WARNING: INJURY

This happened many moons ago, when I was in seventh grade.

The bell rings signifying the end of lunch. In my haste to get back to my classroom, I end up trying to jump over a bench instead of going around it, falling sideways, and having all of my ninety-six pounds land directly on my left wrist. I pop up and head for class, making it in with about one second to spare before I’d be marked late. I happen to be sitting in the front row.

The teacher spends the next minute writing things on the blackboard, and we all start taking notes. When he turns around, he sees me.

Teacher: “[My Name], leave immediately and go see the nurse.”

Me: “Why? I’m fine.”

Teacher: “Do it right now.”

Me: “If you say so.”

I put my stuff back in my backpack, mutter something under my breath, and reluctantly head for the nurse’s office. Yeah, my left wrist is hurting a bit, but I just fell on it. It’s probably sprained or something. I take my watch off it and transfer it to my right wrist, figuring that’ll help. 

When I arrive…

Nurse: “Sit down and don’t move. I’m calling your parents. They’ll take you to the hospital.”

Me: “What the h***? I don’t need a hospital!”

Nurse: “Yes, you do! Look at your wrist!”

I took a look. The bone was almost poking through the skin.

The doctor said the break looked like it had been cut with a laser. Thankfully, the teacher and the nurse noticed right away that my wrist was broken, even if I didn’t!

I work as a vet. Our computer system is set up so that we can submit our clients’ insurance claims for their visits directly to their insurer — just a few clicks to submit the notes and the invoice, minimal hassle for everyone. We don’t have any way of knowing whether or not the claim gets accepted or rejected unless the client lets us know.

Client: “The claim for Fluffy’s [condition] got rejected.”

Me: “Ah, that’s a bugger. We had discussed that it might not get through because it would probably be considered pre-existing, but at least we gave it a go and know for the future.”

Client: “Yeah, sure, but what did you write in the submission claim? Like, the wording?”

Me: “I just submitted my clinical record. There aren’t any notes we write in addition to that.”

Client: “But what did you say Fluffy had?”

Me: “[Condition]. Which is what he has.”

Client: “Do you think you could resubmit it but write that he has [similar condition, which has similar symptoms but is treated differently]?”

Me: “Uh, no.”

Client: “Why not? It’s easy; just change a couple of words and it’s all good. Then it might get approved.

Me: “[Client], I will explain this very clearly to you. The clinic system locks the records after a certain time frame because they are classed as legal documents. Any changes to said documents after the fact would be grounds for me to face disciplinary action from my professional regulator. And very simply, what you are asking me to do is commit insurance fraud.”

Client: “Are you sure about that?”

Me: “Uh, yes, definitely fraud.”

Client: “So, you can’t do anything to get around it?”

Me: “No. I like my job. I’m not risking my licence.”

Client: “So, there’s really nothing you can do about this, then.”

Me: “[Client], stop asking. The answer is no. If you still don’t like it, you’re welcome to see one of my colleagues, but they will tell you the same thing, and your insurer already has the info anyway.”

Client: “…”

He wasn’t a client of ours for much longer. I can’t say he’ll be missed. Good luck and apologies to the next clinic who ended up with him.

I take a very expensive medicine. Luckily, since I live in Sweden, I don’t even pay for one month’s full use myself until I start getting it for free. The trick with this medicine is that it needs to be refrigerated, so I cannot order it home and I always need to plan my shopping when getting it since I cannot have it in my bag for too long.

I have just gotten new instructions from my doctor saying I can take out for two months instead of one, since she doesn’t think I should need to go to the pharmacy too often in the health crisis. Unluckily, the power goes that night, and I don’t know for how long, so I call medical services to find out what I should do with the medicine. Since there is a risk that it will be ruined, they tell me to take it back to the pharmacy to get new ones. Since I need a dose for that day, I go to do so, and I have to put other plans aside for the day in order to fix this.

Me: “Hi. I’m so sorry, but the power went and they said to exchange this in case it has gone bad.”

The pharmacist takes the medication and looks at it, then me, then to her computer, and then me again.

Pharmacist: “Do you know how expensive this is?”

Me: “Yes. As I said, the power went off, so the medicine might have been compromised.”

Pharmacist: “This is for two months!”

Me: “Yes, I know. I took it out yesterday — worst luck!”

She frowns and looks at her computer for a while.

Pharmacist: “Well, we don’t have any here, but you can find it at [Other Pharmacy].”

Me: “All right, should I just leave this here and go there, then?”

Pharmacist: “No, you need to bring this with you, or you can’t take out new medication again. Also, next time, perhaps you should only take out for one month; that way you won’t ruin as much of it.”

I did as she said and went a few blocks over to another pharmacy, only to have almost exactly the same conversation. I did get to make the exchange this time. I was so embarrassed and felt guilty about the whole thing, yet it was not even my fault, so thinking back, I wonder why they needed to keep rubbing it in?

My cat passes away, and in the stress of dealing with his illness, I do forget to wear a mask outside a couple of times. The following days after his death, I suddenly get very sick, and naturally, all I can think of is that I caught something when I forgot to wear a mask. I have almost entirely lost my voice. So, I decide to get tested.

The nurse looks down my throat.

Nurse: “Yeah, you look a bit torn up in there from coughing. Let’s get the tests started.”

She swabs for a couple of different things, and while we are waiting for the results, she says:

Nurse: “Also, your tonsils looked kind of inflamed and oddly shaped…”

Me: *Croaking* “My what?!”

Nurse: “Tonsils, in the back of your throat?”

Me: *Coughing* “I had a tonsillectomy seven years ago!”

Nurse: *Pauses* “That would explain the odd shape they’re in. Well, you’re negative for [contagious illness], strep, and flu, so it’s probably tonsillitis.”

It turns out that, much like if you have part of your liver cut off, your tonsils can grow back, too. I’m the first person I know to have tonsillitis after getting tonsils removed. Good grief!

I finally graduated as a licensed optician this year, and seeing as I have a love for storytelling, of course, I take every chance I get to ask my new coworkers about the weirdest or dumbest customers/patients they’ve encountered. So far, this story I heard from one of the sales assistants absolutely takes the cake, although I do have a close runner-up, as well.

A woman comes in, complaining over something regarding her contact lenses. My coworker asks some general troubleshooting questions: how often do you change your contacts, do you sleep with them, are you cleaning them properly? That last question is where it all goes south.

Patient: “Of course, I clean them, but that cleaner you sold me doesn’t work very well, so I just use dish soap, instead.”

Coworker: *Pauses* “You use what now?”

Patient: “Yeah, dish soap and water. See, the cleaner doesn’t get the contacts clear enough; I still see all blurry when I put them back in. The dish soap makes them much cleaner.”

Coworker: *Absolutely dumbfounded* “You can’t… do that. Your eyes could get really badly damaged from that. Please don’t. You need to use the cleaner that your optician recommended for you.”

Patient: “Well, I still think the dish soap works better.”

Lady, how have you, for your entire life, missed the glaring labels on every single dish soap ever telling you NOT to let it come in contact with your eyes?