(I gave birth to twins several months ago and have since gone back to work. I am struggling a lot with anxiety, inability to focus, and lack of sleep, just having a really hard time in general. I’m not sure who to go to for help as I don’t seem to quite meet the criteria for postpartum depression or anxiety, so I make an appointment with my primary care doctor to see if she can help me figure out who to talk to.)

Me: “I’m just having a really hard time at work and at home, feeling like I’m falling behind at everything. I can’t focus on what I’m doing, and I’m anxious all the time. I just didn’t know who to talk to so I thought I might start with you. I’m really struggling right now.”

Doctor: “I’ll run some blood tests but… I mean, you did just have two babies.” *laughs* “So, I’m not really sure what you expected life to be like right now… Maybe consider finding a new job?”

(I never did get any help from her whatsoever. I am happy to say that my twins are a year old now and that difficult period has since passed.)

(My seven-year-old son broke his arm. The anesthetist is explaining to us what to expect with the sedative they are going to use before setting the bone.)

Doctor: “Ketamine is a dissociative safe for kids. It puts them in a trance-like state where they can’t feel anything. The pain signals don’t reach the brain. It kind of cuts the head off from the rest of the body.”

My Already Distressed Son: “YOU’RE GOING TO WHAAAAT?!”

Doctor: “Oops.”

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(I am at the blood bank. There are two clinics running simultaneously: one for regular blood tests and another for pregnancy-related blood, linked with the midwife clinic next door. Regular clinic patients have to abide by the ticket system. The midwife patients do not.)

Phlebotomist: “Ms. [My Name], just come through here, please.”

(I stand up to go through to the chair behind the curtain, only to be pushed out of the way by a middle-aged woman.)

Woman: “I’ve been waiting over an hour for a simple blood test and that girl has only been waiting five minutes. You will take my blood now.”

Phlebotomist: “Ma’am. You need to get out of that chair. I can’t take your blood here. You need to wait until you’re called by someone on the other side.”

Woman: “I’m not moving! I’m number 27! I’m next to be called!”

Phlebotomist: “Fair enough. When’s your due date? Have you fasted for two hours for your prenatal diabetes test?”

Woman: “What are you on about? I’m not here for a diabetes check! I’m not pregnant.”

Me: “Well, I am. So get out of that chair!”

Woman: “Well, I never!”

Me: “Lady, this is the midwives’ clinic. You’re in the wrong place!”

Woman: “I’ve been waiting over an hour!”

Phlebotomist: “Well, you’re going to have to wait longer than that. Security is here to take you away. Come back another day, when you’ve calmed down.”

(She was escorted out and I got my blood done. Her number was called as I left the waiting room.)

(One day at work, I hear my pharmacist and another technician talking about an unusual prescription that’s come in. Curious, I switch to a computer nearby and find them discussing a dog who’s been prescribed the generic for Viagra. Apparently, a recent study has indicated that it may be helpful for relieving coughing in dogs, for some reason, and we spend some time discussing how it might work in that regard. Later, as I’m working on the computer and she’s filling prescriptions behind me, she glances up and leans toward me, chuckling.)

Pharmacist: “You know, it’s hard enough for a person to talk to their doctor about this type of medication. I’d think it’d have to be even harder for a dog!”

Me: *playing along* “Well, yeah. Besides not being able to talk, it’s gotta be way more embarrassing for them, with everything all hanging out and no way to disguise it.”

(After a few moments.)

Me: “I can totally see the commercials, though. This gorgeous Golden Retriever stud going ‘Once, I was the laughing stock of the breeding kennel. But now, I’m back to being top dog, thanks to Viagra!’”

Pharmacist: *cracking up* “See, none of the other health care professions get to enjoy jokes like this.”

(I love my coworkers.)

(I recently accompanied my mother to a doctor’s appointment.)

Doctor: “Okay, now, since I’m giving you [medication], no alcohol while you’re taking it.”

Mother: “Question. By ‘no alcohol,’ do you mean ‘no alcohol at all,’ or is it okay to just have one or two drinks with dinner?”

Doctor: “Well, one drink will feel like four.”

Mother: *without missing a beat* “So, I’m just saving money?”

Me: “MAHM! STAHP!”