(I’m a licensed nurse. I work at a hospital, and I also make some money on the side by assisting a dermatologist at a private clinic when she needs an extra pair of hands for surgery. This patient has a cyst under the skin beneath her hair.)

Patient: “You have done this before?”

Me: “Sure! It’s actually pretty simple. We make an incision on your skin right here, drain the cyst, clean around, and sew you back up. I’m going to numb the area, so you won’t even feel a thing.”

Patient: “All right, then.”

Me: “Uh… look, honey, I’m going to have to shave your hair — a tiny spot right here — so that the doctor can see. I know, I know you won’t like that — no girl ever does — but I have to. Don’t hate me!”

Patient: *shrugs*

Me: *cuts the hair, and shaves the area*

Patient: *completely deadpan* “Oh, no, look at what you’ve done. Now I hate you.”

I came into work today to hear my coworker, the office supervisor, in a high-volume discussion with a patient in another language. I don’t speak any other languages besides English, but I could tell the patient was agitated and my coworker was trying to neutralize it.

I let her handle that and helped other patients before my shift officially started. Later, she revealed the reason. Apparently, the patient was having an ultrasound with our chief sonographer. The patient was coughing on the sonographer, so they asked the patient to cover their mouth. The patient got offended by that and left the room in the middle of the scan. The patient commented things such as, “She shouldn’t be in the industry if she can’t take sick patients.”

My coworker tells me that in their culture coughing is open. They aren’t told to cover their mouths.

All three– the patient, sonographer, and coworker — are the same nationality.

(I work in the billing department for an emergency clinic, and I get a call from an upset mother.)

Mother: “I will sue you all! How dare you treat my son with [medical shot]?! It’s against our religion to do this! I didn’t sign any form to give consent!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, let me look up his information.”

(I look up the information. The day we treated her son was the day he turned eighteen; he was old enough to have any medical treatments without parental consent.)

Me: “Ma’am, I have it here that your son was eighteen the day he was treated. There’s nothing else I can tell you or discuss with you unless he calls and tells us it’s okay for us to talk to you.”

Mother: “That’s f****** ridiculous! He was not officially eighteen!”

Me: “It says on his driver’s license that he was eighteen on the day he was seen.”

Mother: “NO! He was born at 4:00 pm! He was seen at 10:00 am! He wasn’t officially 100% eighteen!” 

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t go by the time of birth. We go by date of birth.”

(I’m a dental student. During our fourth year, all of us have to do a week-long rotation at the ICU to provide “dental healthcare” to comatose patients — basically brushing their teeth with an iodine scrub and calling it a day. One of the patients is conscious but intubated, and he speaks using a whiteboard. After I finish brushing his teeth, a nurse comes into the room and makes small talk.)

Nurse: “So, I heard that [Woman] visited you yesterday, huh?”

(The patient nods.)

Nurse: “That’s nice! Also, your daughters called this morning; they want to come a bit later.”

Patient: *on the whiteboard* “Did they say what time?”

Nurse: “During the afternoon. They were afraid you’d get bored and alone, though, so I told them not to worry since [Woman] came by.”

(I see the patient’s eyes widen and he starts furiously scribbling on his whiteboard.)

Patient: “THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT [WOMAN]!”

(I had to leave the room and didn’t stop laughing for a good five minutes.)

(In Australia, we have a universal healthcare program called Medicare which covers a significant portion of our medical bills. If you want to see a psychologist, Medicare will often cover 50-100% of the bill for ten sessions. However, you first have to go to a GP and get a referral to qualify. I have been struggling with my anxiety recently, so I went to the GP for a referral.)

GP: “How can I help you today?”

Me: “I’m looking to get a referral to a psychologist to help me with my anxiety.”

GP: “You’re a uni student, right?”

Me: “Yes. Working on my Masters.”

GP: “Do you really need a psychologist? I mean, it’s the end of the semester. All your classmates are stressed, just like you are. I’m sure how you’re feeling is no big deal.”

Me: “Right… and are all of my classmates having panic attacks in front of their student support officers because the support officer tried to start up a conversation about finding a job after graduation?”

GP: “Um… no.”

Me: “And is that something a mentally healthy person does?”

GP: “No. I’ll write you a referral.”