CONTENT WARNING: Serious Injury (Chainsaw to the finger)

My mother suffered an injury to her finger while working in the garden and was bleeding quite badly. Knowing she would definitely need medical attention, she wrapped up her finger and called the hospital to book herself in.

She sounded quite casual about the whole thing as she spoke to the receptionist on the phone.

Mother: “Hello. I’ve cut myself quite badly, and I think it’s probably going to need stitches.”

Receptionist: “Well, I’ll see if we can fit you in. You’ll probably need to be triaged.”

Mother: “It is bleeding quite a lot.”

Receptionist: “Well, make sure you keep it bandaged for now, and I’ll check when there’s a spot available.”

At that point, I decided I’d better intervene, as there were key aspects of the situation that she hadn’t mentioned, and the receptionist, naturally, was assuming from her casual tone that it was something pretty minor.

I shouted loud enough to be heard down the phone.

Me: “She cut herself with a chainsaw!”

Receptionist: *Taken aback* “Oh! Um— Well, I think we may have a cancellation…”

Full disclosure: my mother had been up a tree trimming branches off and had managed to catch the end of her finger on the chain. Thankfully, it had only been a glancing blow, so it wasn’t as serious as it could have been, but it was still bad enough and did need attending to pretty urgently.

As it was, we got her to hospital, the damage was repaired, and her fingernail (which had borne the brunt of the damage) did eventually grow back, though she still has a nasty scar where it happened. Now, a few years later, she often recounts the incident — particularly my part in it and the receptionist’s reaction — with some amusement.

I’m a very extroverted and affectionate person when I feel comfortable around people — which is most of the time if you’re a nice human. I often hang up with friends and family by saying, “Love you, bye!”

The medical practice I go to is filled with kind receptionist ladies and professionals with excellent bedside manner; whoever is helping me will chat and be friendly whenever I go in.

The receptionist called to confirm my appointment while I was at work. I was a bit distracted because I was multitasking while talking with her. I confirmed my appointment and said:

Me: “Okay, thanks. Love you, bye!”

We both started cackling.

Receptionist: “I love you, too, [My Name]. Bye.”

This makes me laugh every time I think of it.

I was working as a receptionist at a vet clinic to pay my way through my degree in Graphic Design. I was in my last semester of the program and beginning to accept freelance work in my free time. My boss knew this and approached me with some work.

Client: “Hey, we need a flyer for an upcoming event. Can you whip something up? Here’s the information.”

Me: “I can’t really do this here; all we have on these computers is Word.”

Client: “Why don’t you use your designer programs? We need something eye-catching!”

Me: “Just to be clear, you’re asking me to use programs that I pay for out of my pocket, on my personal laptop that I also paid for, during work hours, at a job where I was not hired for my skills as a graphic designer, to create a professionally designed product for you, with no increase in my hourly rate? I’m sorry, but no. If you would like, we can certainly discuss my freelance rates after hours. I charge $25 an hour, and I estimate that a flyer of this type would take two to three hours.”

Client: “Seriously? That’s way too much for a simple flyer! Isn’t there, like, a friends and family discount?

Me: “No.”

He was silent for a moment and then went back to his office. He later made his own version of the flyer using Word, using about five conflicting fonts in various colors.

This encounter was pretty typical of the culture there, and I quit two weeks later.

I have just moved to a new state and am looking for a neurologist, as I have had epilepsy since I was a teenager. I get the mandatory referral and wait on hold for over an hour.

Receptionist: “So, why were you referred to [Doctor]?”

Me: “I just moved here. I have had an epilepsy diagnosis for over fifteen years but have been seizure-free for several years under the treatment of my old doctor. I just needed a doctor down here.”

Receptionist: “…Ma’am. You’ve called a neurology office. [Doctor] doesn’t treat seizures.”

The next day, she begrudgingly calls me back.

Receptionist: “Hi, is this [My Name]? You called yesterday wanting to see [Doctor]?”

Me: “Yes, I did. You told me he doesn’t treat seizures.”

Receptionist: “Well, he’s making an exception just for you!” 

Sadly, I live in the middle of nowhere and there really isn’t another choice of doctor.

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!