(I’ve just turned 13 and am feeling so sick that I get taken to the ER. While waiting for the doctor, I vomit all over the floor.)
Doctor: “What seems to be the problem?”
Me: “Well, my stomach hurts and I can barely keep any food down.”
(The doctor runs the usual tests and comes back shortly after.)
Doctor: “You seem to have a case of gas.”
Me: “Gas?”
Doctor: “Gas.”
Me: “How can it be gas? I’m pretty sure gas doesn’t make you throw up.”
Doctor: “Do you have a medical degree?”
Me: “No, but—”
Doctor: “Look, I know what I’m talking about. I’m a doctor; it’s my job to know what I’m talking about.”
Dad: “Look, doctor, my son doesn’t really like to complain about his aches and pains, so for him to come to me and ask me to take him here, it must be something worse than gas, right?”
Doctor: “If you do not like my diagnosis, then seek a second opinion elsewhere.”
(We go to a different doctor the next day; by then, my skin has jaundiced.)
Doctor: “Has the pain subsided or increased?”
Me: “It’s about the same, but now my skin’s all yellow.”
Doctor: “Okay, what I’m gonna do is apply pressure to the stomach, and you tell me what hurts the most on a scale of one to ten.”
Me: “Alright.”
(The doctor puts on a glove and slowly applies pressure to various areas on my stomach before reaching my right side.)
Me: “OW OW OW, TEN, TEN!”
(After about five minutes, the doctor diagnoses me with acute appendicitis. After a hot, lengthy, and agonizing trip, we finally get to the hospital, where the doctors confirm my condition. My appendix ruptured mid-surgery, and I had to spend the next ten days in the hospital.)
