(I work as a speech therapist. While I mostly work with children, I have a handful of adult patients with brain damage. As most of them aren’t able to walk, I visit them at home. All of the patients have fixed appointments once or twice a week. After some recent changes, I end up with an awkward schedule — driving from one end of the town to the other, back and forth — that makes me lose about two hours a week due to driving. I plan to coordinate this better and ask all of my patients if they are okay with different times and/or dates. It works well with everyone at first. I talk to one of my patients, a senior citizen, whom I visit every Monday and Wednesday.)

Me: “I plan to change my weekly schedule. Would it be okay if we moved Monday’s sitting from 11:00 to 13:50?”

Patient: “Well, the physical therapist is there until 13:45, so it should be fine.”

(On the next Monday, I arrive at 13:55. The physical therapist is still with her.)

Me: “Oh, am I early? I am sorry. I thought you two would be done by now”

Physical Therapist: “Oh, no, we still have 15 minutes left. We always have until 14:10.”

Me: “I’m sorry; I didn’t know that. [Patient], we need to reschedule our Monday’s appointment.”

Patient: “Huh? Why? I thought it would be only once. I figured we could cut the therapy a bit shorter today and go back to normal next week.”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, as I already gave that time to another patient. I am so sorry that I didn’t make it clear that the change would be permanent. My schedule is packed, but what about Tuesday, 11 o’clock instead of Monday?”

Patient: “I am at the daycare on Tuesdays and Fridays”

Me: “That isn’t a problem for me. We have lots of patients in day care. I could visit you there, if that’s okay with you?”

Patient: “Yes, let’s do this.”

Me: “Okay, so now, instead of Monday, I will visit on Tuesdays every week.”

(With everything being clear, we start practicing. On Wednesday I visit her as always, reminding her of our new permanent appointment once again. The next Tuesday, I drive to the day care facility to find her completely surprised, but not by the fact that I showed up there today.)

Patient: “Where were you yesterday?”

Me: “We’ve moved the appointment from Monday to Tuesday. That’s why I’m here today.”

Patient: “Yes, we talked about you coming here on Tuesday, but I didn’t know that meant Monday would be cancelled.”

Me: “We have to have therapy twice a week, so instead of Monday and Wednesday, we now do Tuesday and Wednesday.”

Patient: “Ah, I see.”

(We go on normally. Everything works fine for two weeks, until I get stuck in traffic one Tuesday morning and don’t make it to her. I call her to let her know. The next day, I visit as usual.)

Patient: “Where were you on Monday? I thought you’d be here on Monday.”

(I start explaining again why I can’t come in on Mondays and how we moved it to Tuesday.)

Patient: “But I thought that would be only once. I didn’t know you wanted to come to the day care every week. Every time you come, I miss out on the games and quizzes we do there.”

Me: “I am sorry, but that’s why I asked you if it’s okay before I actually changed the plan. I don’t have many options left right now.”

(I feel bad for her, as I obviously didn’t explain it to her properly, so I explain it again and make extra sure she understood what happened. Finally, I offer to sacrifice one of my lunch breaks to make room for her.)

Me: “The only open appointment would be Thursday at 11:30.”

Patient: “No, that’s not possible, either. Can’t we do Monday, 11:00?”

Me: “As I already explained, I am on a huge tour and can’t be back before 13:30, which won’t work because of the physical therapy. Is there something else you do on Thursdays?”

Patient: “No, it’s just so inconvenient. Why can’t we do Monday?”

Me: “Because I asked you if we could change the time and date. If you had said no, I wouldn’t have changed anything. But I did, and your old appointment is no longer available. What would be a more convenient time for you?”

(Surprisingly, Monday at 11 was still the only time she was willing to agree, so I had to re-reschedule about ten patients, and now I’m back to my old awkward plan.)

(My family is friends with another family whose dad is an obstetrician/gynaecologist and also a huge joker. In our part of the world, there are sometimes weird pseudo-scientific food fads, including products containing colostrum which is the special milk that comes out just after a mother mammal gives birth — even though cow colostrum isn’t really going to help you unless you’re a calf. At a party, someone shows up with some of these “health” products:)

Friend: “Look, I brought these colostrum biscuits.”

Obstetrician: *takes one and munches on it* “Hmm, doesn’t taste like colostrum.”

(I am the strange one in this story. I have just woken up after a colonoscopy and my mind is still a bit fuzzy, but I still don’t know what drove me to do this.)

Doctor: “How do you feel?”

Me: “Are you Mickey Mouse?”

Doctor: “No, I’m not.”

Me: “You’re lying. Hi, Mickey!”

(I feel more awake and realize what I just said.)

Me: “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

Doctor: “That’s okay. That’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard today.”

(My baby was born with a congenital heart disease and required many cannulas and blood draws in the first four weeks of her life. Nurses would try, and then call upon doctors — neonatologists and consultants — and everyone struggled. They would all talk about how small her veins were and how hard it was when she squirmed and cried as they stuck her over and over. The worst part was, when she had a cannula finally inserted, she’d often rip it out within the next couple of hours. After three open-heart surgeries, her last lots of blood are being taken to give us the all-clear to go home.)

Me: “Just be aware, everyone else who has taken blood has had a lot of trouble.”

Young Phlebotomist: *draws blood efficiently and quickly, first time* “All done.”

Me: “Oh, wow! Everyone else has had such trouble; they keep saying she’s got such small veins.”

Young Phlebotomist: “Of course she has small veins. She’s a baby!”

(We have universal health care in Canada, and the card in Ontario is called an OHIP card, although OHIP does not cover everything. I am booking in a copy order when the customer notices my silicone bracelet which has, “[Friend] beats cancer,” on it.)

Customer: “That’s not a cure for cancer.”

Me: “Um, no, that’s my friend’s nickname. She’s just selling these bracelets to help support her cancer, since she has to take time off work and stuff. It’s her second time with it.”

Customer: “She must not have applied for sick leave, then!”

Me: “Um, of course she did. You don’t get your full pay on sick leave.”

Customer: “Nope, only 50%.”

Me: “Right. Hence the bracelets.”

(I try to go back to booking in her order.)

Customer: “There are lots of things she can apply for, you know. Tell her to look stuff up and do her research! She’s not trying hard enough!”

Me: “Well, I’m not one to tell her what to do about her cancer, but I will support her this way, since that’s what she’s doing. Plus, she might have to get pills this time and pay for those.”

Customer: “No, that should be free.”

Me: “Um, no, she was under the impression these drugs weren’t covered by OHIP. I think it’s just because it’s not as serious as it was the first time she had it, so she is just supposed to be getting them from the pharmacy.”

Customer: “Oh, no, I never said it would be covered by OHIP. Drugs are rarely covered by OHIP unless it’s going to save your life—” *which I beg to differ* “—but her work benefits should cover them!”

Me: “Not all of it.”

Customer: “Well, it should cover most of it!”

Me: *irritated by this point* “It depends on the jobs people have and what kind of coverage it provides.”

Customer: “Well, I know all about it! Tell her to do some research!”

(Ugh, I wanted to smack her! I didn’t, of course!)