Unfiltered Story #102116

| Unfiltered | December 23, 2017

(From my first period at age 12, I have been having horrible pain with each menstruation. Several months later, the pain is so bad that I can’t stand. My mother is alarmed and takes me to the ED. They suspect appendicitis and operate, only to find a healthy appendix. I am referred to a gynaecologist.)
Gynaecologist: So I hear you’ve had a bit of a sore tummy, huh?
Me: Yes – it really hurts, and I –
Gynaecologist: Now, *my name*. You’re grown up now. This is part of being a woman, you just have to put up with it, alright? Take some paracetamol when the pain starts and get on with it, alright?
(I’m embarrassed to have caused such a fuss and take what he says to heart. For the next 12 years I put up with horrendous, increasing pain, assuming all women went through it. Every cycle, without fail, I would spend a minimum of 12 hours in such pain I was vomiting. It got so I was in pain all the time, even when I wasn’t menstruating. Finally, at 25, I had an epic period of 17 days’ vomit-worthy pain. My parents convince me to go to the ED in my new city where I live.
The ED doctors gave me a high dose of morphine and checked for acute problems, then referred me to a gynaecologist. I was already convinced that this one would think I was wasting his time, too, and began rehearsing apologies. Finally, I met the new gynaecologist.)
Gynaecologist 2: So I hear you’ve been sore?
Me: Yes… *describes situation*
Gynaecologist 2: Can I feel your stomach? Hmm. Ok, I’m not going to, but if I pressed hard, would it hurt?
Me: Yes.
Gynaecologist 2: *taking his hand away* Does it hurt NOW?
Me: Yes.
(The gynaecologist went a little grim and told me that I needed an operation immediately. He fit me in the following week and ended up excising a LOT of tissue. It turned out that I had a condition that caused infertility if it was untreated, and the main symptom was immense pain. Luckily, the disease hadn’t yet damaged my tubes so I can still conceive naturally. With medication to manage ovulation and possibly more operations should the tissue regrow, I should be completely healthy. Most importantly, I’m not in constant pain. How lucky that I found a doctor who knew that ‘women troubles’ was no longer a proper medical diagnosis!)

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The Good Times Will Come Again

, , , , , , , , | Hopeless | December 22, 2017

(We’ve been seeing one of our patients regularly for the six years I’ve worked in this intensive care unit, and according to my coworkers he’s been a fixture since he was four months old. He’s 15 now, suffering from a serious heart condition and awaiting a transplant. He’s one of the politest, funniest, and genuinely nicest young men I have ever come across. Today, finally, he’s getting his new heart. Typically organ donation is done completely anonymously in Australia, and we aren’t legally allowed to tell anyone who their organs came from. In this case, the heart is coming from a 19-year-old boy who was killed by a drunk driver. As uncommon as it is, he was brought to our hospital and his parents have agreed to turn off his life support and donate his organs, so his parents are still hanging around saying their final goodbyes after surgery. The procedure goes well and our 15-year-old patient is asleep in his room, 18 hours after surgery. I’ve just finished some paperwork and am sitting at the nurses station chatting to some of the nurses. The 19-year-old’s parents have come out of their son’s room and asked if there is anything left to sign. My colleague is walking them through the final forms for the funeral home when the alarms start sounding for our 15-year-old patient. Several of us break into a dead sprint and go to help him. We burst into his room all at once to find him sitting up in bed, absolutely mortified.)

Me: “[Patient], what’s happening? Are you feeling okay?” *I start checking him over*

Patient: “Yes! Everything is fine! I’m fine!”

(I hear a giggle from behind me and look down. The poor kid has a pillow across his lap and a box of tissues next to him on the bed. I deduce that he has been “test-driving” his new heart, and we all slink out of the room, leaving him on his own to deal with his embarrassment. As we come back to the desk, one of the nurses tells the others what happened. From behind us, we hear a short laugh. We turn and see the 19-year-old’s parents, both struggling to contain their laughter.)

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t know you were there.”

(They break into uproarious laughter. It’s infectious, and eventually we’re all laughing. The 19-year-old’s mother eventually catches her breath enough to speak.)

Mother: “I’m sorry; I know it’s all supposed to be anonymous, but we know he ended up with our boy’s heart. Honestly, with the amount of time he spent in the bathroom as a teenager, I can’t think of anything more true to his memory than what that young man was doing!”

(It might have scared the h*** out of us when it was happening, but that teenager gave some good people a great laugh, exactly when they needed it.)

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It Will Be All Reich In The End

, , , , | Learning | December 21, 2017

(I teach computers at a small school. I’m working with a grade 3/4 class on coding. A student puts up her hand for help and I come around. She’s on a level where you’re supposed to program a character to skate around on a frozen lake and trace snowflakes into the ice with their skates.)

Student: “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but it doesn’t look like the example. It just keeps drawing squares!”

(I notice that the student has forgotten one important element of code that makes the character jump back to their original position after moving around.)

Me: “Oh, see here, you need this new block of code. See how in the instructions they tell you what it does? I’m guessing you ignored it because you haven’t seen it before. I’ll show you how it works and then I’ll let you play around with it to make whatever design you want.”

(I drag the missing block of code randomly into the student’s work, just to show her how it changes it. To my horror, when I press run, the character now draws a perfect swastika into the ice!)

Student: *excitedly* “Oh, cool. That’s really pretty!”

Me: *flustered* “Uhh, well, you can move it around in the code and maybe add onto it to make a proper snowflake—”

Student: “No, I like it! It looks so cool! Thanks!”

(And that’s how I taught an eight-year-old girl how to draw a swastika. Not my proudest teaching moment.)

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Race-ing Through The Drive-Thru

, , , , , | Right | December 20, 2017

(I work in drive-through with a lot of immigrant workers mostly from Asia. I’m white.)

Customer: *pulls up to my window* “Oh, thank God, a real white Australian girl. Finally! You have too many Asians at this store; they can’t even speak English!”

Me: “Um… That’s [total]. Please drive forward.”

(I go up to my [white] manager to complain about how racist the customers are.)

Manager: “Okay, one second.” *speaking in headset* “[Coworker], can you hand these coffees out?”

(A Chinese coworker hands out the coffees to some very angry racist customers.)

Manager: “And that’s how you piss off racist people.”

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Unfiltered Story #102067

, , , | Unfiltered | December 20, 2017

I over hear a customer talking to one of my co-workers.

Co-worker “that will be $30.15 please”

Customer hands over $50 but still is feeling around in his pocket, the co-worker has entered the amount of money and the cash draw is open.

Customer “Oh, here’s the 15cents”

Co-worker “No I can’t take that, I already entered the money”

Customer “But it means all you have to give me is a 20 dolla…..”

Co-worker “I already worked out the change I can’t work that out too” *counts out $19.85 and hands it over.

Customer “but I don’t want all these coins, just let me have a $20”.

Co-worker “No” *slams the drawer shut “I don’t know whether that’s going to be right, I can’t work that out”.

The customer just stood there looking stunned at his change, looks over at me and shakes his head before leaving. I was just as stunned as this co-worker is at University studying to be a teacher, both of her parents are also teachers.