I am at a psychiatrist’s office receiving transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS) therapy for depression. A TMS technician is making small talk during the prep for my appointment.
Tech: “So what do you do for work?”
Me: “I’m a software engineer.”
Tech: “Another one?!”
As it turned out, she said about 40% of their TMS patients were software engineers. I wonder why…
This story reminded me of a story about my dad. A few weeks after my dad was born, my grandma worried that her baby didn’t seem to be looking at her right. So, doing what any worried mother would do in the days before Web MD, she took him to the doctor. The first eye doctor they saw told my grandma that nothing was wrong. She still thought that my dad was looking at her funny, so she took him to another eye doctor. This eye doctor also didn’t find anything, but my grandma was not convinced. She KNEW that something was wrong.
My grandma was done with these doctors and decided that she would stop just going to random child eye doctors; she would find the best eye doctor in the area. If even the best eye doctor couldn’t find something wrong, maybe my dad was okay and not looking at her funny. After doing some research, she was able to figure out who the best eye doctor in the area was and called to make an appointment. However, the earliest they could see my dad would be in six months. The eye doctor didn’t even normally see infants anyway — only adults.
My grandma didn’t know what to do. Six months was too long. So, she called her mom and asked for advice.
Grandma’s Mom: “If you are certain that something is wrong with your baby, you go to that doctor’s office and sit in the waiting room and wait there until they see your baby!”
My grandma, even though she didn’t want to be rude, was worried enough to follow this advice.
The next day, she went into the doctor’s office and explained the situation. They told her the doctor couldn’t see her, so she sat down in the waiting room and waited. Eventually, at the end of the day, the doctor felt sorry for her and decided to at the very least humor her and examine my dad. As it turns out, it was a very good thing he did. My dad had congenital glaucoma, and the doctor realized that he needed to be operated on right away if he was to have any chance of having vision at all. They were able to operate on him in time to save one eye, but he is blind in the other, not that you can tell. If Grandma had waited those six months for the appointment, he would have been fully blind.
Sometimes, mothers do know best.
Related:
An Eye-Catching Lesson
My partner and I lived in Alberta for quite a long time. In 2020, he decided to move some of his belongings to Nova Scotia. (We planned to retire there together, so we wanted to take belongings there over time.) He got to the Nova Scotia border at the end of April 2020, right when the border slammed shut.
Fast forward two years. We only saw each other three times in that time period, even though we talked on the phone every day. In July, I flew to spend two and a half weeks with him. My dad was also driving across the country to meet us there to spend time with me, my partner, and his family.
At the end of the first week, my partner and I went camping for five days, trailering our motorbikes there. (It was too far for me to drive that entire way.) The first day, there was no problem driving my bike; we spent hours all over the place. The second day, the morning was fine, although I laid the bike down a couple of times. We came up to a T intersection, I waited for traffic, and then I started around the corner. My handlebars jerked to the left, I lost my balance, and I fell with my left arm outstretched. Instant pain. I could wiggle my fingers and move my wrist. I thought it was sprained.
My partner got the bike up and yelled at me to get up, which took me a few minutes to do. He kept telling me, “It’s just a bruise, it’s just a bruise,” so I got back on that bike, lifted my left hand to the clutch, and rode the bike for a half hour back to the campsite.
Some of the other campers came over to see what had happened and got me kitted out with a sling. We stayed there until the last day of our reservation and then drove back to [Partner]’s mom’s place where he was living. [Partner]’s mom took one look at me and told me that I was going to the hospital; my arm had swollen right down to my fingertips, and my upper arm was blueish-black.
We eventually got to the metropolitan hospital, and after a few hours, they were able to see me. After TEN X-rays, I figured it was worse than a sprain. The doctor came in.
Doctor: “The good news is that you need a CT scan. The bad news is that you need a CT scan because your shoulder is broken in three places.”
We got home at about 10:00 in the morning, and Dad arrived at noon. He was NOT expecting to hear that his daughter had a broken shoulder!
They were able to get me into surgery two days after that — a full seven days after I broke it! I had a plate and screws put in, and then I had six weeks of physiotherapy. I was planning to go to my dad’s at that point, so I was happy when I went in for my surgical follow-up. I was NOT so happy when they told me that it hadn’t healed at all. In fact, the bone had slid, and screws were up in the joint space. I ended up having an emergent shoulder replacement (titanium) and a lot more physio after that.
The total time that I spent in Nova Scotia was three and a half months — way longer than the two and a half weeks I’d planned! After that, I did go to my dad’s, and I have been there since. I was off work for thirteen months, and I went back to work for the same company with restrictions. (They were so patient; it was unreal.) It’s been a bitter pill to swallow that I’ll likely never be able to lift properly above my head or make certain other movements.
On the other hand, my physiotherapist has been a godsend, as has as my auto insurance!
Don’t be like me: when you’re hurt, get it checked out!
I am a retired family physician. Before the days of computers, two patients arrived at the same time. [Patient #2] was scheduled ten minutes after [Patient #1]. [Patient #2] was having chest pain and was extremely short of breath — actually turning blue. The reception desk called for help.
My assistant got him in a room and started getting vital signs. I sent another assistant to get the crash cart and a third to start oxygen. I went into the hall and picked up the phone to call 911. I picked it up just before it had a chance to ring, and the reception desk was on the line.
[Patient #1] was upset and wanted to know when she would be seen.
Me: “We’re in the middle of a code blue.”
I hung up the phone and called 911. I gave the operator the information and went back to the patient. They were on oxygen and hooked up to an ECG, which showed they were having a heart attack.
By the time the paramedics arrived, we had given them aspirin and nitroglycerin. The paramedics took over, loaded [Patient #2] onto a gurney, and rolled them out through the waiting room to the aide car for transport to the hospital.
My assistant was busy putting away gear, so I went out to the waiting room and got [Patient #1]. I brought her back to an exam room, and she started complaining bitterly.
Patient #1: “I can’t believe I’m being seen out of order! I’ve been waiting for too long!”
Ten minutes had elapsed since she had arrived. I tossed her chart on the desk.
Me: “The reason you waited was that the patient seen before you was dying of a heart attack, and we had to save him! You waited all of ten minutes, and I brought you back myself. What clinic have you been used to going to where you wait less than ten minutes despite a medical emergency? I’d like to go there myself!”
I read this story and was already dreading the ending because I am a person with a uterus.
I was recently diagnosed with Lupus because of a work injury, so I currently have three doctors: a specialist, my primary doctor, and my worker’s comp doctor.
I had to get my arm X-rayed.
Nurse: “When did you have your last period?”
Me: “[Date about three weeks prior]. My next one is due in five days.”
The app on my phone is a lifesaver.
Nurse: “Any chance you got a baby going on in there?”
She’s always funny; I love it when she does my intake.
Me: “None. Yes, I am sexually active, but our birth control is one hundred percent effective. I’m addicted to lesbianism.”
Not a bad outcome. [Specialist] wanted full-body X-rays to see the deterioration of my joints — fun times.
X-Ray Tech: “Any chance you may be pregnant?”
Me: “My girlfriend loves to try, but we have found that we can’t make one.”
Yes, I know, don’t be rude to medical staff, but I have heard that question fifty million times. Mentioning [Girlfriend] usually shuts down the follow-up, and I’ve gotten sarcastic over the years.
X-Ray Tech: “Right on. Let’s get these pictures and get you home to the girlfriend. Is she pretty?”
Me: “Very, and my best friend.”
And then comes the bad one — the one that every uterus owner dreads. I needed antibiotics because of an infection unrelated to everything else.
Doctor: “When was the first date of your last period?”
Me: “[Second week of December].”
Doctor: “It’s January.”
Me: “I know. My app says I can start any day now.”
Doctor: “It’s been twenty-five days. You’re probably pregnant.”
Me: “There are a couple of issues I take with your statement. It’s been twenty-three days; these little numbers tell me that. Since I started at eleven years old, my cycle has been twenty-five days. My girlfriend’s is twenty-eight days, and I have a friend who has a regular medically checked-out forty-day cycle. Second, I’m not able to get pregnant because I live with, sleep with, raise a cat with, and have sex with another uterus owner.”
I’m non-binary; we use trans-inclusive language.
Doctor: “Do you use condoms?”
Me: “…On the toys, to make clean-up easier.”
Doctor: “And you’re not on hormonal birth control, so you’re probably pregnant. You should take a test before you start antibiotics.”
Me: “[Doctor], my partner is a girl. I don’t have a medical degree, but I do know how babies are made. You need, at the very least, sperm. I have not had sex with or even kissed someone who makes sperm since 2018. I have hugged a few, but all our clothes stayed on. I have not gone to a sperm bank or in any other way had sperm near me since 2013. I am not pregnant.”
She flat-out refused to give me the script. I flat-out refused to leave without a second opinion.
The second doctor took my no and the girlfriend thing as proof that I was not pregnant and gave me the script.
Reasonable Doctor: “Not like it matters much; we’re giving you low-grade antibiotics that are perfectly safe for pregnant people.”
The infection is gone, and my period started the day after that whole interaction. Turns out I am not pregnant. Who knew?
Related:
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 18
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 17
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 16
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 15
They Don’t Always C When They’re Sticking To The Script
