(Sometimes, providers fill in a prescription without proofreading, leading to gems like this:)

Prescription: “One capsule once a day to make it easier to urinate by mouth.”

A few years ago, I was having some issues with irregular periods and had to have my first pelvic exam. It was something I had avoided for a long time, because even the idea of it put me in a panic. My mom suggested I go to her gynecologist, and I agreed, largely because she was a woman and I refused to do it with a male doctor.

So, the day of the appointment finally came and I was a nervous wreck over it, actually nearly throwing up at times. But I went and met with a nurse first, and she put me a tiny bit more at ease.

But not for long. I was taken into the exam room and handed a “gown” to change into. I was told to have it open in the front, but it didn’t even come close to fitting me, so I was practically naked. If I pulled it as tight as I could around me, there were still at least six inches of skin uncovered across my chest, stomach, and lap. Then, the doctor didn’t come in for over half an hour, and at that point I was crying out of anxiety. When she finally came in, she asked if a student shadowing her could sit in, and I’m glad now I said yes.

The doctor began by rather aggressively checking my breasts while she started singing the opening lines to the song Do-Re-Mi from The Sound of Music, “Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.” She explained by telling me she had a two-year-old grandson who could only be calmed down by The Sound of Music when he was worked up, and she thought maybe it would help me, too. I was speechless.

I’m not sure why she thought it was a good idea to compare a grown woman having an anxiety attack to a tantrum-throwing toddler, but I’m still offended. The rest of the exam was relatively uneventful, with the student talking to me and holding my hand through much of it. I’ve promised myself that I will not let this experience scare me away from potentially necessary medical care in the future. But The Sound of Music is completely ruined for me forever.

(Our clinic gives out a Privacy Consent form to new patients, making them aware that the information given will be forwarded to their doctor when results are ready, and to medicare to claim their Bulk Billing. Our clipboards usually have about fifty forms on them, all the same. A patient comes to the desk with one and hands it to me.)

Patient: *cheerily* “Finally. Here you go.”

Me: “Thank you! Have a seat.”

(I take the top one off and get ready to scan it into his file when I notice the second is filled out, as well.)

Me: “How many did you…”

Coworker #1: *whispers* “Just let it go.”

(I flip through the forms. They are all filled out. Luckily there were only nine left on the clipboard. I’d hate to see what would have happened if there had been fifty like all the other clipboards. Not long after, [Coworker #2] is going through the draws beside me.)

Coworker #2: “I can feel your blood boiling.”

Me: “I just… I can’t. It’s… a shame. He was good-looking, as well. He’s just…. an idiot.”

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

(Tapeworm infections are not uncommon in our area. Thankfully, they are easily treated, and in the case of dogs, easily prevented. Cats are harder because they can get the worms from eating infected rodents, but dogs cannot. Generally, when a dog has tapeworms, that means they have at some point in the past had fleas. The flea larvae ate a tapeworm egg, and then the flea grew up and the dog ate the flea. Every case of canine tapeworms I have ever diagnosed can be traced back to fleas. So, when I prescribe tapeworm medication, I also make sure the pet is on a monthly flea control — either drops or pills. I have just finished explaining this to a woman whose toy poodle has tested positive for tapeworms.)

Owner: “Well, that is impossible. [Cutesy name that is longer than the dog] has never had fleas. You said, ‘generally,’ so there is another way, right?”

Me: “Well, yes, but–”

Owner: “Then that is obviously how it happened. [Dog] is groomed regularly, and we have a maid service and a gardener, so there is absolutely no way she could have been exposed to icky bugs.”

Me: “Well, I mean, in theory–”

Owner: “Theory nothing! [Dog] is in pristine condition without any of those monthly drops that common mutts need. So, we will be treating the tapeworms she got by the other method, but we will not be taking flea medications.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there is just no way–”

Owner: “Look here, missy. I know [Head Doctor at the practice], and if I have to call him and tell him that you think my pedigreed poodle has fleas, nobody is going to be happy.”

Me: *sigh* “Okay, but I have one question for you.”

Owner: “Yes?”

Me: “How did she get the sheep’s skull open?”

Owner: “What?!”

Me: “If [Dog] didn’t get tapeworms from fleas, then the only way would be if she killed a sheep and ate its brains. So, please tell me, how did she kill the sheep?”

Owner: *blushes* “So… maybe there could have been one flea, once.”

Thirty-five years ago, I gave birth to our first child. The attending nurse was extremely cold and strict. In fact, we dubbed her Sergeant [Nurse].

At one point in my labor, Sergeant [Nurse] suggested strapping me down. They’d just had a fifteen year old who was high, jumped out of the ambulance as it was pulling up, and later tried to slit her wrists. So, maybe — just maybe — she was justified in thinking the worst. However, I wasn’t fifteen, wasn’t high, and had been handling labor so well that my husband and I were complimented profusely.

Delivery went smoothly, but Sergeant [Nurse] did not let us hold our son. She simply showed him to us and took him away. Later, in my room, a close friend who was a nurse in the hospital came by to see me. When I expressed worry because Sergeant [Nurse] had taken the baby away so quickly, my friend was angry. She went to get our son. When she came back with him, she was even angrier.

The reason? Sergeant [Nurse] had told her I shouldn’t see the baby because I was just going to give him up for adoption, anyway!

Where she got that idea, I have no idea. Yes, I was young — eighteen — but I was married, and my husband had been there, very supportive and caring, during the entire labor and delivery. We had been showing our excitement and pleasure to be having a baby during the whole process. What idiot could watch two such happy new parents and decide that they intended to give away their baby?!