,” meaning there is usually a trigger — most people are familiar with flashing lights — but there are a huge variety of triggers, ranging from drinking alcohol to hearing a specific kind of music. I am describing to my neurologist some symptoms I’ve been experiencing.)

Me: “Sometimes while I’m reading, I’ll have spells where the words are very difficult or I can’t read them at all.”

Neurologist: *mostly disinterested* “Oh… Well, have you been diagnosed with learning issues?”

(I’ve told him all of this before.)

Me: “No. I’ve been reading since I was four and it’s actually one of my favorite things to do. I’ve never shown any signs of dyslexia or anything like it.”

Neurologist: “Do you notice any patterns to when this occurs?”

Me: “I’ve noticed it happening a lot when I’m reading in Spanish.”

(I’m in AP Spanish and have been studying the language for around six years; I’m definitely not fluent yet but am reasonably proficient. I have also told him this before.)

Neurologist: *long silence* “You’re probably just bad at Spanish. Go ahead and schedule another appointment for a month out.” *leaves*

(I ended up not telling my parents about this part of the appointment for around six months because I was embarrassed and believed my neurologist that I was probably exaggerating. However, during this time, the symptoms worsened, so I told my parents who found another neurologist — incidentally, around thirty years younger. He immediately diagnosed me with reading epilepsy, which is fairly uncommon but absolutely not unheard of and has nothing to do with any prior learning disabilities. For me, it is triggered by unfamiliar words, which, obviously, come up more often in a second language. I’ve now, thankfully, been able to receive much better care.)

Assign The Doctor A Memory Test
Australia, Doctor/Physician, Ignoring & Inattentive, Medical Office, New South Wales, Sydney | Healthy | December 27, 2019
(I have been going to the same GP since I was about fifteen, my daughter since she was born, but it seems to be time to find a new one as ours is showing his age; he has been getting more and more forgetful. I have ordered blood tests as I have developed some allergies recently; my daughter needs hers done for a heart issue and also needs a script for heart meds. He asks her what she needs this particular medicine for and we have to explain, even though he has been doing the scripts for the past five years. We get our bloods at the same time. He starts with my daughter’s and tells her that everything but her iron levels is in the normal range. He gives her the printed results to take to her cardiologist; he is going to print a copy for himself but he writes the results into her file. Then, he goes over mine. He reads out everything as good, but when he gets to my liver results…)

GP: “Oh, no, we need to get you some tests right away; your liver results are not good.”

Me: “Yes, I know. I have [liver disease].”

GP: “You have [liver disease]? Who told you that?”

Me: “You did.”

GP: “Not me. I would have remembered that. There would be notes and paperwork in your file.” *rifles through files to prove it isn’t there and finds the paperwork* “Oh, I did tell you.”

(We realise that he’s not given us a new referral letter for the cardiologist appointment, so we go back.)

GP: “Okay, [Daughter], we need to get blood tests done for you to take to your appointment.”

Daughter: “I had the blood tests done already.”

GP: “Who with?”

Daughter: “Uh, you.”

GP: *rifles through her files and after looking over some paperwork* “Oh, looks like you have to get more sun; you have very low Vitamin D.”

Daughter: “No, you said low iron.”

GP: “No it’s Vitamin D. Look; it’s only sixteen.” *hands her a blood test result*

Me: “No, she had low Vitamin D last year; this time it was low iron.”

GP: “It says it right there.”

Daughter: “Um, this is last year’s result; look at the date.”

GP: “It has it on this result, too. You had the test in September.” *holds up another sheet that I take off him*

Me: “This is last year’s, too — September 2018. Her last one was in October this year.”

GP: “But the results aren’t here; if I did them they would be.”

Daughter: “You gave them to me.”

GP: “Why did I do that?”

Daughter: “I needed them for the cardiologist.”

GP: “But I would have written the results on your file and printed up a copy, as well; I definitely didn’t write anything.” *runs his finger up the writing on her files* “Oh, so I did.”

Take A Breath And Think About It
California, Medical Office, Patients, USA | Healthy | March 9, 2019
(I work at a sleep clinic work with people who have sleep disorders such as apnea and Hypopnea. These disorders, in a nutshell, make a person stop breathing or breathe so shallowly the oxygen in their blood is affected like with apnea. And I get this almost every time I’m working when I put CPAP on a patient!)

Patient: “Excuse me, miss? I can’t breathe with this thing on!”

Me: *after seeing them stop breathing for almost a minute* “Well, you aren’t breathing with it off, either.”

You’ve Got Male, But Not Babies
Bigotry, Ignoring & Inattentive, Medical Office, Nurses, Patients, UK, Wales | Healthy | March 7, 2019
(I am a trans guy, currently at the doctor’s office for an ear infection. The person I’m seeing about it is the nurse practitioner, our practice’s head nurse.)

Nurse: “Are you sexually active?”

Me: “Yes.”

Nurse: “Is there a chance you could be pregnant?”

Me: “Nope.”

Nurse: “I know your partner is male; you could be pregnant.”

Me: “I’m not.”

Nurse: “Just because you think you’re a man, that doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant.”

Me: “Not pregnant.”

Nurse: “You still have female anatomy. Quit pretending you don’t. All you people are like this, thinking you can’t get pregnant because you think you’re not a girl. I’m giving you a pregnancy test.”

Me: “I had a hysterectomy last year; my medical records are in front of you.”

Nurse: “That doesn’t matter. You people are all like this. I’m giving you a pregnancy test.”

Having A Hard Time Understanding
Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Stupid, USA | Healthy | March 5, 2019
(I work in a hospital laboratory. One of the tests we do is clotting times in order to monitor dosages of blood thinners. Basically, we do some magic with the blood, and the machine counts the seconds until the specimen is clotted, hence “clotting times.”)

Doctor: *on the phone* “Hey, do you have the results for [test] yet?”

Me: “Nope, but it’s running right now.”

Doctor: “Well, do you have any idea how much longer it’s going to be? The patient is waiting on their next dose.”

Me: “If I knew how much longer it would take, I’d have the results.”

Doctor: “Huh?”

Me: “[Test] is measured in time. The unit of measure is seconds.”

Doctor: “Oh. Well, carry on, then.”

That’s Not How Not Working Works
Liars/Scammers, Medical Office, Texas, USA | Healthy | March 3, 2019
(I work at a multi-doctor cardiology office as a receptionist. This story comes directly from my coworker, who sits beside my station.)

Coworker: “Thank you for calling [Clinic]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Yeah, I have a return-to-work form that needs to be filled out. Can your doctor get it done for me today?”

Coworker: “Which doctor do you see at our office?”

Caller: “I don’t see anyone up there.”

Coworker: “You would have to be a patient up here for any of the doctors to fill out.”

Caller: “So, they can’t fill it out for me?”

Coworker: “No, you’re not a patient here. They wouldn’t know if you can return to work or not.”

Caller: “Well, can I see one of the doctors today?”

Coworker: “They wouldn’t be able to see you today, no. What do you need the signature for, anyway?”

Caller: “I hurt my leg.”

Coworker: “I don’t think a cardiologist can sign on a leg injury unless it’s vein related. You may need your primary doctor to sign it.”

Caller: “I don’t have a doctor. I just wanted someone to sign my letter so I don’t have to work.”

Medicine Prices Can Wind You
Health & Body, Non-Dialogue, Patients, Pharmacy, Revolting, Silly, USA | Healthy | March 1, 2019
I had been having horrible stomach cramps, to the point where I could barely stand. I’ve already had my appendix removed, so my doctor ran a few other tests and determined the pain was from a bowel obstruction. He sent me home with instructions to drink more water and take a laxative and some OTC pain killers.

While waiting in the checkout line with my purchase, several waves of cramps came over me and I started seeing stars. The cashier saw me start to stumble and called for help. More stars appeared before the pain became so intense I passed out.

When I regained consciousness, there was a crowd surrounding me with a mixture of emotions on their faces. Some were concerned, others embarrassed, and others looked like they were trying not to laugh, but none of them are looking at me. I started to sit up and the associate closest to me — the pharmacist who helped me pick my laxative — told me to stay still and wait for the ambulance to arrive.

I asked what happened and the pharmacist blushed deeper. I looked down to make sure I hadn’t lost control of my bladder. I hadn’t, but then I realized my stomach didn’t hurt as much anymore. I made that comment aloud, and some of the crowd laughed. A man from the crowd leaned in and told me that when I hit the floor, I’d released the biggest, loudest, longest fart he’d ever heard out of any human being.

The people gathered around were obviously there to see how I handled the news of my flatulent faux pas. I was terribly embarrassed, but I was also so relieved that I wasn’t in pain anymore, I just laughed until I cried. The ambulance arrived shortly thereafter and gave me the okay to go home. I apologized to everyone in the vicinity and told them I hoped the rest of their day went better than mine.