Some People Shouldn’t Be Allowed To Be Doctors

I was diagnosed with epilepsy at thirteen and have been treated for complex-partial seizures ever since. I’m now twenty, have moved away to attend university, and have gone to see a new neurologist at the local hospital.

Me: “I requested that my medical records be sent here. I have complex-partial seizures, mainly, and I’ve been taking [medication] for three years—”

Doctor: “What happened to your arm?”

Me: “I hurt it during a seizure last week. I still have them if I get very stressed and don’t sleep enough, but the medication—”

Doctor: *Sarcastically* “You ‘hurt it during a seizure’?”

Me: “Well… yes. I scraped it when my arm was spasming. It happens sometimes.”

Doctor: “Sure, it does. I’m going to refer you to the psychiatric clinic. There are better ways to look for attention, honey.”

Me: “I was diagnosed by EEG. My last neurologist already ruled out PNES—”

Doctor: “Look, honey, you can either do as I say or I’ll have to give you a Munchausen’s diagnosis and nobody will be able to treat you. Now, it’s time for you to go.”

I leave, immensely frustrated, and end up making a plan to travel back home to see my old neurologist every six months. Things go fine at first until I have a seizure at work one day and a coworker calls an ambulance. I can’t respond to their questions, so they take me to the hospital where [Doctor] works.

After consulting his file, they give me an anxiety medication which I am mildly allergic to — he apparently believes I am faking the allergy, as well — and leave me alone in a darkened room for several hours.

Confused, I eventually wander out of the hospital and am found by my roommate, who has been searching for me. She calls my family to tell them I am safe.

Over an hour later, my mother gets this call.

Caller: “Hi, this is [Caller] at [Hospital]. Your daughter was here earlier having a panic attack. We’re not sure where she is now. Would you like us to start looking for her?”

Mother: “What the f*** is wrong with you people?!”