When my husband was little, he got a cat called Willow. By the time I came into the picture, Willow was about ten years old. She was the most wonderful cat. She was chill, rarely scratched, and was happiest sitting purring on people’s shoulders. This demeanor changed rapidly when the vet came into view for her annual check-up.

During one such visit a few years after we got together, we found out Willow had a lump and it needed to be tested. 

I went to pick her up in the afternoon after her test in the morning. When I arrived, I told the receptionist that I was there to collect Willow. She looked over her glasses at me like a disapproving teacher.

Receptionist: “Oh, you’re Willow’s owner.”

Slowly, more and more staff congregated at the back of the reception area whilst I could hear angry yowling getting closer. Willow, the culprit of said yowling, was popped in front of me in her carrier and immediately calmed down and started purring.

The staff looked incredulous. As I was paying the final bill:

Receptionist: “Your cat has scratched everyone in this clinic, including one vet who has never been scratched before in twenty years of practice. We had to give her triple the amount of sedative for a cat of her size as she, by sheer will, stayed awake.”

I obviously apologised and took Willow home. Thankfully for us and the vets, her tests were all clear!

I am having surgery tomorrow, and I get my phone call from the doctor’s office to go through the pre-surgery questions and instructions. At one point, the staff member asks me this:

Staff Member: “Do you have any financial concerns?”

Me: “About the surgery or life in general?”

Staff Member: “About life in general.”

Me: “I mean, yeah? With this economy, who doesn’t?”

Staff Member: *Sighing* “Yeah, I don’t know why we ask this question. It’s something they introduced recently, and every single time, the person answers yes. I mean, unless you’re like Beyoncé, I feel like everyone is stressed about money.”

My doctor writes me [Prescription #1] in late June, which I fill at [Pharmacy #1]. [Prescription #1] has zero pre-approved refills. I’m also referred to a specialist to get [Prescription #2]. My doctor later sends an email passing my care entirely on to the specialist (which I’m okay with).

I have my first appointment with the specialist in mid-September, where we discuss her taking over [Prescription #1]. She does ask, but I’m not due for a refill at the time so we don’t do one. Due to convenience and a tight schedule that day, I fill [Prescription #2] at [Pharmacy #2], another branch of the same chain as [Pharmacy #1]. [Prescription #2] has three pre-approved refills.

About six weeks later, I’m due for the refill on [Prescription #1]. I call the specialist’s office to ask about the process. I’m told to just have [Pharmacy #1] fax over the request.

I call [Pharmacy #1] and give them the fax number for the specialist. It slips my mind for a couple of weeks until I get an alert saying it’s delayed.

I don’t want to panic, so I wait a few days to see if it will un-delay itself. I’m still good for meds. After a week with no change, I call [Pharmacy #1]. It’s now three weeks since I put in the refill request.

[Pharmacy #1] simply hasn’t heard back from the specialist, despite sending multiple faxes. I explain the whole situation about the doctor switch, and they confirm that they sent the faxes to the correct specialist. They send another fax while we’re on the call.

The next day, I call the specialist’s office to see if they have any information on the delay. I explain the multiple faxes and the doctor switch, and they inform me they’ve only received the fax from yesterday.

I’m told it’s a two-week turnaround. After the fortnight is up, [Pharmacy #1] still hasn’t heard from the specialist. I call the specialist, and I’m told again to just have [Pharmacy #1] fax it over. I tell them I won’t have any meds left to keep waiting like this. I’m brushed off and told that the pharmacy can extend it at their own discretion 

I call [Pharmacy #1] and have them extend the prescription. I’m told the extension will be for one month, which will get me to my next specialist visit with a few days to spare

I pick up the extension, and it’s only for two weeks. I call the specialist one more time, and I now learn that they returned the paperwork two days after receiving that lone fax weeks prior.

I get into another fortnight of musical faxes and another pharmacy extension. In the midst of this chaos, I now need to refill [Prescription #2].

I call [Pharmacy #2], and the refill on [Prescription #2] is ready in two days. I stop in to pick it up.

Me: “Hi. I’m here to pick up [Prescription #2] for [My Name], please.”

The pharmacist confirms my information.

Pharmacist: “Okay… It looks like there’s a second one for you here, as well.” 

Guess where [Prescription #1] ended up?

In the end, I got my meds, and having them at the same pharmacy makes sense, but I don’t know how nobody — me included — thought to check which pharmacy the specialist’s office sent the paperwork to.

I’m at my rheumatologist’s office because my SSDI (disability) eligibility is being reviewed and he’s filling out a form for me. He goes through the questions, and we’re wrapping up. I have fibromyalgia, which many doctors don’t believe exists.

Doctor: “As you can see, the questions they ask are rather arbitrary.”

Me: “I know. Who keeps track of things like that?”

Doctor: “You’re in pain and you have an illness where you don’t know from one day to another how you’re going to feel.”

Me: “I know! I even lost sixty pounds hoping that it would help my pain levels.”

Doctor: “It’s great that you lost sixty pounds, but the pain you have isn’t caused by weight.”

We finished up, I thanked him, and he sent me on my way.

Later on, I was going over the visit in my head, and I realized just how awesome he is. Not only is he one of the few doctors who actually believe in fibromyalgia, but he also is one of the few who doesn’t blame pain on weight. I’m just sorry he’s retiring at the end of the year; I won’t find another one as good as him.

I’m in the hospital for an illness. I have massive phone anxiety, but my boyfriend has been here for most of my stay to handle what needs to be done, mostly food orders. He has to run out for a few hours, so I page a nurse to come to my room. I start worrying that it might be a silly request and she might refuse.

Nurse: “What can I do for you?”

Me: “I… um… I… can’t call down my food order.”

Nurse: “Oh, does the phone not work?”

Me: “I can’t call. I have phone anxiety.”

Nurse: “Oh, okay! Do you know what you want?”

I tell her, and she makes sure she knows all my menu choices before calling. After she hangs up, she gives me a comforting smile.

Nurse: “They’ll have it up in a bit. If you need me to make another call for you, don’t be afraid to ask.”

She also stopped by every so often to check on me for the rest of my stay.

Related:
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 15
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 14
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 13
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 12
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 11