When I am a graduate student, I go to my university’s health clinic for routine HIV screening. My personal history is very low risk, but I am a sexually active gay man, and the CDC recommends testing of all MSM — men who have sex with men — every three to six months.

The testing at this clinic involves making an appointment, filling out a questionnaire, talking with a counselor, getting blood drawn, and then talking with a counselor again a week later. All of the counselors are, themselves, graduate students in either physical or mental health programs; most of them are not really prepared for a patient who can quote health statistics from the most recent literature on population-level studies of HIV-positive individuals in high-income countries.

The first few times are fine, though the counselors clearly are a bit surprised to be dealing with someone who hasn’t had drunken unprotected sex and is now worried about it, but is just there for routine testing.

Then, I have the Awful Counselor.

Awful Counselor: “When were you last tested?”

Me: “Either four or five months ago. I know it was in [Month], but I don’t remember if it was at the beginning or end of the month.”

Awful Counselor: “How many sexual partners have you had since then?”

Me: “One partner in that time frame, oral sex only.”

Awful Counselor: “Is this a new partner?”

Me: “No. I’ve had sex with him before, too. He’s one of my four partners so far in my life.”

Awful Counselor: “So, why are you here?”

Me: “Because health authorities recommend regular testing for any sexually active MSM?

Awful Counselor: “But you were here less than six months ago. No one should be tested more often than once a year unless they’re doing something they shouldn’t be.”

Me: “Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t the CDC specifically say that any sexually active MSM should be tested every three to six months?”

Awful Counselor: “Yes, but that’s wrong. It clearly shouldn’t be more often than once a year.”

She then rants about why people should get tested less often.

Me: “Well, okay, but I’m going to follow the CDC recommendations here. I trust them.”

Awful Counselor: “And you list yourself as low-anxiety?”

Me: “Yes. I know from my personal history that my odds of having contracted HIV are very low. But, there’s value from a public health standpoint if there’s more widespread compliance with recommended testing protocols.”

Awful Counselor: “Well, no one with the history you list would be here if they’re not anxious. So, either you are high-anxiety or this is not your accurate history. And that makes me wonder what else you’re lying about.”

Me: “Excuse me? You’re… accusing me of lying because I’m following CDC guidelines?”

Awful Counselor: “It’s possible that it’s not intentional on your part. But there’s no way everything you’ve said is true.”

Me: “You have literally no way to know that. And it’s also not even remotely your job to determine that. We’re done here.”

I left her office, told the secretary that the counselor hadn’t given me my paperwork for the blood draw, and went down to get the draw. I also grabbed a comment card and filled out how ludicrous and inappropriate the counselor was. For the rest of my time as a student there, I asked for a different counselor if I was assigned to the Awful Counselor. I don’t know how she kept that job.

While I’m at the doctor’s to get a checkup for an overnight camp, the nurse comes in to check my pulse and blood pressure. As she’s doing this, she’s looking over my records. I’m thirteen. While I don’t have a severe needle phobia, I get very nervous when I have to get shots and just being in doctor’s offices in general.

Nurse: “Oh, since you’re about to start seventh grade, we need to give you [shot #1] and [shot #2] today.”

She pauses for a moment.

Nurse: “Huh, your blood pressure’s kinda high.”

I wonder why.

I volunteer for my township’s all-volunteer first aid squad. We have a designated crew manning the building during the day to answer any calls, but overnight, the designated crew responds from home via pager. My town and surrounding towns are not very big, so we or other towns sometimes have difficulty putting a crew together. For this reason, we have a “mutual aid” agreement with nearby towns. If we do not have a crew available, another town offers their crew, and vice versa.

Many people misuse the 911 system. They think that arriving at an emergency room by ambulance will mean faster service. It does not. I have literally been to a house in the middle of the night for a stubbed toe. There were four cars in the driveway and five people in the house, any one of whom could have driven the “patient” to the hospital… for the stubbed toe.

On one night shift, my pager goes off to respond to the next town over, which also happens to have the hospital that we take most of our patients to. Bleary-eyed, I drive to my building, meet up with my crew, grab an ambulance, set the GPS, and go off on our way.

Dispatch: “The patient is experiencing urinary retention.”

This can be very painful and dangerous to the kidneys.

And where was the house we ended up at? Across the street from the hospital emergency room entrance. And where was the patient? Sitting on his front porch with a packed bag and quietly reading a book. And how long had it been since he had passed urine? About three hours. Grrrrr!

I am EXCEEDINGLY accident-prone, to the point that I joke that my hobby is keeping my doctors’ lives interesting. I also have a host of medical issues.

I seriously strained my right hamstring — it felt like a tearing, ripping sensation — last July while trying to lever a pokeweed root out of the ground — roots hard as trees and just as hard to remove. My friends told me that only I could manage to hurt my hamstring that way.

I started aquatic therapy for it, but my hamstring still hurt a lot, so my ortho ordered an MRI to see what was going on. I tell the MRI techs that, after a lifetime of x-rays, CAT scans, and MRIs, I have developed the ability to remain perfectly still for the entire time any of the tests are being done.

Apparently, they don’t believe me; they keep asking me if I am okay after each scan.

Me: “Why? Did you think I died here?”

Tech: “But you were so still!”

Evidently, they didn’t check to see that I was breathing.

I work in an obstetrics/gynecology clinic. My coworker answers the phone.

Coworker: “So, you think your water broke? Hang on while I get a nurse.”

I’m talking to another patient while listening to her. My coworker talks to a nurse and comes back to the phone.

Coworker: “Wait, so you’re at the hospital? No, you need to stay there and get evaluated. We can’t do anything here at the clinic. Stay at the hospital.”

I could only close my eyes, as hearing that one-sided conversation gave me a headache.