I was told by a previous doctor I had polycystic ovary syndrome. My period has always been irregular and I have often had hemorrhages for the last three years. I have not seen a gynecologist in over six years because of a bad experience with the last one, but I make an appointment with a different one to get it checked out. To make the story short, things go okay at my appointment, but for some reason my left ovary is nowhere in sight on the sonogram, so I have to get an MRI scan. When I call to make the appointment, I get asked why the doctor wants me to take an MRI scan. I tell the secretary I have irregular periods and the doctor could not find my left ovary on a sonogram. She tells me that I can’t be on my period for the scan, so she asks when my next is period due so she can put me in when I am not on my period. I tell her again that my period is irregular and I have no idea when the next will come. She stares at me for a few seconds, and then asks me when the last one was and asks me how long my cycle usually lasts. I know the date, but I tell her that it can be somewhere between 28 to 120 days.  

A few second of blank stares later, she finally gives me an appointment and tells me yet again that I can’t be on my period for the scan.

How can a woman not understand what “irregular period” means?

(This takes place shortly after my 19th birthday. I want to get a tattoo, much to my parents’ dislike, but since I am an adult now, they relent and my father goes with me as I get it done. I get a Gallifreyan circle — from Doctor Who — on my left forearm. It comes out really nice and I love it. However, a few months later, when it is fully healed, I develop some little red bumps over the tattoo and the skin is very itchy. I think it’s a rash, but it doesn’t look serious. I go to my family doctor to check it out, since I rarely get rashes at all. For context, my doctor is originally from Germany, and she has a thick accent. She also doesn’t have any sense of humor and is really blunt, which makes it hard to talk to her sometimes. I go in for my appointment and show her my arm.)

Me: “I think I have a rash on my arm, but I don’t know how I got it. I don’t have allergies to anything, so I’m not sure what triggered it.”

Doctor: “When did you get the tattoo?”

Me: “In May, a few months ago.”

(It’s August now.)

Doctor: *cutting me off* “You’re allergic to tattoo ink. No more tattoos.”

Me: *thinking* “If I’m allergic to the ink, wouldn’t I have had a reaction immediately?” *out loud* “Are you sure? It’s been a good amount of time since I got it, and I didn’t have a reaction when it was healing.”

Doctor: “You’re allergic to tattoo ink. You can’t get any more tattoos. You’re lucky you came in now; it could have developed into something worse. “

Me: “If I got this rash right after getting the tattoo, I would agree with you. But it’s been about three months, and it’s fully healed. Is there any possibility it could be something else?”

Doctor: “You’re not listening to me. You. Are. Allergic. To. The. Ink. Do not get any more tattoos. And don’t get any more piercings, either.”

(I only have my ears and nose pierced, but I don’t know why that mattered since they also healed fine. I was skeptical, but didn’t push it further. She prescribed a rash cream and said to use it until it clears up, or come back to see her if it doesn’t. I decided to call the tattoo shop I went to to ask them about it, which I now know I should have done in the first place! They told me not to worry, since it was fully healed, and it wasn’t a typical allergic reaction, especially months later. I used the cream and the rash was completely gone about a week later. I now have four tattoos, and have never developed another rash. Allergic, indeed!)

(Thanks to starting a new job, I am finally able to afford to go to a dentist for the first time in five years. After the x-rays, it is determined that I have a cavity in between two molars, so I’ll need to be numbed. My last dentist, who was a pediatric dentist, had a habit of practically stabbing the needle into my gums, so when the hygienist towards me with the syringe, I instinctively grip the chair’s armrests.)

Dentist: “Are you okay?”

Me: “Just fine; I just don’t have good experiences with dentists and needles. But I can deal with it.”

(The dentist and hygienist exchange a concerned look and administer the shot. Instead of a jab, I barely feel a pinch. While we wait for it to take effect, we just make small chat.)

Dentist: “[My Name], you said your last dentist was a pediatric dentist, correct?”

Me: “Yeah, I think I was 15 or 16 when I last saw them. I had to get sealants on my back molars.”

Dentist: “Did they numb you?”

Me: “Yeah, only on one side, though. When they numbed me on the left, I swore the needle nearly hit bone, so I begged them not to numb the other side.”

Dentist: “And they listened?”

Me: “Yup, it hurt less than the needle.”

Dentist: *pause* “Was your dentist, by chance, the one whose practice is at [Location Downtown]?”

Me: “Yes?”

Dentist: “Dear God, no wonder we got so many of his patients when we opened.”

(I get a strange painful lump that shows up while I’m pregnant. The doctor tells me not to worry and that it will go away after birth. Six months postpartum, I go to get it checked out again. The doctor tells me to give it more time to heal. Eight months postpartum, I go to a GP to get it checked out, because I’m still in pain and tired of being blown off. I’m quickly diagnosed with a hernia. As I’m getting ready for surgery:)

Me: “I wish my doctor had just told me he couldn’t do anything and told me to go see someone else.”

Nurse: “Well, that would have meant having to put aside his ego; doctors don’t like to do that.”

(The urgent care doctor says my test results for flu and strep are negative. She prescribes anti-nausea medication and wants to put me on antibiotics for ten days. I have some complicated gut issues, and I explain that the last time I was put on antibiotics, my stomach was messed up for weeks.)

Doctor: “There aren’t any antibiotics you can tolerate?”

Me: “I really don’t know. I could try taking them, but if I get sick, I can’t stop taking them until the bottle is empty, right?”

Doctor: “Oh, I will just give you the five-day Z-Pack, then.”

Me: *trying not to ask her if she’s stupid* “Isn’t the Z-Pack stronger, since it’s used for only a few days?”

Doctor: *lightly and carelessly sighs as she responds* “Oh, yeah…”