I had a wisdom tooth taken out on a Friday. On Saturday, I had trouble opening my mouth, and the pain was getting worse. At the time, I thought it wasn’t that bad; surely it wasn’t unusual to have pain after removing a tooth. During the evening, I couldn’t eat, I could barely drink, and all I wanted was to go to bed and sleep as I waited for it to get better.

Come Sunday, I woke up with a large swelling under my chin, pushing in toward my throat as I lay down. I had difficulties swallowing my saliva, which disturbed my breathing. After some quick Googling, I knew I was supposed to contact my dentist, but they weren’t open on Sundays. I then searched for dentists to contact for an emergency; all of them were only open on weekdays.

The next step was to call a healthcare clinic that was open evenings and weekends. I explained my situation to the receptionist.

Receptionist: “You know, you are supposed to go to a dentist.”

Me: “Yes, but they are closed today.”

Receptionist: “There are emergency dentists.”

Me: “Yes, well, where do I find those? Because all emergency times I found for dentists were on weekdays.”

I heard the receptionist tapping away on her computer.

Receptionist: “I suppose I’ll have to book a time for you here.”

After that, the conversation went as normal and I got a time not too far away.

When I met the doctor, I could see her shock as she saw my swelling. After questioning, she said she’d call a specialist for advice, so I went to wait. When she called me back in, she had good news! At least, so she said. It is common to be swollen after removing a wisdom tooth. They decided to give me some antibiotics just to be safe and said to visit my dentist during the week if it didn’t get better.

Me: “Can I get anything for the pain?”

Doctor: “No, I’m sorry, the regular painkillers you are already using are all you can get. The only thing stronger I could give you is morphine, and it wouldn’t work for this kind of pain.”

I felt tears streaming down my cheeks at that point, as I didn’t know how I’d survive another day with this.

Doctor: *Looking sympathetic* “It will get better soon. This is the worst part.”

I couldn’t handle it, though. My husband had to wake me up if I rolled onto my back as the swelling otherwise hindered my breath, and I never slept more than half an hour before I was awoken by the pain, having to let saliva drip out of my mouth (I couldn’t swallow or spit properly) to clear the way for air, or just because of coughing, as if the rest wasn’t enough.

So, I got up in the middle of the night, called the national number for medical advice, and waited for my turn.

Medical Advisor: “Hello. How can I help you?”

I recapped the whole situation.

Me: “…I don’t know if I can do this anymore. It hurts.”

I was crying my eyes out at that point.

Medical Advisor: “I see, but you met a doctor today, and I know you have no issues breathing. You can say several words to me without pause. You can probably go and see your dentist tomorrow; it isn’t many hours left, after all. Take some painkillers. There are fluid versions.”

Me: “I only have pills, and I’ve taken those already.”

Medical Advisor: “So, you can swallow pills.”

Me: “I have to. I have medicine I cannot miss.”

Medical Advisor: “It sounds like you are going to be fine. Just try and get some sleep.”

I stayed up and got an emergency time for my dentist’s clinic in the morning. I did not meet my own dentist but a coworker of his. She could see that I had a very hard time, and she had to take some pictures. You know those pictures and X-rays they take at the dentist? You have to get this thing into your mouth which cuts into the top and bottom of your mouth. In normal cases, they are uncomfortable. At that time, they were torture.

The dentist took the smallest ones she could find, and as I was unable to open my mouth much, she had to get it in and then turn it in my mouth before running to the button, taking the picture, and then running back to let me free of it. It was a whole ordeal, and I’ve never been in so much pain at the dentist. I was crying and screaming.

Dentist: “Well, there is nothing there that I can help with. I’d say you should get to the emergency room. Getting you on antibiotics was the right thing, but I believe you should get a few of those doses directly into the vein. Tell them I said that.”

So, cue waiting at the emergency room. For some reason, first, I had to take a number, and then I had to explain the whole thing to the receptionist in order to meet a nurse. The nurse said I needed to get another number and tell the receptionist I needed time with a doctor but that I might not be put in the hospital as the dentist wanted. So, then, I had to start over with the whole waiting process.

Finally, I got to meet a doctor, who examined me.

Emergency Doctor: “We’ll get you a bed. I think you should get one dose directly into your vein, and our specialist wants an X-ray just to be sure there isn’t anything else before we send you home.”

They took their tests and gave me some antibiotics, and I got to go in one of those CT scan tubes. Eventually, the specialists came in to talk to me and my husband.

Specialist: “So, we’ve been looking at your scan, and I understand you’ve been fasting?”

Me: “Yes. The last time I ate was Saturday, and I had some to drink yesterday.”

Specialist: “That is good. We will need to operate, and we’ll want to do it as soon as possible.”

There were a lot of details discussed about why and how, which I won’t bother you with, but suddenly, everything went fast. I had to do the pre-operation shower, and they got a room to operate in after only a few hours. As soon as they got the green light, I was rushed over there. It is still a bit of a blur, as I wasn’t really prepared for the urgency after having been shot down so many times when trying to get help.

I spent the next day on a respirator to protect my airways, and I spent a week in the hospital, during which I went from only drinking clear fluids to slowly being able to eat. Several weeks later, I still have difficulties opening my mouth for bigger bites.

One thing that still bugs me, though, is that call in the middle of the night, where I was told that I had no issues breathing since I was able to talk. Shortly after I was back from intensive care, another girl close to my age arrived at the hospital. She couldn’t speak, she was swollen in the throat, she had difficulties breathing, and she could only swallow pills with a lot of help. Of course, I don’t know why, but it turned out that she only needed a couple of doses of antibiotics to get a lot better. Perhaps her issues were worse while the source of them was less so, or perhaps she allowed herself to be just as weak as I felt.

So, to the medical advisor: not all issues manifest in the same way or with the same signs of urgency. Also, some people, like me, fight through the pain to communicate and receive medication in order to, hopefully, make it better. People are different; please understand that if you are to advise them!

CONTENT WARNING: Natural Disasters
 

I work in a public hospital that does elective hip replacements. A few years ago, we had a massive earthquake that killed many and caused many serious injuries. As a result, we were in a State of Emergency.

A couple of days after the earthquake we had a lady who had travelled approximately six hours for an appointment with the surgeon about a hip replacement.

Me: “Ma’am, I am sorry, but the surgeon will not be seeing you any time soon due to the large number of patients needing surgery due to the earthquake.”

Patient: “What! I have not been notified that my appointment has been postponed so therefore I expect to see the surgeon.”

Me: “I’m afraid they are busy with emergency procedures, ma’am.”

No amount of explanation could convince her otherwise so in the end we sent her off in the direction of the very empty outpatient orthopedic department.

I’m the charge nurse in a huge emergency room. It’s a holiday, and we are very busy. The secretary comes up to me and says there’s a phone call from somebody who just got discharged. The caller is yelling about 911 and saying they have a major emergency. I drop what I’m doing and take the call.

Patient: “You need to call 911! Call them right now!”

Me: “What’s going on? What’s the emergency?”

Patient: “I just spent all day in your ER. I had such a bad headache, and they had to give me medicine in an IV.”

Me: “Okay. What’s happening now?”

Patient: “The medicine made me so drowsy, and they told me not to drive home, so I called a taxi. They dropped me off at my house.”

Me: “Fine, but why are you talking about 911? If you need an ambulance—”

The caller interrupts and talks over me. 

Patient: “Not an ambulance! You need to call 911! Call the police! They were here, and they took my money. You need to tell them to give it back.”

Me: “… What? You’re telling me the police stole your money.”

Patient: “The taxi driver called them. I told him I wasn’t paying. I came from the hospital, so it should be free. He called the police, and they came to my house, and they said I had to pay for the fare.”

Me: “Who told you the cab ride would be free?”

Patient: “Call the police! Call the cab company! Tell them the ride is free! Give my money back!”

Me: “Miss, I’m not in charge of the cab company. I’m certainly not in charge of the police. And I don’t even have your money.”

The patient yells an insult down the phone. 

Patient: “If you don’t give my money back right now, I’m coming back there, and people are going to get hurt.”

Me: “Oh, you just said the magic words. I’ll call the police for you right now. What’s your address?”

The patient gave me her name and address. I hung up, called 911, and reported that she had made threats against the hospital. 

About an hour later, the patient wound up back in my ER, this time in handcuffs. Apparently, when the police got to her house, she took a swing at a cop. They brought her to us to get the taser darts removed.

I work at the registration desk in a fairly small hospital. A few years ago, we underwent a major renovation that updated many parts of the hospital, including the main entrance. We now have a ticket system when you come for an appointment. Patients coming in for scheduled appointments — X-rays, tests, etc. — have to take a number, wait for their number to appear on an electronic screen (ticker), and then proceed to the registration desk.

This is not new; most government buildings have very similar systems. However, we are a small town, so it could be an adjustment for some locals. To help with the changes, we have put up signs explaining the process.

There is a large sign that says, “If you are here for an appointment, please take a number and sit in waiting room #1.” Beside that, there is a picture of an electronic screen saying, “Your number will be called on a screen similar to the picture below. Please watch for your number.”

This turns into a disaster most days; some people take a ticket, some don’t, others try to skip the line, people don’t watch the screen, etc. The system definitely has some flaws, but there isn’t really a better option, and we have been doing it that way for almost three years now.

The other day, I buzzed the next number to come to the desk, and a mom and her daughter approached.

Me: “Are you [number on the ticker]?”

Mom: “Yes, but you should know the number on the sign back there is wrong.”

Me: “The sign that shows the example of what the ticker looks like?”

Mom: “Yes, it says seventeen.”

Me: “Yep, that’s because it’s just a sample of what the ticker looks like. It’s just to show how the number will appear on the wall.”

Mom: “Yeah, but it’s wrong. It says seventeen in that picture, and I’m [number on the ticker].”

Me: “Again, it’s just an example. It’s not the actual machine; it’s just a sign.”

Mom: “But it’s wrong. I was just telling you so you could fix it.”

Me: “It doesn’t need to be fixed; it’s just a sign.”

Mom: “Well, it’s broken.”

I gave up and just registered her for her appointment at that point. When she walked past me after her appointment, she said:

Mom: “Hope you get that sign fixed soon!”

I had no words.

This story reminded me of when I told my brother-in-law that my sister was giving birth. I called him on speakerphone from my sister’s room.

Me: “Hey, [Brother-In-Law], come to the hospital quick! [Sister] is giving birth now! 

Brother-In-Law: *In a panic* “What?! She’s giving birth? To a baby?”

My sister looked enraged at the phone. 

Me: “No, a puppy. Of course, it’s a baby. Now, if you want to live to meet your kid, I suggest you hurry up before she murders you.”

From the water breaking to the baby coming out, it was less than an hour.