(I go into labor with my son. My mother-in-law drives me to the hospital and they admit me right away as I am dilated enough that the birthing process can begin. I should note that the pregnancy has not been the best as I was a super sick one and had additional complications that necessitated ultrasounds — the invasive kind — every week after the first three months of pregnancy. I already decided long before we had our child that this would be my first and last child, as I have four stepkids, all of whom fulfill my life. Skip ahead to the labor. I ask for an epidural as my pain tolerance is low. The epidural has to be administered three times due to an unknown condition with scoliosis. The first time, nothing happens but lots of pain. The second time, only a portion of my body is numb but not the parts I need. Finally, the third time, it is bliss. I no longer feel pain, only enough pressure to get through the task. Everything goes smoothly from there. Then, I ask to be put back on the depo shot as I do not want to ever get pregnant again. I joke that I would get a hysterectomy if I could.)

Nurse #1: “Oh, honey, don’t worry. Let’s give you some time to let the pain meds wear off and think about birth control later. You are just scared because of your recent pregnancy.”

Me: “No, thank you. Can you please put me on the shot ASAP? It’s not because I disliked the experience; this was a decision made long before I became pregnant. I only want one child, as I am happy with our home dynamics as they are.”

(The next day, I ask another nurse for the depo shot.)

Nurse #2: “Okay, I’ll look into it.” 

(Nothing ever happens. The next day, with another nurse…)

Me: “Hi. The pain medicine has worn off, which I know was a concern for the first nurse, and I would like to receive my depo shot now, while I am still admitted in the hospital.”

Nurse #3: “Okay, I will look into it and see what we can do, but you are still very emotional from just having a child. Maybe give it a while before you decide to go back on birth control.”

Me: “Thank you, but I am certain I do not want to have any more children, and it’s not because of the labor experience I had.”

(Quite a time has passed, and I realize they are not looking into it for me. My final and last day in the hospital, I ask yet another nurse who is still skeptical, but finally, I get the shot and am happy to leave. Fast forward to my regular gynecologist appointment. The nurse asks me to take a pregnancy test and I say I will, but there is no need as my spouse has gotten a vasectomy. Only then do I realize she is one of the nurses from my time in the hospital; my gynecologist office is a part of the hospital that specializes in complications so for some things, the staff is the same.)

Nurse #3: “Oh, I thought you were kidding about not having any more kids.”

Me: “No, I wasn’t, and since it is easier for men to get a vasectomy… that’s what we did. The depo shot now is to keep my endometriosis under control and a backup in case the vasectomy ever reverses itself.”

(Needless to say, I stopped using them as my doctor’s office and found a different one.)

(I have a potential diagnosis of a rare and extremely painful neurological disorder. I have to schedule with a neurologist, who lives a four-hour drive from where I live. By this point, I’ve been in severe pain for several months, and my patience for rudeness is admittedly running a bit thin.)

Me: “Hi, I’m calling to see if I need an MRI before I come down.”

Receptionist: “The doctor will inform you if you need that at the appointment.”

Me: “Yes, I understand that, but it’s a four-hour drive to see this doctor and I have to stay overnight and I’d rather not have to do it more than once.”

Receptionist: *much more snippy than is necessary* “Well, that’s not my problem, is it?”

Me: “Pardon me, but I’ve been in fairly serious pain for a while and that’s why I’m calling your office — to make sure that the appointment to get rid of my pain runs smoothly.”

Receptionist: “There’s no reason to take that tone.”

Me: “Are you f****** kidding me?!”

Receptionist: “Young lady, if you insist on using that language with me, I will disconnect the call and inform [Doctor] of your attitude, and we’ll see if you see another neurologist in this hospital.”

(I disconnected the call, had a panic attack, and then cried with my mom for an hour. No one is making a first appointment with a specialist for happy fun times. If you don’t understand that someone is probably calling because they’re in pain or sick, maybe you shouldn’t work in healthcare.)

(I have a health issue which means I have to stay for a few months at a medical facility specialized for this problem. As it is not a hospital, meals are not served in the patient rooms but in a communal space. It works like a standard cafeteria, where most of the food is easy to see, but fries and some others are made at a different station a bit removed from the counter — but still very easy to see. On top of that, there are multiple menus, including on the counter, spelling out what dishes are available on any given day. This is an example of a conversation I’ve had multiple times.)

Other Patient: *seeing my plate* “How did you get fries?!”

Me: “I just asked for them.”

Other Patient: “But how was I supposed to know they had fries? It’s not very clear. Are there fries every day?”

Me: “No, only on the days where it’s on the menu.”

Other Patient: “And how do you know what’s on the menu?”

(I point to the menu right above the counter, written in big enough letters to be read from afar.)

Other Patient: *absolutely serious* “Well, if I have to read…”

Me: *facepalm*

(I trip and somehow my foot doubles up under me. At the ER, though, the doctor tells me the acute pain is not from the fall but a consequence of me being overweight — which, admittedly, I am. However, the pain persists with no show of diminishing and I decide to go back to my GP. He acknowledges that the x-ray taken at the ER was not conclusive and decides I need another kind of picture, one with radioactive isotopes. Note: I’m thirtyish at the time and I’m with my parents as, clearly, I’m unable to drive. Waiting for my turn, I overhear the following:)

Doctor: “I don’t care what she says. She is sixteen and she is here with her mother. Of course, she is not going to admit to being pregnant. I’m not going to inject her–” *with the isotopes* “–without a negative pregnancy test.”

Me: *quietly, to my mother* “They didn’t force me to do a test and I’m here with my mum, too.”

(I didn’t find out whether the teenager was pregnant or not. When reviewing my pictures, the doctor told me, “Ma’am, one thing is sure: you are in pain.” As it turned out, I had injured my foot during the fall and had to wear a cast for six weeks.)

(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!)