(Regrettably, our local university is the main reason that county STD rates are the second-highest in the state (the highest-ranking county is home to a naval base). Outbreaks are common and rather a grim joke with local healthcare providers. The county has purchased a new emergency radio system and one of their officers has arrived to train our staff on how to use the equipment.)
Instructor: “The great thing about this system is that it is linked to over two hundred towers, state-wide. This means that if you need to, you can communicate not only throughout the county, but with other jurisdictions as well. For example; let’s say you have to set up some kind of emergency clinic at the University for… I don’t know, what’s an epidemic that the students might experience there?”
Me: *without thinking* “Probably chlamydia.”
(My boss shushed me, but our director of nursing almost fell off her chair from laughing so hard.)
California, Pharmacy, USA | Healthy | November 28, 2017
(I’ve been diagnosed with cancer and am on numerous medications, including morphine and oxycodone for the pain I am in. I’m pretty skinny and pale and not looking healthy after six months of chemotherapy. I go to my normal pharmacy with my paper prescription to get filled and a new pharmacy tech, or at least one I’ve never seen in the six months I’ve frequented this place, greets me. I hand him my paperwork, and he starts to type in into his computer, and then looks at me and says
Pharmacy Tech: “I see you’ve been getting these pills for a few months now, and you’re refilling them on the same date every month. You can’t fill this if you’re just going to sell them on the street for your drug money.”
(My jaw drops, and he hands my prescription back to me.)
Pharmacy Tech: “I’m calling the police now, sir, so don’t run off.”
(He then goes to the phone and starts dialing. The pharmacist sees me through their little window and waves at me, I see her a lot when I’m there and she’s helped consult me on the timing of taking my meds so I don’t make myself sick. I wave her over.)
Pharmacist: “Hi!”
Me: “You may want to talk to your new guy. He’s calling the cops on me.”
(She turns around and sees him on the phone.)
Pharmacist: “What are you doing?”
Pharmacy Tech: *covers the receiver* “This junkie is trying to get pills to sell. I’m calling the cops.”
(She rips the phone out of his hand and yells at him.)
Pharmacist: “He has cancer, you idiot!”
(He went pale. She sent him away and hung up the phone. I got my refills, and I never saw that guy again.)
(I am at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription that was called in.)
Tech: “Can I help you?”
Me: “I need to pick up for [Last Name].”
Tech: *types into computer* “First name?”
Me: “Digger.”
Tech: “Digger?”
Me: “Yes.”
(The tech give me a funny look and goes into the back. He returns with the medicine in hand.)
Tech: “So, you can’t drive while taking this. Also, you cannot drink alcohol while taking this. I will need you to sign saying you understand those restrictions.”
Me: *laughing* “No problem.”
Tech: “I need a date of birth.”
Me: “October 2015. I don’t know the day.”
Tech: “You don’t know your child’s birthdate?”
Me: “It’s not my child.”
Tech: “I’m not going to be able to fill this.”
Me: “I need the pharmacist. Now.”
(The pharmacist comes out and asks what the problem is.)
Tech: “She’s picking up this medicine but she doesn’t know the birthdate and then she says it isn’t her child.”
Pharmacist: *takes bag and reads label* “Look at this name.”
(The tech looks and still doesn’t seem to understand.)
Pharmacist: “The patient is named Digger K9 [Last Name]. That means it’s for her dog. Lots of people don’t know their dog’s birthday.”
Tech: “How was I supposed to know?”
Pharmacist: “I’ll finish this. Go wait in the office for me.”
(When I went to get his refill, the same tech handled the transaction. He commented that it was a really big dose for a toddler. Pretty sure whatever the pharmacist said — it didn’t help.)
Clinic, North Carolina, USA | Healthy | November 28, 2017
(I have a rare disease for which I have to have blood work done every few months. I always get it done at the local health department because I don’t have insurance and labs are too expensive elsewhere. They used to have a phlebotomist on staff who was quite good at her job, but she retired around a year before this incident. After she retired, for a while, my tests were done by whichever nurse happened to be available. On this day, one of the nurses who has drawn my blood a few times before is training a different nurse on lab procedures, so the trainee nurse is actually the one doing the draw. I’m often a problematic draw because my veins are small, and sometimes my blood doesn’t come out. This happens after several other mishaps, including the trainee nurse not noticing all of the tests I need to have done, having to remind both of them that one of my samples has to be frozen, and the trainee nurse failing to draw from my left arm and having to try my right arm instead. As the trainee nurse is drawing my blood, she’s pulling up on the needle in a way that makes it hurt like h***, but I’m kind of used to it, so I’m just responding to the talkative trainer nurse and not looking at my arm. Finally the trainee nurse finishes filling the last vial and removes the needle. Something feels a little odd, so I look down to see blood POURING from my arm. I’ve been getting labs done regularly for about 13 years at this point, and I’ve never seen anything like that, so I’m a bit alarmed.)
Me: “What the h***?!
Trainee Nurse: “…”
Trainer Nurse: “Oh! *to trainee nurse* “Looks like you broke the suction…” *to me* “Uh, she broke the suction… But that’s okay! It’s perfectly fine, just looks bad. Don’t worry!”
Me: “Uh…”
Trainee Nurse: “It happens sometimes.”
Me: “That has NEVER happened to me before. But okay, sure.”
(That’s not something that just “happens sometimes”; that’s something you DO.)
(I’m deadly afraid of dentists, but one day I finally get the courage to go see one for a routine check up. They tell me I need to get my wisdom teeth removed and we set up an appointment.)
Me: “Please be patient.”
Dentist: “This will not hurt at all in a few minutes, after the anaesthetic kicks off.”
(He gives me three injections. A few minutes later he pokes me with an instrument.)
Me: “Aaaah!”
Dentist: “Okay, more anaesthetic.”
(He gives me another injection, waits a few more minutes, then pokes me with an instrument.)
Me: “OUCH, OUCH, OUCH!”
Dentist: “Don’t lie; it doesn’t hurt.”
Me: “Please, I swear it does.”
Dentist: “I can’t give you any more anaesthetic. Go home and come back next week. Take a valium.”
(One week and one valium later
Dentist: “I gave you all the anaesthetic I can. Stop crying for nothing.”
(In extreme pain, I manage to get to the opening of the area around the tooth, then he begins pulling.)
Me: “No more! Please stop!”
Dentist: “Just a bit more. Let me pull some more. It doesn’t hurt.”
Me: *refusing to open my mouth any more* “No.”
(The dentist even called my mom, and she screamed at me to stop being a wuss. Still, I refused to get anything else and he was forced to close the gap and let me go. He was kind enough to recommend another dentist with access to morphine. Thankfully the new dentist thought that my problem was probably that I had an extra nerve around that area. He gave me a normal anaesthetic where he thought it was and took out the tooth without so much as a peep from me. The lesson is: trust yourself.)
(I have been admitted to hospital for fainting spells. I am also diabetic and use injections. I am currently on my period, and for whatever reason I tend to bruise more often from the injections during this time.)
Nurse: *coming in while I’m getting changed* “Okay, this shouldn’t take very long. At most you should be— What are those?”
Me: “What are what?”
Nurse: *now angry and pointing at my thighs* “THOSE!”
Me: “Bruises, from insulin injections.”
(It looks like she doesn’t believe me as she turns and leaves. I have an MRI and CT scan, and now they need to do some blood tests. I am given some forms, which have already been filled out, but I’m asked to check to see if there is anything that has been missed. After the blood has been taken, a new medical officer comes in with my forms.)
Medical Officer: “Are you all right, dear? We just need to make sure everything is right before we do the tests.”
Me: “I already checked them and they’re fine.”
Medical Officer: “Yes, but we need more than just the medication you have been prescribed. We also need other drugs you may have taken recently.”
Me: “Again, already on the form.”
Medical Officer: “Any not-necessarily-legal drugs.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Medical Officer: “I may as well be open. Now, there’s no need to be ashamed, but we really need to know what drugs you are addicted to, and for how long. They could be what is causing your condition.”
Me: “I’m not on anything like that. What is this– Oh. Have any of the nurses spoken to you about my legs?”
Medical Officer: “There was an observation made that you use your legs for the injection site, yes.”
Me: “And did they also tell you that I’m diabetic as well, and that’s where I administer my insulin?” *shows her my legs*
Medical Officer: *doubtful* “That’s a lot of bruising for mere insulin injections.”
Me: “If I had been admitted a week ago, they wouldn’t be there. I’m on my period, and my injections always cause bruising while I’m on my period.”
(She still looks doubtful, but leaves me in peace. I’m really shook up by it and despite these two being the only people who think I’m a drug addict, I opt to leave and be seen elsewhere. I never find out the cause of my fainting, but it disappears within a month. Six months later, I’m back at said hospital for retinal screening. Lo and behold, the woman who sees me is the second one mentioned above. She recognises me.)
Medical Officer: “Oh, small world. How have you—”
Me: *lifting my skirt* “Do you see any bruises now? Do I look like a junkie now?”
Medical Officer: *blushing* “Oh, umm. No. I’m sorry about jumping to—”
Me: “Just save it. If you’ve been given this responsibility, after how you treated me, you can stuff it!”
(I then left and arranged to have all future screening done at a hospital nearly an hour away. It really makes you wonder why these two women, out of all the people who saw me that day, believed I was a drug addict because of bruising on one of the most common areas diabetics inject.)
(It’s the night shift in the hospital lab. I’m the scientist doing the nightly calibrating of our analyzers’ drug screen when the ER requests a drug screen, which I can’t run until I finish my calibrations; once I start, I can’t stop. We tell them it will be done as soon as possible, and we’ll rush the sample, which they’re okay with. Meanwhile, some plumbers are working on one of our sinks. The lead scientist comes to my bench to check on my progress and get a better ETA to tell the doctors.)
Lead Scientist: “How’s it coming over here?”
Me: “I’m almost ready. I just need to do cocaine and marijuana.”
Lead Scientist: *without missing a beat* “[My Name], you know better than to mix uppers and downers.”
(The plumbers all went silent and turned to look at us. I hope they didn’t think we were actually doing drugs.)
(I am fifteen and fortunate enough to be able to attend the birth of my baby sister with my dad. This takes place only an hour after she is born.)
Doctor: “Now, Mrs. [Mum], is it all right if a student doctor does the examination on your baby?”
Mum: “Yes, of course; they have to practice!”
Doctor: “[Student]! You can come in now!
Student: *examines my baby sister and then looks worried* “I’m going to refer [Sister] here. She is exhibiting signs of clicky hips.”
Mum: “Should we be worried? [My Name] didn’t have any of that. Is it going to affect her as she gets older?!”
Student: “It’s likely she’ll just have a little fabric harness. It’s easily corrected.”
(Two weeks later we are sitting in a clinic room in the hospital waiting for the doctor. My mum sits next to a lady with a toddler and a baby not much older than my sister.)
Lady: “Hello, why are you here?”
Mum: “We’ve been referred. Apparently, [Sister] has clicky hips.”
Lady: *looks surprised* “Same here! Did you have [Student] examine her?”
Mum: “Yes, that was him!”
Lady: “I’ve talked to three other ladies who’ve been referred, and each of their babies have absolutely nothing wrong. I’m betting it’s the same for our two!”
(It turned out the student had referred about twenty mothers over the two days he’d been in the department, and none of their babies had clicky hips!)
Hospital, USA, Wisconsin | Healthy | November 25, 2017
Customer: “I need my birth record in order to request a new Social Security card, because I don’t have a copy of my birth certificate.”
(This is a fairly common request, so I nod as I look over his Release of Information to make sure all the fields have been completed. Before I get to the end, he adds
Customer: “I wasn’t actually born at this hospital. Does that matter?”
California, Clinic, USA | Healthy | November 24, 2017
(I work for a non-profit medical clinic. Because the county we operate in provides a pretty broad range of services, we have a lot of patients who labor under the belief that we are associated with the county. We are not and never have been. I overhear my colleague who is working the front desk engaging with a patient.)
Patient: “So you’re part of the county, right?”
Colleague: “No, we are in no way associated with the county.”
Patient: “Oh, so you contract with them?”
Colleague: “No. We are not contracted by, subcontract with, or in any way work for or answer to the county.”
Patient: “So, you’re subcontracted with the county.”
Colleague: “No, we are not. We are in no way, shape, or form any part of the county services.”
Patient: *sounding confused* “Oh.”
(A moment later.)
Patient: “So can you send [paperwork] through this fax machine?” *gestures at printer*
Colleague: “That isn’t a fax machine.”
Patient: “Can you fax it from here?”
Colleague: “No, we do not have a fax machine here.”
Patient: *confused* “Oh.”
(After the patient has been called in to see the provider.)
Me: *to Colleague, teasing* “So hey, [Colleague], aren’t we part of the county?”
Colleague: *throws hands in the air* “Apparently!”
Me: “Someone should tell [Boss]. He won’t have to worry about that [specific] grant anymore!”
Grocery Store, Ohio, USA | Healthy | November 24, 2017
(I’m 20, and I use a wheelchair because my leg muscles can’t support me. I’m at the grocery store with my boyfriend and talking to someone at the bakery who we know personally when a woman walks up to us.)
Woman: “Oh, another lazy teen. Why can’t you just walk normally?”
Me: “Uhm, because I have a medical condition?”
Woman: “Don’t you lie! You just don’t wanna walk like everyone else!”
Boyfriend: “She can’t even stand up without assistance. She’s not lazy.”
Woman: “Oh, so you’re in on this, too?!” *looks at bakery clerk* “Do you see what this generation is doing?!”
Clerk: “Yeah, people who regularly see a doctor about their medical problems. She’s been in a wheelchair since I met her.”
Woman: “UGH! LAZY ENTITLED BRATS!” *storms off*
(We laugh after she leaves. The bakery clerk gives us a couple baked goods for half off for the trouble.)
(I work at a hospital. It’s my lunch break, so I go to sit with a friend, who works as a secretary for the hematology clinic. We’re just talking about stuff; there aren’t many clients when this one guy comes in.)
Client: “My name is [Client].”
Friend: “Just a second…” *goes through the appointment list*
(Should be noted that he should’ve brought a referral with him, which he didn’t. Nevertheless, we find the appointment on the list.)
Client: “My case.”
Friend: “Okay, I know. I’ll give it to the doctor—”
Client: “My case, now.”
Friend: “Okay, I get it, I’ll bring it to him now.”
(This guy then followed my friend around to the doctor’s room. When he left an hour later, he didn’t even acknowledge us. He just talked loudly on his phone until my friend gave him his next appointment date and then he just left. That’s an a**-hole, if you ask me…)
Hospital, North Carolina, Religion, USA | Healthy | November 23, 2017
(I am a white teenage girl, just admitted to a ward and I am asleep. The nurse saw me come in with a t-shirt and jeans even though now I’m in a normal hospital gown.)
Dad: “Can my daughter get special meals?”
Nurse: “What kind? Is it an allergy?”
Dad: “She’s Muslim and needs halal food.”
Nurse: *odd look* “Muslim?”
Dad: “Yes.”
Nurse: “That’s ridiculous. She didn’t wear a hijab.”
Dad: “She rarely does, but she is Muslim.”
Nurse: “Then she isn’t really Muslim. She just plays dress up and has a fad diet like all teenagers.” *starts leaving*
Dad: “Oi! She is Muslim and needs halal food. She’s strict about that.”
Nurse: “Yeah, right.”
(My dad gave up and found another nurse who understood and made sure I got halal meals. It could have been much worse
Hospital, Switzerland | Healthy | November 22, 2017
(I’m staying at the hospital because of an exploded appendix. Unfortunately, the surgery goes wrong and I end up with several complications. One of them includes not being able to hold any liquid, not even the liquid my stomach produces. So despite not eating or drinking anything, I spend several days (around a week) vomiting up green goo until I finally manage to get that under control. A few days later, I’m chatting with a nurse when I suddenly feel the need to barf again! Thankfully, there’s a vomit-bag sitting right next to the nurse.)
Me: *with some urgency* “Can you please give me the vomit bag?”
Nurse: *shocked* “What? I thought you were done with that?”
(At this point I’m afraid that if I talk any more I will just start projectile vomiting so I just stare at her, hoping she’ll get the hint. But the nurse just stares back at me for what seems like an eternity, expecting me to answer the question.)
Me: “Quickly!”
(The nurse finally scrambled to get the bag, but by the time she got it, I’d already started vomiting all over the floor. I sure hope she’ll be more attentive in the future!)
(I work at a long-term care pharmacy. We service patients in nursing homes, assisted living, etc. and bill prescription costs monthly. Of course, this means we have trouble with people not paying their bill. Part of my job is to make collections calls. I hear all kinds of excuses, but this was a first.)
Man: “Hello?”
Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] calling from [Pharmacy]. Is [Person #1 ] available?”
Man: “Nope, he’s in jail over in [County].”
Me: *not sure how to respond* “I’m sorry to hear that… I also have [Person #2 ] listed as an authorized contact. May I speak with her?”
Man: “Nope, can’t talk to her either. She’s dead.”
Me: *now REALLY not sure how to respond* “I’m sorry to hear that, too. I’m calling in reference to [Patient]’s account. Who could I speak with that handles [Patient]’s finances?”
Man: “Not him. He’s dead now, too. His wife’s still living but she’s got ‘all-timers’ disease so she won’t be much help.”
Me: *basically at a loss for words at this point* “There must be someone handling [Patient]’s estate. Who would that be?”
Man: “Couldn’t tell you. The only one I know of that’s not dead, locked up, or crazy is [Person #3 ]. She’s probably the best you’re going to get.”
(Turned out [Person #3 ] was extremely nice and helpful, and promptly sent a check for the full balance. She must have been the shining star in a family of “dead, locked up, and crazy!”)
Extra Stupid, Money, Pharmacy, USA | Healthy | November 22, 2017
(I work at a long-term care pharmacy. We bill prescriptions monthly, and always get angry phone calls a few days after statements go out.)
Me: “[Pharmacy], this is [My Name]. How can I help you?”
Angry Man: “What kind of scam are you all running out there?”
Me: “Sir?”
Angry Man: “Do you think you’re going to get away with charging these outrageous prices? I should report you for robbery!”
Me: “If you have questions about any charges, I’d be happy to explain them to you.”
Angry Man: “As a matter of fact you can! I’d like to know why you’re charging me $50 for a month’s worth of [medication]!”
(I pull up the claim and go through my normal spiel of how we submit a claim to the insurance company, they respond with how much they’ll pay and how much of a copay we need to collect from the patient, and how we have no influence over the cost of the copay, as this is determined by the plan, etc.)
Angry Man: “Well then, how come I can go to [Other Pharmacy] and get three months’ worth for $150?”
Me: “Sir, that’s the same price.”
Angry Man: “You’re trying to tell me that $50 and $150 are the same thing? How stupid can you be to have your job?”
Me: *remembering to be professional and not sarcastic* “No, sir. I’m telling you that $50 for a 30 day supply and $150 for a 90 day supply is exactly the same price.”
Angry Man: “I can’t pay $50 every month for one prescription! I’ll go broke! I’m going to be using [Other Pharmacy] from now on so I can get more for a decent price! And I’m going up to [Nursing Home] and telling everyone there that you’re robbing them!”
Me: *slowly losing professionalism* “You have the right to use whatever pharmacy you like. If you feel the need to tell them that, I can’t stop you. But if they can do basic math, they’ll realize that copays are no different with us than they are anywhere else.”
Angry Man: “I know the tactics you people use to try to confuse me. You talk over my head hoping I’ll give up and pay your ridiculous price! You’re not going to fool me. I’m no dumb-a**!”
(At this point I was contemplating whether it would be worth the complaint I’d get if I said “Well, sir, you certainly could’ve fooled me,” but he slammed the phone down, making my decision for me. People are unbelievably dumb!)
Boston, Family & Kids, Massachusetts, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | November 21, 2017
(I am a pediatrician. A woman has come in with her little girl who is suffering from a rather infected finger. He diagnoses her with a staph infection, prescribes some antibiotics, and sends them home. At the end of the antibiotics the woman is back in his office, and the infection has spread to several areas; a spot on the little girl’s face, the inside of her nose, and a spot on her leg. She demands that I run a million tests because I’m clearly a “failure of a doctor.”)
Me: “Ma’am, it appears that your daughter has spread the infection to other areas of her body, most likely through scratches or by touching a scratch that was already there.”
Mother: “That’s impossible! How would she get one in her nose? You’re just making excuses because you don’t want to run any tests!”
Me: “I can assure you, ma’am, that’s not the case. If I felt the need to, I would certainly run more tests, but there is no need for all that time, effort, and money when I can clearly see what the cause is. It’s more than 99% certain that she spread it through her nose by a scratch as the bacteria causing the infection is located under her fingernails. She picked her nose, scratched it, and spread the infection there.”
Mother: *turns bright red* “That’s ridiculous! My little princess would never do anything so disgusting as pick her nose! We’re just going to go and get a second opinion! You’ll be run out of business, you’ll see!”
(We turn around to see her “little princess” with a finger very far up her nose indeed. The mother grows nearly purple at this point and swats her daughter’s hand away from her face.)
Me: “So I’ll be prescribing that next round of antibiotics, then?”
England, Hospital, Non-Dialogue, United Kingdom | Healthy | November 21, 2017
Before I retired, I spent many years working permanent nights in operating theatres, giving skilled assistance to the anaesthetist. We performed emergency surgery in quite a few fields but our main area of expertise was plastic surgery.
One night, a young man was brought into the anaesthetic room conscious, calm, and pain-free. We started to talk about what had happened to him. He was a competitive archer and he presented with a carbon fibre arrow through his left hand! On one side there was about a foot of gleaming black arrow with a perfect flight and on the other side there was a hideous splay of fractured carbon fibre. He explained that the only problem with carbon fibre arrows is that they are susceptible to damage if one strikes another in the target. He simply didn’t notice that this particular arrow had been weakened and when he released it the torque caused it to fracture and it punched through his hand.
I started to formally check him in: looking at his wristband I asked him to state his name and date of birth. Both tallied. “When did you last have anything to eat or drink?” Quite a few hours, so no problem. “Are you allergic to anything, especially any drugs or medicines?” No allergies. “Do you have any jewellery or body piercings?” He gestured towards his left hand: “Oh, just the one…”
I felt myself going bright red and we both giggled. We sent him off to sleep and the surgeon removed the arrow, cleaned up and debrided the wound, and carefully checked to see if he’d damaged any of the structures inside his hand. Fortunately, nothing significant had been affected – he was very lucky.
On nights we multitask, so I had to supervise his recovery from the anaesthetic. Before discharging him to the ward, I made sure that he could remember his snappy reply. “You’ll be dining out on that one, I’m sure
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