CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(While clocking into work, I unexpectedly suffer a stroke. I am a 35-year-old school bus driver and I do not take illegal drugs or drink alcohol. As the EMTs bring me into the ER, the doctor asks what my condition is.)

EMT: “She’s having a stroke.”

Doctor: “Nonsense. She’s too young. How old is she?”

EMT: “35.”

Doctor: “See, too young. Must be a drug overdose.”

EMT: “No, do the FAST test. Face; her smile is crooked. Arms; her left side is paralyzed. Speech; her words are slurred. Time; we got her here in time. Give her clot busters to break up the blood clot causing her stroke.”

Doctor: *angrily* “You’re just an EMT! I say it’s a drug overdose!”

(The EMTs leave, and the doctor turns to me, yelling.)

Doctor: “What drugs did you take?!”

Me: *slurred because the left side of my face and tongue are not working* “I can hear you fine; you don’t have to yell. I took some Nyquil last night for a cold.”

Doctor: *sarcastically* “Nyquil?! More like Meth!” *to nurse* “I need a meth overdose kit here!”

Me: *trying to yell back at him* “I. Don’t. Take. Drugs.”

Nurse: *reluctantly bringing kit* “Are you sure? She shows classic stroke signs.”

(As the doctor gets an overdose injection ready, my husband enters the room, having met and talked to the EMTs in the ambulance bay as they were leaving.)

Husband: “Stop. Don’t touch her again.”

Doctor: *sputtering* “She’s obviously a drug addict. I’m giving her the best treatment for that.”

Husband: “And you’re obviously an idiot.”

(My husband and the doctor are circling my gurney during this exchange. The doctor is trying to stay out of my husband’s reach.)

Husband: *to nurse* “Please call for an ambulance; I want her treated at [Hospital ten miles away]. Not by him.” *points at the doctor*

(The doctor practically sprints from room.)

Nurse: *to husband* “I thought you were gonna kill him. I kind of wish you had caught him.”

(The same EMTs returned. As they were loading me into the ambulance they told my husband that they told that doctor I was having a stroke, but he’s kind of a know-it-all a**hole and they were glad I would be treated somewhere else. I was greeted at the other ER by a neurologist with clot-busting drugs at the door. He says that, luckily, that delay won’t impact my recovery.)

I am a relatively new veterinarian. Often, we will get a case come in as ADR — Ain’t Doing Right — which is to say they are acting a bit off, but not always obvious what is wrong. I have an ADR older golden retriever come in with Mom and Son. They give the history: the dog has been losing weight, not eating well, lethargic, and having dark stools for a few weeks. This dog also has a history of ear problems. The last time we saw the dog was over two years ago. They have limited funds, so I try to work on a step-by-step diagnostic to try to get the most information before determining if more diagnostics are needed.

Starting with the physical exam: the dog is severely muscle wasted, lethargic — as they said — and dehydrated, and he has a new heart murmur. After discussing with Mom, we decide to start with bloodwork. It comes up with some very mild liver changes, but nothing too noteworthy. We are at the upper point of their budget, so I discuss my next recommendation of chest x-rays and what we would do depending on what we found, quoting them the costs for everything before anything is performed. They agree to the x-rays, and unfortunately, the x-rays show possible heart enlargement, but again nothing too exciting. So, they agree to try a heart medication, subcutaneous fluids, and an anti-emetic and see how the dog responds. It’s worth noting there were additional tests I would have liked to do, but I didn’t want to stretch their budget too much further.

A few days later, the dog isn’t improving on the heart meds, so I recommend an abdominal ultrasound — at a different vet — to better evaluate the gastrointestinal tract and surrounding organs. Unfortunately, the ultrasound looks like liver cancer, which I am very surprised by given how mild the blood work was.

I receive a request to contact the Father when I return to work the day after the ultrasound. I give him a call back, assuming he wants to discuss further treatment and prognosis. Boy, was I wrong.

Turns out he just wants to spend ten minutes telling me I am a crook, only in it for the money, and don’t care about animals. He continues to tell me that I took advantage of his wife and his upset son, and had them spend more money than they were willing. He rails that the dog was coming in for an ear infection, and I had them do a bunch of unnecessary tests. Any time I try to interject, either to explain my findings and recommendations as he wasn’t there, or to confirm what he thinks happened at the appointment, he simply talks over me, stating he doesn’t care what justifications I have and that “[he] is onto [my] game.” It continues until I am crying against the wall and finally have permission from the practice owner to hang up on him.

The fun part: he calls right back to have my receptionist tell me I am an a**hole. I still have to talk to his (much nicer) wife to answer her questions, and I almost can’t bring myself to do it. As of now, I refuse to discuss anything further with the Father.

(I fall outside my front door. I still can’t walk on my ankle two days later, and given my rather unfortunate history with broken bones, my parents decide to take me to the hospital to have it x-rayed. I am pretty sure it isn’t broken but better safe than sorry. I have it x-rayed and the doctor comes in with the x-ray picture. She puts it on the wall where we can all see it.)

Doctor: “I don’t think that it is broken, but it is a little hard to tell with all the previous fractures. I sent it to a specialist, just to make sure. If it is broken, we will call you tomorrow.”

Mother: “[My Name] has fortunately only had greenstick fractures so far!”

Doctor: *looks at the big, obvious nick on my bone, then looks at my mum* “No.”

(I cracked up, and the doctor pointed the old break out to my mum. I’d had another fall six months before, but I didn’t bother going to the hospital because I have my own crutches and bandages at home. I had thought it was just a sprain, but apparently not. My ankle was not broken this time, but my parents now take me to the hospital if there’s the slightest chance something is broken.)

My daughter is in the ICU suffering from Guillain-Barré syndrome. She is totally paralysed from her eyes to the tips of her toes, being made to breathe via a tracheotomy and a bank of syringe drivers automatically delivering an assortment of high-strength pain relief. A friend comes to visit and I warn her that my daughter is suffering from a bad headache today.

“Oh,” she says, “Have they given her anything for it?”

Both the nurse and I have to look away. Duh!

(We have had our cat, Fritz, since he was a tiny kitten, and he’s always seen the same vet. One day, when Fritz is around eight years old, he starts spraying urine against furniture instead of going in his box. Knowing that this could be a symptom of something serious – besides being annoying and gross – I promptly make an appointment for him to see his vet.)

Vet: “Well, we’ve examined his urine for crystals, and he doesn’t have any. That can mean only one thing.” *stares at me accusingly*

Me: *after an expectant pause* “Yes?”

Vet: “You need to get him neutered. Honestly, I don’t know why you haven’t done so yet. He’s eight years old; he should have been neutered years ago.”

Me: “But–”

Vet: “No, I’m serious. This sort of spraying activity is very common in an unneutered male, and–”

Me: “But he is neutered.”

Vet: “What?”

Me: “In fact, you’re the one who did it. We had it done right after we got him from the Humane Society. It should be in his file.”

Vet: *looks at the start of the file* “Oh.”

Me: “So, something else must be causing this behaviour, right?”

Vet: *still processing the fact that he was wrong about Fritz not being fixed* “Well… are there any new cats in the neighbourhood?”

Me: “Come to think of it, yes. Our neighbour across the back lane just got a new cat. Fritz sometimes sees him through the window and hisses at him.”

Vet: “Well, there you go.” *looks at me triumphantly*

Me: “Um, what do you mean?”

Vet: “Fritz is antagonized by that new cat. He’s spraying to assert his dominance in his own home.”

Me: “Okay, so… What do I do?”

Vet: “Do? There’s nothing you can do. Apart from moving, that is!” *laughs*

(Very helpful. I started looking for a new vet after that.)