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.
Connecticut, Crisis Housing, Emergency Services, Extra Stupid, Hartford, USA | Healthy | August 19, 2018
(I’m an EMT. My partner and I are called to a homeless shelter/halfway house for a “sick call.” This means a non-life-threatening issue. We arrive and unload the stretcher. There’s about ten stairs and a small elevator right inside the door. I start to open the door of the elevator when I’m greeted by staff.)
Staff: “You’re going to the second floor. Oh, that elevator doesn’t work.”
Me: “Okay. Do you have another one?”
Staff: “Sure, it’s up here around the corner.”
Me: “Great. How can I access it?”
Staff: “Come on up the stairs and go to the end of the hall.”
Me: “That’s not going to work. Do you have another access point? A ramp, maybe?”
Staff: “We have an elevator around the corner here.”
Me: “That’s great, but if this elevator doesn’t work, how am I going to get my stretcher to the second floor?”
Staff: *exasperated* “There’s an elevator right over here! Right around the corner.”
Me: “I understand that. But how would you like me to get my stretcher up these stairs to get to that elevator?”
Staff: *blank stare*
Me: *to my partner* “Let’s just leave it here, see the patient, and figure it out from there.”
(When we got to the other elevator it was so small our stretcher wouldn’t have fit, anyway, even if we folded the back.)
At The Checkout, Harassment, Health & Body, Kansas, Retail, Strangers, USA | Healthy | August 18, 2018
(I am working the register at my store. My coworkers are all busy elsewhere, and it is a slow part of the day, when an old man walks up and purchases a small item. Things are going normally until I hand him his change. It should be noted that I have a mild form of adult acne.)
Customer: “Do you know you have a red thing on your face?”
(He points toward a small flare up of acne on my cheek. I blink for a moment, because while part of me knows what he’s pointing at, no one has ever said anything directly to me about it before.)
Me: “What do you mean?”
Customer: “You have a red thing on your face. I know what that is. It’s caused by anxiety.”
(I have never had anxiety issues, and now that I have confirmed what he’s talking about, I speak with a deadpan tone.)
Me: “Sir, I have acne.”
(I’ve never really been self-conscious about my acne, but I don’t like the way he’s talking about it. He takes his receipt and starts heading for the door while still talking to me.)
Customer: “Yes, and that is caused by anxiety. I have seen this before.”
(My tone has gone cold, and in my head I’m wondering why my personal health is his business.)
Me: “Sir… my mother is a nurse.”
(What I’m hoping he’ll pick up on is the implication that, “if something were seriously wrong with my face, she would know,” but he doesn’t get the hint.)
Customer: “I worked fifty-five years in medical technology maintenance.”
Me: “So, you never actually practiced medicine, then.”
Customer: “I have seen this before. It’s anxiety.”
(He then starts rambling something I don’t quite follow, but he makes it sound like he’s had bugs grow out of his own acne in the past. Or seen them grow out of acne in other people. Or maybe even caused them to grow out of other people’s skin infections. The main thing I key in on is his use of the words “grow out of,” which does not give me mental images of bacteria. It genuinely sounds like he’s talking about live insects growing out of people’s faces, which is incredibly creepy.)
Me: “Are you a doctor?”
(I ask this bluntly, trying to convey with my tone and expression that if he is not a licensed medical professional, I do NOT want his opinion on my face, and he needs to stop talking.)
Customer: “I work with medical equipment. But I have seen this before. It’s anxiety. It is.”
(Thankfully, after that the customer just kind of nodded and walked out the door. To date, he’s the creepiest customer I’ve had to serve.)
Extra Stupid, France, Medical Office, Reception | Healthy | August 17, 2018
(This takes place when I’m in college. I get a call around ten am from the secretary of a doctor’s office, saying the doctor will be late for the appointment. The secretary got the wrong number and I’m not the person she was trying to reach. As I have class all morning, I only see the missed call and the message at noon. I assume it’s too late to call back to say they have the wrong number, because the appointment was scheduled the morning, anyway, so the patient probably already went to the doctor’s office. I don’t think about it anymore, but the next day I get another call from the secretary. This time she calls while I’m on my break, so I answer.)
Secretary: “Hello, [Patient]. This is [Doctor’s Office]. I’m calling you about your file; I need some info.”
Me: “Oh, actually, you got the wrong number; I’m not [Patient].”
Secretary: “What do you mean it’s the wrong number ? It’s…” *she dictates my phone number* “…right?”
Bizarre, Medical Office, New York, Non-Dialogue, Oceanside, Phone, USA | Healthy | August 16, 2018
When I was a kid, my family had a separate phone line for our fax machine. One day, we received a fax containing a prescription for medication for my mom’s uncle who lived a few towns away.
We were quite bewildered, as we didn’t think mom’s uncle had our fax number, nor did he have any apparent reason for sending this particular document to us. We eventually found out that our fax number was only one digit off from that of a local pharmacy, and the fax had come from a doctor’s office. Apparently someone at the office was trying to send the prescription to the pharmacy but misdialed.
It was a complete coincidence that the prescription
Doctor/Physician, Florida, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | August 15, 2018
(My father was recently diagnosed with a genetic heart condition, and his doctors want all of his children to be checked for the condition. I make an appointment with my doctor so I can get a referral to a cardiologist.)
Doctor: “What are you here for today?”
Me: “My father was just diagnosed with [heart condition], and his doctors have ordered all of his kids to be tested for it. I just need a referral to a cardiologist.”
Doctor: “You’re way too young to be worrying about that. A heart condition wouldn’t affect you right now.”
Me: *initially speechless* “Well, I’d rather get the tests done so it isn’t a problem later.”
Doctor: “As I said, you’re too young. I’ll see you back in a few months for your annual.”
(The doctor left. Needless to say, that doctor did not see me back again. When the practice asked why I was attempting to switch doctors — something they usually don’t allow — I happily told them the whole story and requested that it be put on the doctor’s file as an official complaint. I eventually got the referral and did not have the genetic condition, but they did find a minor issue that just needed to be noted and checked every few years.)
Bad Behavior, Dentist, Patients, Pennsylvania, USA |
Healthy | August 14, 2018
(My dad is a dentist, and his office is a suite attached to the house. As a child, I am home sick from school, and Dad is with a patient. The door to the office chimes, followed by a long bang. By the time his hygienist comes out to check, the waiting room is empty. Meanwhile, I wake up to a man standing at the foot of my bed. I yell in a panic, and he looks strangely at me, and then puts a hand to his cheek.)
Patient: “I know my appointment isn’t until tomorrow, but this is killing me. Can you fit me in today?”
(Sick and scared, I kept yelling until my dad came running in, still wearing his mask. The patient had walked into the waiting room and, finding it empty, had broken down the door between the office and the house. Then, he had wandered through the house until he found the ten-year-old asleep in bed, and tried to reschedule his appointment. My father was furious and refused to work on him. The guy was surprised.)
“The Adventures Of Harold, Benjy, And Carmen” Sounds Awesome
Boulder, Colorado, Hospital, Ignoring & Inattentive, Jerk, Patients, Therapist, USA | Healthy | August 13, 2018
(I’m in a short-term rehab center, recovering from surgery. A speech therapist comes in with a form in her hands.)
Therapist: “Good morning! I’ll just take a couple of minutes here to see how your speech and language skills are, all right?”
Me: “I suppose.”
(I teach special needs, and immediately recognize the form; it’s the mental acuity screener. BAH!)
Therapist: “Can you tell me where you are?”
(This goes on for awhile, and I’m getting irritated.)
Therapist: “Now, would you name these three animals?”
(She shows me sketch of a lion, an elephant, and a hippo.)
Me: “How about Harold, Benjy, and Carmen?”
Therapist: *silent*
Me: “Well, the task as phrased was to name the animals. If it were stated correctly, you would have asked me to identify the animals, and I would have told you they were a lion, elephant, and hippo.”
Therapist: *silent, but grinning*
Me: “And the number they told me to remember when I had this identical screening in the hospital was 74
Health & Body, Liars/Scammers, Retail, Tukwila, USA, Washington | Healthy | August 12, 2018
(I work as the customer service manager for a furniture store. While I am at lunch they make a sale of a chair from the floor. Floor sales are final. I get back from lunch and the phone rings.)
Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. How can I help?”
Customer: “I was in earlier and bought a chair off your floor for my husband. I got home and my son told me he had the same one, so I want my money back.”
Me: *not knowing if it was special order or from the floor* “Let me check your order.”
(I pull up the invoice and see that it’s a floor item, and that she also signed the paperwork acknowledging that the sale was final.)
Me: “I’m sorry, but you purchased this from the floor. All floor sales are final.”
Customer: “But my son has the same one. I bought this for my husband so he can be comfortable, because he’s going through chemo and it’s hard for him. I don’t want the chair anymore! You have to give me my money back!”
Me: “I’m sorry that you and your husband are going through that, but you signed the paperwork acknowledging that this was a final sale.”
Customer: “You have to give me my money back! I want to speak to your manager!”
(I wave the manager over and she tells the woman the same thing. The customer huffs but gets off the phone. The next day
Me: *answers the phone* “Thank you for calling [Store]. How can I help?”
Customer: *from yesterday* “I bought a chair and don’t want it anymore. Give me a refund.”
Me: “Ma’am, as we explained yesterday, all floor sales are final. You agreed to this and signed the paperwork.”
Customer: *bursts into tears* “But I bought that chair to make things easier for my husband and he just died!”
(I can’t help but think, “Right, because the first thing I’d do after my husband passed would be to get a refund on a chair.”)
Me: “Let me get the manager.”
(I pass the phone to my manager who talks to the woman for about five minutes and decides it’s easier to just give her the refund. A couple months later, I answer the phone.)
Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. How can I help?”
Customer: *with the chair* “Listen, [Manager], I’m looking at my statement and the money hasn’t been refunded yet. I want my money back!”
Me: “This isn’t [Manager]; this is [My Name].”
(Before I can say anything else, she cuts me off.)
Customer: “Well, I want my money back. I’m having to drive my husband to and from chemo all the time, and I’m financially hurting. Get me my money!”
(I pass the phone to my manager, who talks for a few minutes and hangs up.)
Florida, Jerk, Medical Office, Non-Dialogue, Patients, Strangers, USA | Healthy | August 11, 2018
When I was around twelve I began experiencing repeated and painful skin infections in practically every scrape or scratch I got. This led to very frequent visits to my pediatrician for, at first, prescription strength antibiotic ointments, and then multiple tests to find out the cause of the infections. My doctors were amazing. But their other patients… not so much.
One experience that sticks out is the day I went in to get a blood draw. We were fairly early, so my mom and I waited out in the empty lobby. I tended to sit with one leg folded under me and the other knee pulled up to my chest so I could “crouch” on the chair and balance my Harry Potter book on my foot so I could read. It looked odd to most people, but I’ve always found it comfortable.
Not long after we settled in, another mother — a very rude lady — and her son came in. Though we didn’t know them by name, the pair were not unfamiliar to us, as we saw them around town often and the son had been doing occupational therapy with a partner at my mom’s company. The rude lady’s son had some fairly significant physical and mental handicaps and was vocal but nonverbal, and was, through no fault of his own, already making loud sounds and yells as his mother physically dragged him into the lobby.
Instead of sitting in any of the other empty twenty odd seats, the rude lady pulled her son over and sat down directly across from us, with about two feet of aisle space separating our knees. The rude lady immediately struck up conversation with my mom, while I continued reading.
They seemed to be getting along fine, and I tuned them out until I caught this lovely gem, seemingly out of nowhere: the rude lady suddenly leaned forward, patted my mom on the knee, and said in the most condescending and mock-sympathetic voice, “Is she mentally r*****ed?”
This, of course, caught my attention. My mom was staring at her in shock when I looked up and said, “Wow, that’s rude, lady. Just because your kid has some problems doesn’t mean everyone else’s does.”
In hindsight, this was quite cruel of me to say, and I regret saying it every time I think back to this experience. In private, my mom scolded me for pulling the rude lady’s son into it, and she was very right to do so.
The strangest thing out of it all, though, was that once the rude lady got over sputtering a few choice slurs at us, she roughly grabbed her son’s arm and marched out of the pediatrician’s office. Only afterwards did we realize she had never gone up to the front desk to check in or schedule an appointment. It seemed that her entire reason for coming in was to engage with another mother-child duo in the hope that she would find someone else going through the same experiences as her
With A Mother Like That, Pain Tolerance Is Through The Roof
Georgia, Hospital, Jerk, Non-Dialogue, Nurses, Parents/Guardians, Patients, Stockbridge, USA | Healthy | August 10, 2018
I am seven months pregnant, and my friend picks me up for a girl’s night. We watch movies, eat junk food, etc., until she falls asleep about one am. At two, I’m still up, unable to get comfortable. I’ve been having Braxton Hicks contractions for the last couple of days, but tonight they’re just relentless.
I consider waking my friend up to take me home; however, she has epilepsy, often triggered by exhaustion and lack of sleep. She’s a bit of a worry-wort, and I don’t want to have her be tired, panic, and end up having a seizure, especially while we’re on the road.
About six am, I get a hold of my mother, and she agrees to come get me. By this point, the contractions hurt, and I can’t really sit or stand. But I don’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill, so I just grit my teeth and breathe until they’re over. Once there, my mom tells me that she doesn’t really know how to help me, but that she’s going to take me to the hospital, just in case there’s a problem.
When we get to the hospital, I have to stop every couple of steps to breathe and crouch over. My mother comments, “You don’t have a very high pain tolerance, do you? You’ve never really been able to handle pain.”
I ignore her comment because she’s been saying this since I was a kid. Once we finally make it to labor and delivery, the nurse — who has a really cool tattoo sleeve — tests for leaking amniotic fluid, and checks my cervix. She makes a less than promising face, then tells me that she’s going to grab another nurse for another opinion.
She comes back with an older lady that doesn’t even look at me. They go to the counter and I hear the nurse with the sleeve showing her the amniotic test. “It’s faint, but I definitely see a line.” The older nurse glances at it and quickly dismisses her, “No, no. It’s definitely negative.” The sleeved nurse says, “No, I think it’s positive for fluid. Can you at least check her cervix? I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I think it’s close.” The older nurse rolls her eyes, “It isn’t close to her due date, but fine.”
The older nurse then turns to me and goes to check my cervix. Her eyes widen, and she turns back to the nurse with the sleeve. Unfortunately, I have another contraction and only manage to catch a couple key words of their conversation. Then, the older nurse leaves. The sleeved nurse gently talks me through the contraction, and then tells me what’s going on:
At 29 weeks, I am in labor, already eight centimeters dilated, though my water hasn’t broken. The baby could come at any time now, but they are going to try to give me some medications to slow it down. She says that she is going to call the doctor to get approval on some pain medication for me.
Six hours later, I give birth to a healthy baby girl, who is rushed off to the NICU. I silently labored for almost 12 hours, and almost had my baby at my friend’s house. After everything calms down, I am bewildered at my mother’s “low pain tolerance” comment, and I wonder what would’ve happened if I had only seen the older nurse and not had the sleeved nurse to stand up for me. The sleeved nurse was the most amazing healthcare professional I’d ever had, because for the first time, she took what I said seriously. My daughter is doing well, and will hopefully be able to come home soon. My mother still believes that I’m over-dramatic and wimpy when it comes to pain, but at least I can say I went through most of my labor without medication or complaint.
(I’m a vet in a country town in Australia. Here, certain prescription drugs for farm animals can be dispensed for use without us seeing the animals, as long as a vet has been onto the property in the previous 12 months. This is rarely an issue, as we go to most farms on a regular basis to do routine work; however, I have trained the receptionists to check a client’s file every time they order drugs, just to confirm when we were last out there. For some background info, a common practice for shearing sheep is to sedate full grown rams, just enough to make them a bit easier to handle, as rams can often weigh as much or more than your average shearer, and can hurt you if they decide to put up a fight. These days, almost all shearers refuse to shear rams without sedation. The sedative used is, of course, a prescription drug, although to my knowledge it is no longer used in people. I haven’t been at this practice very long, so I don’t really know anyone. My boss, on the other hand, has been a vet for a while and knows just about everyone in the community. I’m sure you can see where this is going
Receptionist: “[Client] is out the front, wanting [Sedative] for 60 rams. The shearers are coming today, but we haven’t been to the property in over four years. He won’t listen to me at all. Can you please talk to him?”
Me: *heading out to front desk* “Hello, [Client], I believe you’re wanting [Sedative]? [Receptionist] has already told you we can’t give it to you. We haven’t been to your farm for a while now.”
Client: “That’s bulls***. [Boss] gives it to me all the time!”
Me: “Well, I’m not [Boss], so I’m not giving it to you without a farm visit.”
Client: “Come on. Everyone knows I’ve got sheep. What the h*** else would I use [Sedative] for?”
Me: “I don’t know, but people get creative. I don’t know who you are, and I’ve never been to your farm, so I have no idea if you actually have sheep or not.”
Client: “So, you’re going to charge me to come out to my property so that you can see I’m not lying to you. That’s bulls***.”
Me: “That’s exactly right, [Client]. It’s the law. If I get caught dispensing drugs inappropriately, I can get into serious trouble and possibly lose my licence, permanently. I am not prepared to risk years of hard work and a job I love just so you can save $150. Just because [Boss] does it, that does not mean I have to do it. So, either I come out to your farm, or you wait until [Boss] is back in the clinic, and you can take it up with him.”
Client: “Oh…” *suddenly goes very quiet* “I didn’t know you guys could get in trouble.”
Me: “That’s okay. I suspect [Boss] doesn’t, either, which is probably why he just gives it out. Now, I can be at your farm in about an hour; will that be okay?”
Client: “Yes, thank you.”
(Everything went smoothly after that, and [Client] even gave me a box of chocolates to apologise for being difficult. My boss very quickly changed how he worked once I showed him the legislation, and backed me up if other clients ever came in to argue. The original client was also good enough to spread the word around town, and within six months we stopped having issues.)
(I’m a vet in a country town in Australia. Here, certain prescription drugs for farm animals can be dispensed for use without us seeing the animals, as long as a vet has been onto the property in the previous 12 months. This is rarely an issue, as we go to most farms on a regular basis to do routine work; however, I have trained the receptionists to check a client’s file every time they order drugs, just to confirm when we were last out there. For some background info, a common practice for shearing sheep is to sedate full grown rams, just enough to make them a bit easier to handle, as rams can often weigh as much or more than your average shearer, and can hurt you if they decide to put up a fight. These days, almost all shearers refuse to shear rams without sedation. The sedative used is, of course, a prescription drug, although to my knowledge it is no longer used in people. I haven’t been at this practice very long, so I don’t really know anyone. My boss, on the other hand, has been a vet for a while and knows just about everyone in the community. I’m sure you can see where this is going
Receptionist: “[Client] is out the front, wanting [Sedative] for 60 rams. The shearers are coming today, but we haven’t been to the property in over four years. He won’t listen to me at all. Can you please talk to him?”
Me: *heading out to front desk* “Hello, [Client], I believe you’re wanting [Sedative]? [Receptionist] has already told you we can’t give it to you. We haven’t been to your farm for a while now.”
Client: “That’s bulls***. [Boss] gives it to me all the time!”
Me: “Well, I’m not [Boss], so I’m not giving it to you without a farm visit.”
Client: “Come on. Everyone knows I’ve got sheep. What the h*** else would I use [Sedative] for?”
Me: “I don’t know, but people get creative. I don’t know who you are, and I’ve never been to your farm, so I have no idea if you actually have sheep or not.”
Client: “So, you’re going to charge me to come out to my property so that you can see I’m not lying to you. That’s bulls***.”
Me: “That’s exactly right, [Client]. It’s the law. If I get caught dispensing drugs inappropriately, I can get into serious trouble and possibly lose my licence, permanently. I am not prepared to risk years of hard work and a job I love just so you can save $150. Just because [Boss] does it, that does not mean I have to do it. So, either I come out to your farm, or you wait until [Boss] is back in the clinic, and you can take it up with him.”
Client: “Oh…” *suddenly goes very quiet* “I didn’t know you guys could get in trouble.”
Me: “That’s okay. I suspect [Boss] doesn’t, either, which is probably why he just gives it out. Now, I can be at your farm in about an hour; will that be okay?”
Client: “Yes, thank you.”
(Everything went smoothly after that, and [Client] even gave me a box of chocolates to apologise for being difficult. My boss very quickly changed how he worked once I showed him the legislation, and backed me up if other clients ever came in to argue. The original client was also good enough to spread the word around town, and within six months we stopped having issues
College & University, Extra Stupid, Health & Body, New York, Rude & Risque, USA | Healthy | August 9, 2018
(I’m visiting a zoology lab that researches amphibians, which is a facility I’ve never been in before. While I’m sitting in an office chatting with a PhD student and waiting for a meeting, I notice a post-it that says “Clinic” and has a phone number.)
Me: “Hey, that’s not the extension for student health.”
PhD Student: “Oh, no, that’s a [City] free clinic. They do STI testing.”
Me: “Uh… Okay.”
PhD Student: “Yeah, it gets more use than you’d think around here.”
(My understanding of what the amphibian lab gets up to slowly starts to dissolve, when the PhD student speaks up again.)
PhD Student: “Yeah… People just Google ‘herpetology’ without knowing what it means, apparently.”
Jerk, Minnesota, Pharmacy, USA | Healthy | August 9, 2018
(It’s Memorial Day, and my pharmacy is one of the few within a 20-mile radius that is open. My coworker is on break and I am managing the front of the pharmacy.)
Me: “Hi, sir, how I can help you today?”
Customer: “I’m here to pick up two prescriptions for [Customer].”
Me: “All right, sir, it looks like I have one prescription ready for you, but the other prescription — your [Prescription] — we’re still waiting to hear back from your doctor for more refills.”
Customer: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THEY’RE NOT DONE?!”
Me: “There is one prescription done and ready for you to pick up, sir. The other prescription you requested, your [Prescription], isn’t, because we haven’t heard back from your doctor yet.”
Customer: “I HATE THIS PLACE! YOU GUYS NEVER HAVE ANYTHING DONE! I BROUGHT TWO PRESCRIPTIONS IN ON FRIDAY, AND YOU’RE TELLING ME THEY’RE STILL NOT DONE?!”
Me: “Sir, I have one prescription ready for you right now.” *pause* “The other one is still waiting on your doctor for approval, and since it’s Memorial Day, we may not hear back from your doctor until tomorrow.”
Customer: “You guys are horrible! You never have anything done for me! I hate it here!” *walks off*
(After he walked away, I looked back at the screen to see when he brought in the prescriptions. And turns out, he brought them in yesterday, not Friday. But either way, we still had one he could have taken home with him.)
Doctor/Physician, Hospital, Jerk, Patients, USA, Utah | Healthy | August 8, 2018
(My 26-year-old sister has had problems with endometriosis for five years. She is on medications that she hates, and has thousands of dollars worth of medical bills as a result. She doesn’t want children, and has decided to have her uterus removed, with the support of her therapist, OBGYN, and our family. Because she has never had children, they will have to do the surgery like a C-section, which will have a six-week recovery time, and she cannot take that much time off of work. Her OBGYN recommends her to another doctor who uses robotic-assisted equipment, so she will have a shorter recovery period. She goes to meet with the other OBGYN. The nurse is taking her history, and you can see the judgement on her face. A few minutes later, the OBGYN comes in.)
OB: “I’m not going to try to talk you out of it… Okay, I am. You are very young to have this procedure, and many women who are younger than 30 end up regretting the surgery once it is complete. And you aren’t married; your future husband might want children.”
(He keeps repeating that he isn’t trying to talk her out of it before contradicting himself as he goes on to suggest several other medications — most of which she’s already tried — that caused her to gain weight, suffer severe anxiety and depression, and give her suicidal thoughts. She is extremely sensitive to side effects. Finally, the doctor suggests another medication she hasn’t tried, but has side effects she has suffered before.)
Sister: “No, but I have researched it, and I don’t like the side effects.”
OB: *pointing at nurse* “She’s been on it for eight years, and she’s just fine.”
Mom: “She would rather be an aunt. She has never had any desire to have children, and she is tired of being in pain.”
(It seemed like once he knew my sister had my mother’s approval, he realized he was fighting a losing game. He sighed and gave up, and told us how they would do the procedure, and that they would get in touch with her insurance. Later, my sister told me that she believed the doctor would have flat-out refused to do the surgery if my mother hadn’t been there to back her up, and two weeks after the appointment, she called to check up on what her insurance could do, only to be told they hadn’t even contacted them yet.)
California, Extra Stupid, Medical Office, Patients, San Francisco, USA | Healthy | August 7, 2018
Patient: “I’ve been waiting for a half hour. I am in severe pain and need treatment urgently!”
Doctor: “I’m sorry about that. I want to get you treated as quickly as possible. Let’s walk over right now to the Physical Therapy department. Chiropractic treatments have worked well for you in the past, and we can set you up for some chiropractic treatments right now.”
Patient: “Oh, no, I can’t do that. I am leaving on a vacation cruise for a month. I’ll call to schedule when I get back.”
California, Cupertino, Extra Stupid, Health & Body, home, Non-Dialogue, Parents/Guardians, USA | Healthy | August 6, 2018
At some point when I was a kid, my father got the bright idea of using me for weight-bearing massage “treatments” by having me walk about on his back barefoot while he was lying on the floor. Mom usually gave me a hand to keep me stable. I have no clue if it ever worked to actually help with anything, but he kept periodically having me do it. When I was little I still thought it was fun.
His back seemed to gradually get worse as I grew older: lower spine problems. He mostly stopped having me do the walking massages as I aged into my teens.
Then one day when I was 17, when I hadn’t done it in several years, he seemed to be having some particularly bad back pains, and decided to have me stand on his back again. For some reason he was just absolutely convinced it would magically cure him, and somehow managed to rope Mom into agreeing with this. The problem is that at this point I weighed about 115 pounds — only about 15 pounds less than him — and could tell this was a terrible idea.
I refused. He insisted. I refused again and protested, pointing it out as being foolish and dangerous at my weight relative to his — he is a man of very slight and narrow build. He called me ridiculous. He and Mom both kept insisting, urging, and nagging me, and telling me I was being ridiculous. “Nothing will happen!” “Come on, it’s just a few minutes!” “Just stand on his back for a bit!” “Come on! Just help out your dad!” “It has to be you; there’s no one else, and you still weigh a lot less than Mom!”
After much protesting from me and nonstop insistence and urging — from Mom in particular, who’s always been very good at managing to bully me into doing just about anything against my will — I gave in, despite my better judgment. I very shakily stepped up on Dad’s bare back. His skin was sliding around sickeningly on his back under my feet. I nearly fell off right away, despite Mom doing her best to hold me up there, barely managing to stabilize me with her own entire weight. Meanwhile, he was very impatiently urging me to quit hesitating and being a coward, and get on with it already.
When I finally managed to stand on him properly, putting my entire weight on his back, he grunted alarmingly. Very alarmingly. And then he went abruptly very quiet. After maybe a couple of steps on him, Mom helped me get back off. Then, there were some very pointed, meaningful and alarmed looks between the two of them, but they didn’t actually say anything. I took this to mean I could finally escape the living room. Frankly, I just didn’t much care what was going on as long as I was no longer forced to participate.
There was a quiet commotion behind my back and for the rest of the day, I kind of made a point not to ask any questions for fear of being made to take part in some other poorly-thought-out treatment.
Though they’d never included me in important family concerns or given me any details about dad’s health problems, the general state of things became obvious to me in the next couple of days. What they’d made me do was indeed — Surprise! Surprise! — an incredibly terrible idea. Clearly I was too heavy, and it damaged his back even further. It was pretty severe, as far as I could tell, based the fact that he’d been forced to stay home from work for the next full week while spending pretty much all his time lying flat on the floor, except for occasional doctor’s appointments that Mom somehow had to find a way to cart him to.
Despite knowing it was stupid, I still felt guilty about what happened.
They didn’t say anything to me beyond a vague statement that Dad’s back had gotten worse — as if it was actually even possible to pretend that this had no relation with what they’d made me do. But there was never any hint of admitting that they’d done something foolish or that I’d been right. Unsurprisingly, in the following years, it became clear that Dad’s back was significantly damaged forever after this incident.
Lesson to be learned here: once in a while a teenager really does turn out to be smarter and have more basic common sense than both parents put together.
California, Ignoring & Inattentive, Medical Office, Patients, San Francisco, USA | Healthy | August 6, 2018
Doctor: “Did you bring your MRI?”
Patient: “I drove home to get my MRI, and, yes, I got it; but when I was there I was looking in the refrigerator and I saw pork chops, and I started thinking about pork chops for dinner and how great those are going to be! Well, the pork chops forced the MRI out of my mind, and I forgot all about the MRI and left it on the kitchen table!”
Bizarre, Hospital, Nurses, Patients, Tennessee, USA |
Healthy | August 6, 2018
(My nurse recounts this story to my father, her coworker, after I wake up from appendix surgery.)
Nurse: “I’m getting her to recovery and expecting her to be out for another few minutes when she suddenly sits up, turns to me, and tells me in the most deadpan voice, ‘Hey, I’m going to throw up now. Sorry,’ and spews. Then she makes a face, lays back down, and falls right back asleep.”
Dad: *snorts* “Funny thing is, sleep-walking and -talking runs in our family. I do it, and my sister does it. It wouldn’t surprise me if my daughter does, too.”
Nurse: “She warned me. Maybe she just woke up for a minute.”
Dad: “She’s a teenager. She hasn’t been awake since she was twelve.”
(And that’s when I ACTUALLY woke up from the surgery and started grumbling about feeling groggy. Either way, I don’t remember puking, or telling the nurse I was going to. And to be fair to my dad, it’s ten years later, and I’m STILL always tired.)
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