A Good Comeback Helps The Medicine Go Down

, , , | Healthy | July 12, 2018

(I am in high school, and for this semester I need to have a physical done so that I can participate in a mandatory PE class. My mom brings me over to the doctor’s office the school recommends, since our regular GP is currently out of town. At this time in my life, I am very active; I regularly go to karate lessons, hike, swim, and go mountain biking. I also take after my mother’s side of the family, who are built very squarish: short, with broad shoulders and hips. After going through all of the questions and tests, we have this gem of a conversation.)

Nurse: “It looks like everything is in order. Just remember that walking from the fridge to the couch is not ‘exercise.’”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Nurse: “Honey, calling it ‘hiking’ doesn’t make it any better for you.” *she turns to my mother* “Especially with that as an example.”

Mom: “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize that judgemental comments were part of the package. We don’t have to pay extra for them, do we?”

(The nurse looked shocked, but we got the paperwork we needed and headed out. We also let the doctor know about his nurse’s behavior.)

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Their Brain Is In Another Box

, , , , , | Healthy | July 11, 2018

I work at a medical courier company. Basically, I go to different hospitals and pick up and drop off blood and urine samples because different hospitals are equipped to do different kinds of tests. There are some cases where the samples have to be sent on a plane because only a couple hospitals in the country do those certain tests. I go to the airport, where I drop off the box of samples. The box is big and clearly marked, “Biohazard,” and there are some stickers that say, “Biological Substances.”

I’m in line, and a woman comes up to me, looks me straight in the face, and asks, “So, is that like… arms and legs?” I just looked at her for a good 15 seconds before saying, “No.”

A Lack Of Blood To Their Brain

, , , | Healthy | July 10, 2018

(I am a regular blood donator, something like ten times already in around five years, but I haven’t donated my platelets for almost a year due to a lack of time. I regularly get vocal messages from the Blood Donation Center asking me if I would agree to a new donation. This time, I call them back, around 20 minutes after the original call. I moved to [City #1], and the Blood Donation Center here does not have the proper equipment to perform platelet donation, so I am required to go back to [City #2] to do it, which I can only do during weekends.)

Me: “Hello, you just called me for a platelet donation. I would like to schedule an appointment, but I can only come to [City #2] during weekends as I’m living in [City #1], and I know I can’t do this at the local blood donation center.”

Lady: “Oh, yeah, please let me check.”

(She puts me on hold for around three minutes, which is rather unusual. I’m a bit busy, so it gets on my nerves, but hey, it’s supporting a good cause.)

Lady: “Well, [City #1]’s center never had the proper equipment for platelet donation.”

Me: “Yes, I know. That’s why I want an appointment in [City #2], on a weekend.”

Lady: “Well, okay. I have something on [date two weeks later] at 10:00 or 10:30; is that okay for you?”

Me: “Yeah, 10:30 would be perfect.”

Lady: “So 10:00.”

Me: “No, 10:30.”

Lady: “Okay. May I have your name?”

Me: “It’s [My Name].”

Lady: “I can’t find you. You’re not in the registry. You never donated your platelets, did you?”

Me: “Well, how could you call me, and leave me a vocal message asking me to come back to donate platelets, if I’m not in your registry?”

Lady: “I can’t find you. You’re not in the registry. If you had ever donated blood or platelets, you would be in the registry.”

Me: “You see, that’s also why I almost never call back.”

(I called back the next day, got another lady on the phone, and surprisingly — not really — got an appointment booked, as she very easily found me in the registry.)

Sick Burn, Bro!

, , , , , | Healthy | July 10, 2018

(The minute my brother graduates from medical school, my family turns him into their private doctor. Every little ailment or problem is run by him, even if it’s something completely normal. Our grandparents especially tend to call him at the oddest times to ask about this thing hurting or this bit feeling weird. One day in my kitchen, I burn myself very badly all over my upper arm. I don’t have time or money to go to the ER or see a doctor, so I just treat it the way I learned in first-aid class. It heals fine, except the area of skin is now a darker shade than the rest, and rougher.)

Brother: *noticing the dark, scarred areas a few weeks later* “[My Name], what’s that? It looks like burn marks.”

Me: “Yep. I burned myself with boiling water, but I treated it this way–” *explains everything I did*

Brother: “Okay, luckily you did do everything properly, but I’m still angry. You’re literally the first one in the family to actually need my medical expertise, and you didn’t ask for it?!”

Me: “I didn’t want to bother you like the grandparents do all the time.”

Brother: “You had second degree burns! Maybe even third! You should’ve seen a doctor, like your own brother.”

(I agree now that I was young, naive, and quite dumb not to call him. I’m planning to cover the scars with tattoos, anyway. My brother has requested at least one tattoo dedicated to him to remind me of my own stupidity.)


, , , , , | Healthy | July 9, 2018

(After 20 years of seeing only female OB/GYNs, I have moved to a new city and can only get in to see a male gynecologist. I have been reassured by a friend, who is also a doctor, that he is one of the best in his field, but I’m nervous even after chatting with him at his desk. Once I’m by myself and getting “into the position” in an exam room, I notice only one stirrup is up, leaving my foot away from the wall hanging loose.)

Doctor: *knocks politely before entering* “Okay, are you settled in?”

Me: “Well, I couldn’t scoot to the edge of the table because only one stirrup is working. Is it broken?”

Doctor: *smiling and wincing* “No, I just wait until I’m seated to move up that one. Walking into it once was enough to never let that happen again.”

Me: *realizing it would be at groin level for him as well as for me* “Well, that is an occupational hazard I wouldn’t have considered!”

(He’s still my doctor a dozen years later.)

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