(My father is experiencing severe vertigo, to the point where he can’t even crawl. We are in the ER waiting for his turn at the MRI. My dad is a large man with a beard. A doctor we don’t recognize walks into the room and stops short.)

Doctor: “Um…” *looks at his chart, then at Dad, then at my mom and me* “ Mrs. [Wrong Name]?”

Me: “I think you have the wrong room.”

Doctor: “I think you might be right; none of you look like you’re in labor right now.”

(We all laugh with him over his mistake and he leaves. Dad gets his MRI and is wheeled back in while we wait for the results. The same doctor comes in again.)

Doctor: “Let’s try this again, Mr. [Different Wrong Name]?”

Mom: “Nope.”

Doctor: “Nail through the foot?”

Me: “Wrong room again.”

Doctor: “D*** it. How…?”

(He checks the chart in his hands, then runs out and checks the room number.)

Doctor: “Somebody put the wrong room on the chart.”

(He runs off to find his patient. A while later, the ER doctors have run all the tests they can on Dad and still can’t find a cause. They’ve tentatively diagnosed him with a viral infection and have given him instructions for follow-up. Unfortunately, there is a multi-car pile-up and they suddenly get so busy they can’t spare anyone long enough to do the discharge paperwork. We do our best to stay out of the way. The same doctor comes in again, looks at his chart, then face-palms.)

Doctor: “Okay, none of you are a teenage girl with a broken pelvis! What the h***?!”

Mom: “We’re just such fun people that you’re making excuses to come hang out with us!”

Doctor: *laughing* “That must be it! Right!”

(I know he must have been frustrated, but I think he needed the comic relief as much as we did on that stressful night.)

(I’ve got a new doctor and am giving them the rundown on my family history.)

Doctor: “I see on your form that you checked ‘yes’ to all the diseases we have listed. They all run in your family?”

Me: “Yes. I have a very large family and at least one of them has or had at least one of those diseases.”

Doctor: “Even [rare cancer]?”

Me: “Grandma died of it.”

Doctor: “Huh. Who in your family had [disease]?”

Me: “Two of my great aunts on my dad’s side, and my uncle on my mother’s side.”

Doctor: “And your family’s history of cancer… says ‘all’?”

Me: “Doctors never really believe me, but all the cancers you have listed there? Yeah, when I add up my mother’s side of the family and my father’s side, it’s all there.”

Doctor: *open-mouthed shock* “Wow.”

Me: “I get that reaction from doctors a lot.”

(For reference, my grandmother was one of nine kids, my other grandmother was one of eleven, and all of their kids had at least five kids. It’s a big family, and they’ve all had some kind of major medical issue in the past, and most of them work in the medical field. I just tell doctors to check everything when they ask what runs in the family. It saves time.)

(I’m a frequent blood donor. I have large, easy veins, don’t flinch or get queasy around blood or needles, and am known at the clinic, so I often get the least experienced workers. Sometimes the new, nervous ones aren’t the best, but I figure practice makes perfect, and their mistakes — like not being gentle or having a bad angle on the needle — don’t bother me. Usually.)

Tech: “Hi. I’m [Tech] and I’m going to be drawing your blood today.” *continues with the standard script and questions* “Have you donated blood with us before?”

Me: “A few dozen times; I’m here every eight weeks on the dot. How long have you been at [Clinic]?”

Tech: “Today is my first day!”

Me: “Well, congratulations! I’ll make your job really easy, then. I’m well hydrated and have nice, big veins for you.”

(The tech starts prepping the bag and needle, muttering the steps to herself. She somehow manages to poke herself with the needle.)

Tech: “Oh, shoot, I need to go and dispose of this and reglove.”

Me: “No worries. I’m in no rush. Take your time.”

(The tech comes back, looking slightly pale and panicked. I try to smile at her, but she just seems to be getting progressively more flustered. She tries to stick my vein and misses.)

Tech: “Oh, I’m so sorry. Can I try again?”

Me: *smiling again* “Of course, take a few deep breaths and try again.”

(The tech tries again. And again. Then, she drops the needle and has to get another other. The whole time, I’m trying to calm her down as she seems to be upset with herself.)

Me: “Now, I know I’m not officially trained, but I’ve had a lot of needles stuck in me. Slow down a bit. Breath deeply a few times. The vein is right there. You can do this.”

Tech: *mutters quietly but rapidly under her breath while getting paler*

(She tries to stick me three more times, somehow missing my vein every time. Her hands are shaking and she appears on the verge of tears.)

Me: “Hey, it’s okay. This is a tough job. Why don’t we call over one of the more experienced nurses?”

Tech: “No, no, no, I can do this. Really.”

(She proceeds to stick me five more times, at worse and worse angles. I’m slowly losing patience with her. She’s now trying to stick me with a needle that is practically perpendicular to my arm. She still hasn’t been able to actually hit my vein. What is usually a twenty-minute deal has taken almost an hour.)

Me: “Okay. Get a nurse now. They can help you out.”

Tech: “No!”

(She then rather aggressively jams the needle into my arm, hitting a nerve and nowhere near a vein. I swear like a sailor and rip the needle out of my arm.)

Me: “Listen up. I have been beyond patient here. Get me a d*** nurse. Now.”

Tech: “They’re all busy right now!”

Me: “Okay, fine. F*** it.”

(I then insert the needle into my own vein in one go. The tech looks stunned.)

Me: “Hook up the collection bag and then get me a nurse and get the h*** away from me.”

Tech: *in a shrill voice* “You can’t do that! You can’t! You can’t!”

(The head nurse hears the commotion and comes over.)

Nurse: “What is going on over here? [My Name], why are you still here? I checked you in an hour ago!”

Me: “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, [Nurse].”

(The tech was never seen at that clinic again.)

(My boyfriend and I are woken up by a phone call at six am from his 15-year-old sister saying, “Something is wrong with Dad; you need to get to the hospital.” We live 100 miles away, so I tell my boyfriend to go now and I will pack a few things and meet him up there. When I get up there I find out he has hydrocephalus, or water on the brain, which is a fairly rare disorder that typically happens to infants and people over 60. My boyfriend’s father is 47. It causes fluid to build up and put pressure on the brain. They release the pressure by removing parts of his skull. The next day, a nurse is in with him and my boyfriend’s mom comes out to talk to us.)

Mom: “They think he’s going to be okay, but right now we either have to sit with him or they have to restrain him. Otherwise, he might hurt himself; he can’t remember what is going on. Can you go sit with him for a while? I need a break.”

(We agree and go in.)

Boyfriend: “Hi, Dad!”

Dad: “Hi… Where am I?”

Boyfriend: “You’re in the hospital; you’re going to be fine. You just got sick and the doctors are going to help you.”

Dad: “Well, that was mighty inconvenient of me.”

Boyfriend: *laughing* “Just a touch.”

(My boyfriend’s father’s head starts to dip and his eyes slide to the side and become unfocused. Then, his head comes back up and he sees us and smiles.)

Dad: “Hi, guys! What are you doing here? Wait. Where am I?”

Boyfriend: *trying not to cry* “Hi, Dad. You’re in the hospital; you’re going to be fine.”

Dad: *laughing* “Well, that was mighty inconvenient of me.”

(Then, his head starts to dip. My boyfriend and I look at each other, both of us trying not to cry.)

Dad: “Hi, guys! What are you doing here?”

(I step over to his bed and take his hand.)

Me: “Hi, Dad. You had a small accident you’re going to be fine.”

(We stayed with him for a couple of hours having the same conversation. I had seen short-term memory loss on TV but thought it was an exaggeration. It’s not. Thankfully, he really was, overall, okay.)

(I have recently changed my dentist. I’m 30 and I have never had any cavities before, but I go to a consult since I notice something weird in two of my teeth. I suspect they are cavities but they don’t hurt or bother me at all, and I don’t know what cavities look like.)

Dentist: “You have four cavities! What a disaster!”

Me: “Well, it’s the first four in 30 years.”

Dentist: “This looks so bad! We need x-rays!”

Me: “I’d have come earlier but they didn’t hurt and they look very small, so it took me a while to notice them.”

Dentist: “Four cavities! This is insane! Are you bulimic?”

Me: “No.”

Dentist: “You sure? It clearly looks like bulimia.”

Me: “I’m not bulimic. I’m not alcohol abusive, either; I barely ever throw up.”

(The doctor doesn’t believe me, and sends me to do the x-rays. I come back to have the cavities fixed.)

Dentist: “Are you sure you don’t throw up? This amount of cavities is not normal!”

(By then, I feel filthy. I don’t throw up and I brush my teeth, but the big deal she is making makes it look like I am her worst case in years. She fixes my cavities, which are all very superficial, and I go home pretty worried and thinking about buying a different mouthwash, toothbrush, and toothpaste. My boyfriend is having some friends over and I tell them what happened.)

Friend: “Four in your life? I get four cavities removed every time I go to the dentist!”

Boyfriend: “You can’t see them because they are in the back of my mouth, but I’ve had several big fixes.”

(The following day, two of my four fixes fall out while I’m brushing my teeth. I go to have them re-fixed. The dentist keeps telling me to suck it up, still implying I have an eating disorder. The remaining two fall out within a month, but this time I go to a different professional. I’m already expecting to get yelled at for my poor dental condition.)

Dentist #2: “Hi, darling! You look good! Let’s fix these, shall we?”

(She is now my usual dentist.)