I am working as a screener at a hospital. A visitor comes in.

Coworker: “Hi there! Where are you going today?”

Visitor: “To the nursing unit to visit [Male Patient].”

Since that isn’t a unit, my coworker looks up the patient and then tells the visitor the unit number where they’re located.

A little while later, I am helping a visitor, and I ask where they’re headed.

Visitor: “Nursing unit.”

I then recognized the visitor as the same one my coworker had helped! I get that people aren’t always in the best state of mind when visiting a hospital, but this guy had the proper unit number and still gave a weird unit name that didn’t exist (and that I’ve never heard of). Seriously?!

I am pregnant with my first child, and it is time to go have my first pregnancy appointment with my OB/GYN. I have been seeing her for a while and generally am very happy with her. She’s a nice older lady who never makes me feel rushed, but a downside to this is that she’s often running behind because she doesn’t rush the other patients, either.

Today, though, she is especially behind, and my husband and I are sitting in the waiting room two hours after the time when my appointment was supposed to start. I was already anxious because I have some health conditions that make me more likely to have complications, so I am eager to be checked out and make sure the pregnancy is healthy.

Eventually, we are finally shown to the exam room, which is not the biggest. There, we wait for another thirty minutes before the doctor arrives. At this point I am, I believe justifiably, on edge.

We have a brief discussion about the pregnancy and my health, and it’s determined that she needs to examine me. I go to get all set up in the stirrups, and at this point, I’m still covered.

Doctor: “Okay, [Husband], can you please stand over there behind [My Name]?” 

My husband does so.

Doctor: “Actually, could you move a little farther to your right?” 

My husband then squeezes even farther behind me and the exam table. But the doctor just keeps directing him this way around this cramped little exam room until he’s finally in a spot she’s happy with. She then turns around and starts adjusting things on the counter behind her.

I get confused when I see her start adjusting frames on the wall, and eventually, I figure it out. She’s rearranging anything that could be reflective so that my husband won’t see me once she lifts up the sheet that’s covering my nether regions.

Now it’s kind of funny, but at the time, two and a half hours after my appointment time, while I am incredibly anxious, it is irritating. I eventually get tired of her fiddling and exclaim:

Me: “Enough! He’s seen me naked before! H***, his involvement with my vagina is what made the need for this appointment in the first place!”

Doctor: *Taken aback* “Well, I was just looking out for your privacy.”

Me: “Look. Everyone in this room has seen my vagina multiple times. Can we just get on with the exam already?”

Doctor: “Yes, yes, of course. Apologies. I didn’t know you two were so… comfortable with each other.”

I still don’t know what she meant by that. Are there really couples at pregnancy appointments with an OB/GYN that would start pearl-clutching about their partner seeing them exposed?

Thankfully, the exam went well, and she was a great doctor through the rest of the pregnancy, though she did always act like she thought my husband was a bit odd.

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

I was out drinking with friends. Inside got a bit overwhelming, so I went outside for a bit, and there were some drunk ladies dancing in the street.

A younger woman exited the pub next door, but she tripped on the curb and banged her head against the road.

Two of the drunk ladies immediately sobered up and went over to her.

Drunk Lady #1: “We’re nurses.”

They started trying to check where the woman had hit her head. I used my phone as a torch so they could see better; I didn’t really know what else I could do.

The woman’s friends came over, and one of the drunk ladies explained.

Drunk Lady #2: “Head wounds can be really serious. Keep an eye on her for the next twenty-four hours, and make sure she stays awake for the next six.”

After the young woman and her friends went on their way, those drunk ladies were back to their drunken dancing. It was a little hard to believe they’d been so sensible just minutes beforehand.

Content Warning: Animal Injury

I have a lot of stories from working in veterinary care, but this one is always going to stick out in my mind, for reasons that will soon be obvious.

A woman who is not an established client shows up at our clinic one day without warning, stating that her ranch dog has been attacked by some other dogs and “might need a stitch.” We’re not going to turn someone away if their dog is injured like that, so we do our best to accommodate.

I go out to bring the dog back for an exam and see a gaping bite wound about the size of my fist; it definitely needs more than just a stitch. The plan is for the dog to stay the night and have surgery the next day.

The primary vet has me put together an estimate for the procedure. It’s not cheap. The doctor goes up front with the estimate to discuss and comes back looking pretty upset.

The dog’s owner, upon seeing the cost, said, “Just put him down. I can get another dog.” The dog is young and otherwise healthy, and the vet is not willing to euthanize him for a treatable wound.

So, he offers her an alternative: she relinquishes the dog to us, and we adopt him out to a family willing to pay the medical fees after the procedure. Thankfully, she agrees, and after the papers are signed, she leaves the clinic, never to be seen again. All in all, it’s a very eventful thirty minutes.

As for the dog, he made a full recovery and is currently sleeping quite contently on my living room floor!

I have an unusual four-letter name that everybody gets wrong somehow. For the sake of this story, let’s say it’s Myra.

This happened when I was an intern in a hospital. I had a name tag on my scrubs which often prompted the patients to tell me how pretty and rare it was. One patient, however, still managed to read it wrong.

Patient: “Excuse me, miss… Err, what is your name?”

Me: “It’s Myra, madam.”

Patient: “Nina?”

Me: “No, madam.” *Slowly articulating* “My-ra.”

Patient: “Nina?”

Me: “No, My-ra, like this.”

I showed her my name tag.

Patient: “Nina?”

Me: *Pauses* “Nina it is.”

She called me the wrong name for the rest of my internship. Other than that, she liked me.