CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

I get a job at the front desk of my college residence hall during my freshman year. Most phone calls are pretty basic; people want to know when the desk closes or when they can collect their packages.

But this one still boggles my mind.

Me: “[School] housing and dining, my name is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Resident: “Hi, do we have an on-call nurse?”

Me: ”No, we don’t. Is this an emergency scenario?”

Resident: “No, my roommate lost vision in her left eye for like six minutes.”

I am absolutely speechless. I would think most people would go to an emergency room or at least schedule a doctor’s appointment when something of that severity happened. My first plan of action would definitely not be to call the front desk.

Me: “Does she still not have vision?”

Resident: “No, she can see now.”

Me: “Then maybe schedule a doctor visit or go to the ER if it happens again?”

Resident: “I think that’s a good idea, but she says she doesn’t want to. Thanks, anyway.”

I didn’t know what to say. I left my shift that day very confused about that phone call.

I’m seeing a gynaecologist at a private clinic because the general polyclinics in Singapore don’t have the specific type of birth control I want. The doctor is a woman and seems okay on the first visit.

Doctor: “And what do you do for a living?”

Me: “I’m a virologist; I work for a vaccine development company.”

On the second visit, she tries to hard-sell me the HPV vaccine. In many countries, it’s given to teenagers for free, but it’s very expensive to buy out of pocket privately.

Me: “I don’t think I need it because I’m married and my husband didn’t have any sex partners before.”

Doctor: “No, but once you become sexually active, the HPV can fly through the air and infect you at any time.”

This is complete nonsense; HPV is not airborne.

Me: “Remember last time when I said I’m a virologist working in vaccine research and development?”

This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!

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I work for the billing department of a medical supply company. One day, my coworker and I return from lunch to find a voicemail on the answering service. [Coworker] has been with us just a few weeks at this time.

Message: “Hello, this is [Woman].” 

She coughs a few times. My coworker rolls her eyes.

Coworker: “This lady.”

Message: “I’m calling because, um, my oxygen concentrator seems to be malfunctioning.” *More coughing* “There’s a red light on and I don’t know what it means. My number is [phone number]. Please call me back as soon as possible. Thank you.”

Coworker: “Jesus.”

She deletes the message.

Me: “What are you doing? She needs help.”

Coworker: “It’s not our job to get that s*** worked out. She called yesterday, too, but I told her she has to call the supplies department, not billing.”

I stare at her, dumbfounded and angry.

Me: “Are you seriously telling me that a woman has called twice to say she needs help and you ignored her?”

Coworker: “She needs the supply department, not us.”

Me: “You— I— I— What the f***, [Coworker]? That’s not okay.”

Coworker: “Whatever.”

I immediately called the supply department and told them the woman’s name, though I couldn’t remember her number. Then, I called human resources — with [Coworker] right beside me — and told them what she had done. As soon as I hung up, she received a phone call, got up, and left the room. She did not come back.

This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!

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I was born breech but was delivered naturally. The obstetrician had to use forceps at the end to get my head out, and it obviously left injuries on my face.

Shortly after my birth, my mum is meeting some friends who are seeing me for the first time. One sees the wounds from the forceps.

Friend: “Are you going to sue the doctor?”

Mum: “What? No! Why would I?”

Friend: “He’s scarred your daughter! Look at her!”

Mum: “[My Name] was born perfectly fine thanks to [Obstetrician]’s knowledge and skills. She was breech. Do you have any idea how dangerous that can be? Scars are the least of my worries!”

I still have the scars from the forceps nearly thirty years later. They don’t bother me at all.

My primary care physician finds some dangerous anomalies in some routine blood work and refers me to a specialist. I call the specialist’s office to make an appointment and I run into an obstacle.

Receptionist: “Before the doctor can see you, you will need to get your records from your former visit.”

I suddenly remember that I saw this same doctor five years ago for something similar.

Me: “You don’t have the records?”

Receptionist: “We moved buildings and changed our name, so no.”

Me: “Why can’t you use the records on file from my primary physician?”

Receptionist: “We need our former records.”

Me: “And you don’t have them.”

Receptionist: “No. We moved buildings.”

Me: “…”

Receptionist: “Call this number and get your records or the doctor can’t move on with treatment.”

I am frustrated by this, as my health issue is potentially life-threatening and I just want to get started in treatment, but I hang up and call the number. The call leads me to a badly recorded message that’s just some guy saying that if I want records I have to mail twenty-five dollars and a signed note to a PO box. I hang up on that mess, call the specialist’s office back, and speak to the same receptionist.

Me: “That was a weird message asking for money. I won’t be doing that. I can get you the records of my treatment from my doctor. It was only a one-year course of [medication] five years ago. Nothing else.”

Receptionist: “Nothing else?”

Me: “One medication. That was all.”

Receptionist: “Well, you have a week before your appointment. Just get those records or the doctor can’t treat you.”

She hung up on me. Maybe this is common practice for a medical office that has changed buildings, but it seems way too shady to me. I called my PCP and got a referral to a different specialist.