(I am a female veteran and need to make an OBGYN appointment. I call the appointment line to schedule. To help with understanding, I have a female primary doctor, “Julianne Smith.” For my OBGYN, I see another female doctor, “Rita Wilson.”)

Me: “Hello, I need to make an appointment for the women’s clinic.”

Scheduler: “Okay, you need an appointment with your primary provider?”

Me: “Yes, for the OBGYN.”

(In VA hospitals, the women’s clinic is not just for OBGYN, but other health-related issues, where the staff and patients are all female. I see both my doctors in this space.)

Scheduler: “Okay, so that’s with Julianne?”

Me: “No, not with her, the other one.”

Scheduler: “Oh, you meant your primary provider, Dr. Smith?”

Me: “No, please, I need the OBGYN.”

Scheduler: “Yes, Julianne?”

Me: “No, I need an appointment with Dr. Wilson.”

Scheduler: “Yes, Julianne?”

Me: “No! I need… Wait, are you saying Julianne or OBGYN?”

Scheduler: “OBGYN!”

Me: *now half deaf* “Okay, yes, the OBGYN. That’s the doctor I need to see.”

(The rest of the call went more smoothly after that!)

(I am a female. I wake up one morning and feel the indications of a flare-up of my Bell’s Palsy. When I get into work, I decide to call my doctor’s office to see if I can get in today to be checked out. They are able to squeeze in an appointment this morning for me. I arrive at the clinic well before my appointment time and find the waiting room quite busy. Knowing I am fortunate to even get an appointment this morning, I settle into a chair and wait to be called back to the exam rooms. Nearly an hour later, I am called back by the nurse. As she leads me to the exam room, we stop off at the scale to get weight and temperature. As I step off the scale, disappointed at the number, the nurse leads me on to the exam room and says to me:)

Nurse: “Sorry about your wait.”

Me: “Umm, yeah. Me, too.” 

(My mind, still on the scale results, thinks she meant “weight” and now I’m wondering if I should be offended. Had she said, “Sorry about THE wait,” I probably would not be so confused.)

Me: *finally realizing what she meant* “Oh, you meant the waiting room.”

Nurse: “Yes! I would never…”

(I work at the front desk of an assisted living community and at this time, a nasty norovirus is making its rounds of our residents and staff. We’ve been on a “visitor restriction” and quarantine for the past week, meaning unless your visit is mandatory for the continued well-being of the resident, you don’t come in. We’ve emailed all of the family, friends, and health care companies about the restrictions, asking them to call if they’re thinking about a visit, and I’ve posted a sign on the front door, with bold, black lettering highlighted in florescent orange, right at an average eye-level height.)

Visitor #1: *walks in, oblivious to the sign* “Hello!”

Me: “Hello! Before you sign in, I have to let you know we’re under quarantine at the moment, so all visitors are restricted.”

Visitor #1: “Oh? What’s going on?”

Me: “Well, like the sign on the door says…” *goes on to explain and they leave*

Visitor #2: *waltzes in, ignoring the sign* “Good morning!”

Me: “Good morning! Just so you know…” *explains quarantine again*

Visitor #2: “Huh! You should really post a sign or something!”

Me: *glances between her and the sign* “Yeah…”

Visitor #3: “What do you mean, you’re still under quarantine?! I drove [amount of miles] to visit [Resident]! I’m her daughter!”

Me: “We called, emailed, and posted signs asking visitors to call before they come. I see you’re on the list that we called. Is [number/email] your correct phone number and email?”

Visitor #3: “Well, I got the call, but I didn’t think it applied to me!”

(I will never, in my years of working with the general public, understand why people are so g**d*** stupid.)

(My aunt wakes up one day with very bad stomach pain and gas. My uncle goes to the pharmacy for her and has this conversation with the pharmacist at the counter.)

Uncle: “My wife has stomach pain; what kind of medicine should she take?”

Pharmacist: *in a nonchalant tone* “It must be period cramps. Don’t worry.”

Uncle: “My wife who’s menopaused for two years? I don’t think so.”

Pharmacist: “Then it’s her menopause. Again, no worries.”

Uncle: “I didn’t know menopause could cause stomach pain.”

Pharmacist: *now with a more pedantic tone* “Well, you see, it’s not her stomach. Don’t worry about it.”

(By now my uncle is getting a little pissed off by the pharmacist’s insistence, so he puts his hands on the counter and speaks slowly.)

Uncle: “Listen here. My wife wakes up with stomach pain. The upper part of her belly is swollen; that’s where the stomach is. And she has gas coming from her digestive system, where the stomach is connected. Can I have a medicine for that or not?”

(The pharmacist went to his manager, who found the correct medicine in one minute. We don’t know why he was so insistent with his false diagnosis.)

(The vaccine for tuberculosis is called BCG and it’s given to newborn infants in many countries. It leaves a small scar that proves you have been vaccinated. In Malaysia, it is administered on the left shoulder. Up until the ’90s, kids used to get a booster shot in year six of primary school, around age 11 or 12. Since it’s reputed to be a rather painful jab, my entire class is already quite apprehensive when we’re lined up in front of the school nurse, and then this happens:)

Nurse: “Where’s your original BCG scar?”

Me: “It’s on my backside.”

Nurse: “What do you mean? How come you don’t have it on your shoulder?”

Me: “I was born in Singapore! In Singapore, they jab babies on the backside!”

Nurse: “I have to check.”

Me: “Can’t I just phone my parents and have them talk to you?”

(After arguing with her for a few minutes, I was so scared that I would have to lift my skirt and show the nurse my buttocks that when she finally gave in and just gave me the jab, the pain was actually a relief.)