I have been battling with a cold for a couple days before finally caving and going to see a doctor, as I think it might be the flu. When I’m there, I also bring up the fact that I have been having some acid reflux issues as of late. I bring these all up to the nurse practitioner who is seeing me before answering the standard questions.

I firmly believe the two people you should always be honest with are your doctor and your therapist. I also have fibromyalgia and other chronic pain issues and I will, on occasion, use CBD or marijuana to help with the pain, as I don’t like taking pain pills. When asked if I smoke, I answer honestly.

The minute I bring up marijuana use, my doctor stops trying to figure out what is causing the acid reflux. He immediately goes on a tirade about how some people are allergic to marijuana, and says I am most likely allergic and should stop because prescription drugs would be a better solution.

Keep in mind, I have been using marijuana for this issue for over six months and the acid reflux issue started only a month ago. When I try to direct him toward other possibilities, he directs it back toward marijuana being the source. Turns out, it’s the breakfast sandwiches I have been eating in the mornings, which I’ve had to figure out on my own.

I’m an individual with Asperger’s Syndrome and, due to some physical difficulties caused by my medications, I’m only now starting to learn how to drive. Because of this, whenever I have to go shopping, my social worker picks me up from my apartment.

Right as she pulled up earlier today and I was walking down to meet her, I heard her talking with an elderly lady who seemed very disoriented and, from the dirt on her, likely to have fallen down.

Something about her felt off, and the fact she didn’t speak any English made it extremely difficult to communicate with her and find out what happened. After a brief conversation, which both of us were only able to understand bits and pieces of, the lady went on her way.

As I got in the car, all I could think of was that woman’s condition and how I’d been lost and confused, too, just like her. [Social Worker] and I had the same thought: we needed to make sure she was okay.

Fortunately, she was walking slow enough that catching up to her in our van didn’t pose much of a challenge, but again, the language barrier prevented her from understanding us or allowing us to help.

Then, my social worker remembered one of the few things the woman had said that she could understand was that she was from Iran and immediately, she remembered that another one of her clients had a mother who was also Iranian and likely fluent in Farsi — the only language the woman seemed to speak well — so we drove up beside her again and called the mother, who immediately agreed to talk to the woman and act as a translator.

With the mother’s help, we learned that the woman had indeed fallen and was looking for her daughter’s house. After some convincing, the woman allowed us to look in her purse for any form of ID to give an address and sure enough, we found a driver’s license reading an address only a couple miles away. The translator convinced the woman to let us drive her to her daughter’s, and we were on our way.

It took only a few minutes to get there, and I waited with the woman while [Social Worker] went to the front door. Sure enough, she soon came out with an older woman who revealed herself to be the elderly lady’s daughter. She told us her mother had likely meant to go to the nearby park, but gotten lost and somehow walked over three miles to my apartment complex. She hugged her mother and called the both of us angels, asking if [Social Worker] would consider taking her mother on as a client, since it was so nice to see two people who’d go out of their way to help an old woman.

We made small talk for a few minutes before we went on our way. The second [Social Worker] and I were back in the van, we just looked at each other and smiled.

Even now, I think about what could have happened if she hadn’t pulled up at that exact moment or someone else had gotten to her…. and I just think simply…

“I may have saved a life.”

(As a younger teen than I am now, I went to an amusement park I haven’t been to for a while. The old restaurant I used to love is re-skinned and has new ideas. The cuisine is mainly the same, so I order my usual.)

Me: *at the counter* “I’m order 123.”

Server: “[Soda], no ice, and a bacon double cheeseburger?”

(She hands me a [soda] filled to the brim with ice. I look it over once and alert her.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I asked for no ice but this one has ice, and umm–”

Server: “Oh, no worries. I’ll get you a new one.” *to her coworkers* “I have a [soda] with ice if necessary.”

(She fills another cup with ice and begins to pour in the [Soda] before looking down and apologizing to me.)

Server: *to coworkers* “I have another one if you guys need it.”

(Once again, she filled a cup with ice and poured in the [Soda] without looking down. After this attempt, I got my [Soda] with no ice and left the restaurant with a smile on my face.)

(I’ve had a cough for a while that just isn’t going away. On the weekend it gets so bad that I have difficulty breathing. Since it’s the weekend, I have to go to the emergency room. Even though I’m an adult, my dad goes with me, because being female and fat I often don’t get proper treatment. This time around, I don’t even get a doctor; I get a physician’s assistant. I’m too busy coughing and gasping for a decent breath to talk at this point. She doesn’t even bother to examine me and snaps at me the very second she comes past the curtain.)

Physician’s Assistant: “You have the flu. Go home!”

Dad: *looks at the woman in shock* “You didn’t even listen to her lungs, or touch her at all.”

Physician’s Assistant: “I don’t have to. She has the flu. Go home.”

Dad: “She’s having problems breathing. You need to listen to her lungs!”

Physician’s Assistant: *makes a great show of “listening” to my lungs, which lasts less than five seconds* “She has the flu. Go home!“

Dad: “Can’t you at least give her a Rocephin shot?”

Physician’s Assistant: “It won’t do anything for the flu. Go home!“

(She then flounced out and insisted I be discharged. The next day was a weekday and I went into my doctor without an appointment. He immediately informed me that I had a severe infection that required antibiotics, NOT the flu. He then gave me a Rocephin shot and I started to feel better by the afternoon. You can bet the hospital got a REALLY stern letter from me.)

(I am 18. I live with my family. I have recently started dating a woman. I am a woman and identify as such at the time. My girlfriend has been my best friend for four years by this point, and my family already loves how respectful and helpful she is. As such, I assume that “coming out” won’t be a big deal. My girlfriend, my mother, my stepfather and I are in the room. I’m only including the most interesting parts of this event.)

Me: *after long conversation and lead-up* “So, after [Ex-Boyfriend] tried to hit me, then stormed off, [Girlfriend] said that she loves me and doesn’t want to see me hurt like that. I told her I didn’t have an answer yet, but it’s been four months, and we’re dating now; we started dating a couple weeks ago and it’s going well.”

Mom: *dramatically rolls her eyes* “Okay, whatever. It doesn’t matter. It won’t last.”

Girlfriend: *patient as a saint* “What makes you think so?”

Mom: *to girlfriend* “She isn’t a lesbian. This is a phase. Listen. We love having you around. We don’t care what you’re doing when the doors are closed. But don’t put your hopes up; I’d hate for my daughter to hurt you.”

Me: *angry* “It doesn’t even matter how I identify sexually. I love [Girlfriend] emotionally. You told me love is what matters most.”

(The conversation tapers off. Four years after, my girlfriend and I move in together, and sometime after that we get engaged. Throughout the whole time, my mother occasionally asks if we’ve broken up yet. We move a thousand miles away from my mother. A few weeks after the tenth year of our dating anniversary, we decide to get married, due to fear of marriage equality being abolished by a change of political control. I inform my mother that we are eloping and do not have time or money to have a proper wedding.)

Me: “We are eloping on [date], to make sure we can before the right is taken from us. We will send you pictures later.”

Mom: “HOW DARE YOU GET MARRIED WHEN I CAN’T EVEN BE THERE?!”

(She begins calling and texting several times.)

Me: *pissed off* “You weren’t even going to be invited if we had a proper wedding. You uninvited yourself after saying you didn’t think we’d last!”

(I had to block my mother’s phone number for a few weeks after that, but thankfully any relatives she told about the situation agreed with me, even the homophobic ones!)

This story is part of the misunderstood-lesbians-themed roundup!

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