I have my mom’s small, deep veins. I still try to donate blood and plasma if I can, and I’ve had some ongoing health concerns for years. I’ve gotten very used to being turned into a pincushion whenever I need blood drawn. Usually, the techs get the vein after a few attempts, but it’s not uncommon for me to be in pain and/or bruised following bloodwork. Remarkably, I have yet to faint or develop a phobia.

I have some lab work scheduled and need a blood draw. I offer the arm I’ve been told is better, look away, and start taking deep breaths. I’m focused on breathing, but eventually, I realize I don’t feel anything, so I look over at the nurse. She’s wrapping my arm and has the filled vial next to her!

Me: *Incredulously* “How’d you do that?! I’m used to people sticking me a bunch of times!”

Nurse: *Without missing a beat* “That’s ‘cause they suck.”

I had been having stomach pains for a few days. At first, I thought it was something I ate, so I took some Pepto Bismol. On day three, my stomach was cramping so much I could barely stand. I called out of work and laid in bed wondering what I had eaten. I tried all kinds of stomach-coating medication, hot compress, warm bath, massage… but nothing was working.

By day five, I couldn’t even walk, so my husband drove me to the emergency room.

Me: “I’ve been having pains right here—” *gestures below my rib cage* “—for the past three or four days. It hurts so bad I can barely eat or move or even breathe. I’ve done Pepto, heating pads, hot baths, and massaging the area. Nothing has helped.”

Doctor #1: *Without even touching me* “It’s just PMS. Take some Midol and a heating pad, and you’ll be fine.”

Me: “I don’t think so. I’ve tried that, and it’s not the right time of the month. Also, my uterus is not right under my ribcage.”

Doctor #1: “Pain manifests in funny ways. You’re probably just having a heavy flow. You’re only twenty-six; your body wants a baby.”

Me: “Okay, I would like a female doctor.”

[Doctor #1] rolls his eyes and walks away. I sit in the room for six hours before a woman, [Doctor #2], comes in.

Doctor #2: “Hi. Having some cramps?”

Me: “Not the lady kind.”

I point to where the pain is and retell my tale.

Doctor #2: “Okay, let’s see what’s going on.”

She gives me an exam, pressing on various points in my stomach while we talk about how I had been treating the issue at home. When she gets to the part that hurts, I curl up.

Doctor #2: “Okay, honey. I am going to get you on some IV fluids and get some pain meds and a heating pad ordered. We’re going to do an ultrasound as soon as possible. I have some ideas, but I don’t want to jump into anything right now.”

Me: “Thank you.”

And they gave me the GOOD meds. I felt better almost immediately.

The ultrasound shortly thereafter revealed that I had a substantial bowel blockage putting pressure on the lower side of my stomach and pushing it up into my lungs. Two enemas and four days of laxatives later, I was back to normal and feeling QUITE thin.

After I recovered, I contacted the hospital and told them what [Doctor #1] told me and how he acted as if my uterus was my only body part worth considering. They told me an investigation would be opened, but I never heard anything else about it.

I am thankful that [Doctor #2] came along when she did and actually listened to my issues.

My mother-in-law calls my husband one day, clearly angry about something. I can only hear his half of the conversation, but he gives me the short version on our way to the hospital: his mother was in an accident involving a motorcyclist. We get to the hospital and find her in a room in the Emergency Room. She has a bandage on her forehead, a few scratches on her arms, and blossoming bruises, but she is otherwise outwardly unharmed.

Mother-In-Law: “Finally! Tell the nurse there to discharge me.”

The nurse at the nearby station glares at us and shakes her head “no” before turning away.

Me: “What happened?”

Mother-In-Law: “I was driving, and this motorcyclist stopped right in front of me!”

Me: “Okay, well, did you talk to the police? Is there a video?”

Mother-In-Law: “Yes! They’re saying it’s my fault because I hit him! If he saw my car coming why didn’t he move?”

Husband: “I… I don’t understand. Why was the motorcycle stopped?”

Mother-In-Law: “He said the light was red. I didn’t see it, though, so I think he was lying.”

Me: “You rear-ended a motorcyclist making a legal stop at a red light?!”

Mother-In-Law: “I didn’t know he was there! I was using my phone for GPS, and I dropped it, and—”

Me: “Jesus. Why—”

Mother-In-Law: “Well, if he had been paying attention, he could have moved!”

Me: “If you had been paying attention, you could have stopped!”

Husband: *Carefully calm* “Mom. You could have killed him.”

Mother-In-Law: “But I didn’t! So I should get to go home.”

Husband: “You have to stay here. They need to make sure you don’t have a concussion or anything.”

Mother-In-Law: “Take me home. Now.”

Husband: *Leading me toward the exit* “We’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

After all kinds of legal issues and [Mother-In-Law] being her usual stubborn self, her license was revoked, and she paid some fines and had to pay the motorcyclist’s medical bills. She thought all of this was unfair since she still believed she wasn’t at fault. A gas station at the corner submitted their security camera video as evidence, showing the motorcycle stopping a full fifteen seconds before [Mother-In-Law]’s fifteen-passenger van plowed straight into him and the SUV in front of him. The motorcyclist had a long recovery ahead of him, but he did make it through. [Mother-In-Law] will still tell anyone who will listen that she shouldn’t have been blamed because the motorcyclist should have seen her coming and moved.

Two days before Thanksgiving, I noticed that something was wrong: my youngest son wasn’t his usual energetic self. He was crawling across the floor to the breakfast table and muttering incomplete sentences that I couldn’t make sense of. I touched him and he was burning up.

I took him to the doctor and they said he had a fever of 106.5F, which is very bad — and could get worse.

My husband asked around while I was with the kid at the hospital, and it turns out that the neighbor’s kid had had a fever of about 105F recently, but the neighbor let him play with my son despite being dangerously ill, because it was “just a little fever”.

Our family was supposed to visit us for Thanksgiving, but I called them to cancel since I didn’t want my nieces and nephews to get sick.

One of my brothers actually mocked me for “being a wimp” and “letting a little fever cancel Thanksgiving”.

So, here we are on Thanksgiving Day, smuggling a turkey, some cranberry sauce, and a pumpkin pie smoothie into the hospital to feed my smallest a Thanksgiving meal. Because some morons didn’t take disease prevention seriously.

I am in the hospital, knowing I’ll be here for at least a week and possibly more. I am sick of hospital food, so I go downstairs to go across the street to a sandwich store chain that’s in the hospital.

I am pretty far back in the hospital, at the backside of a building, behind a labyrinth of staircases and hallways to get out to the front door. The walk from my ward to the sandwich store takes almost fifteen minutes.

I wait in line, get up to the counter to order, and realize I’ve left my wallet in my room. I ordinarily keep my wallet in my back pocket, but there was no need to in the hospital since I was in my room most of the time.

I am exhausted mentally by this point from my hospital stay. I tell them I’ve forgotten my wallet and turn to make the trek all the way there and back again.

All of a sudden, a nurse behind me swoops in and buys my food for me, saving me the trip (and the money). I thank him profusely, asking him for his name or to tell me where he works in the hospital so I can pay him back. He just smiles and tells me to focus on getting better.

That was years ago, but I will never forget that act of kindness. 

Related:
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 17
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 16
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 15
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 14
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 13