I’m twenty. For the past few months, I’ve been getting experience in my major field by working long hours in a lab, counting out microscopic worms on Petri dishes. It’s not difficult or too taxing, but I’ve noticed lately that the way I have to sit to reach the scopes has triggered some lower back pain around the center of my hips. I try to ignore it for about three weeks, as my father just laughs when I mention it and I’m worried that my doctor, the pediatrician I’ve seen since birth, will do the same because of my young age and lack of strenuous activity.

It gets to the point that I can barely walk and every few seconds, a shooting pain jumps down from my back to the front of my knee. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever felt, before or since. The spasms keep me at night, and when I wake up one morning to discover that I can’t lean forward or backward more than a few millimeters, I finally go in to see the doctor. As my main doctor isn’t in that day, I’m paired with a new doctor in the practice I’ve never met before. She’s much younger than the others I’ve seen and is incredibly pleasant.

Doctor: “So, I’ve heard you’ve been having back spasms?”

Me: “Yeah. I know, I know, I’m too young to have a back problem. I haven’t had any big jolts to the system or anything, nothing more stressful than sitting in a lab all day, but no matter what I do, I can’t shake this. I didn’t want to bother you guys during the flu season with what’s probably just a stupid pulled muscle but I haven’t slept for two nights now. Laying down or sitting up seems to make it worse, and the over-the-counter painkillers don’t put a dent in it.”

Doctor: “Hey, it’s no problem at all! In fact, I wish you had come in a bit sooner! Back spasms can be really serious, so let’s see if we can figure this out.”

The doctor chats with me about what I’ve done so far to ease the pain and what showed any improvement or made it worse and puts me through some simple range of movement exercises

Doctor: “Okay, I’m going to do a few little tests that should confirm my suspicions about this. I’m going to be putting my thumbs at those little dimples you get at your lower back, okay? Just tell me if it hurts, and which side hurts most.”

I feel something akin to a nail being driven into the area she’s touching.

Me: “Holy moth— Left! Left side! Haha, ouch, Doc.”

Doctor: “Sorry! Sorry, just one more. Pop up there, lay down, and cross your right ankle over your left knee.”

When I lay down, my entire pelvis should be an inch closer to the ground than it is, and I mention it to her.

Doctor: “That’s normal if this last one gives us a positive sign. When I push down on your right knee here, is there—”

Me: “Pain?! Yes. Yes, there is.”

Doctor: “Positive sign! With how long you’ve let this go, it may be too tight for me to fix this here without you doing some home stretches first, but I’ll give it a shot if you’d like?”

Me: “Please, yes. Anything. Feed me to a lion if it would make this stop hurting so much.”

The doctor moves my left leg off the table to hang down the side and shifts my body so my hip also hangs off and instructs me to push up against her downward force on my left knee. My pelvic area makes an ungodly loud cracking sound that can probably be heard in the lobby as it feels like my entire pelvis drops down that missing inch. I fully expect extreme pain.

Me: “AAAGH— Oh, hang on.”

I sit up without difficulty.

Me: “Holy crap. It’s a little sore, but holy crap! You’re a miracle worker! What did you do?! I could kiss you right now!”

Doctor: *Laughing* “I put your sacroiliac joint back in alignment. It’s common for women to have problems with it, though it’s usually after childbirth or an impact accident like a car crash.”

Me: “Yeesh, no chance of that here, and I’ve never been in a wreck.”

Doctor: “Well, it’s unusual, but long periods of sitting in some positions can stress the ligaments and allow the joint to move out of alignment bit by bit. Please, if it ever starts to flare up again, don’t wait so long to come in! It should be manageable with targeted stretching exercises, and I’ll grab you our printout of the ones that should help, but don’t let it get this out of control next time!”

The next day, after a very good night’s sleep, I wrote two letters: one to the head of the clinic commending the doctor for her quick diagnosis and solution, and another to the doctor herself thanking her profusely for taking me seriously right off the bat and being so delightfully friendly during the whole appointment, despite it being a last-minute walk-in. I delivered them with snacks and chocolates for the staff and thoroughly enjoyed showing them how I could once again move without pain. I had to leave their practice once I aged out earlier this year, but I’ve never had a better experience with any other doctor.

This story is part of our Best Of May 2021 roundup!

Read the next Best Of May 2021 roundup story!

Read the Best Of May 2021 roundup!

This happened when I was in high school in the 1970s. We had just finished our production of “Harvey” and had gone to the local twenty-four-hour chain restaurant. We were all still in costume and, as I played the sanitarium assistant, I was wearing what appeared to be medical-type clothing. As I walked into the restaurant, a little behind my fellow cast members, a guy came up to me.

Guy: “Is everyone in the accident all right?”

I had no clue why he asked me that, so I just looked at him and said:

Me: “I don’t know.”

And I went to join everybody.

As I sat down, I noticed that there were cops and an ambulance a few blocks down the street. That’s when it hit me: he thought I was a real ambulance attendant! 

I can only imagine what he thought, a first responder going into a restaurant when there were injured people to deal with. My other thought was, “I’m sixteen; do I look like an adult to you?”

My fellow cast members thought it was funny.

I’m a provider phone representative for an insurance company. I take calls from providers’ offices verifying benefits and claim status for their patients. Usually, you’re talking to the people at the front desk, almost never the doctors, but today I get a call from an actual doctor. After I verify her tax ID:

Doctor: “I’d like to check benefits for a patient, [Patient].”

Me: “Sure! Could I have his member ID, please?”

Doctor: “It’s [ID].”

The patient doesn’t come up. I ask her to spell his name, and I try looking him up that way. No matter what I do, I can’t find him. This doctor is losing her mind.

Me: “Are you sure he’s with [Our Company]?”

Doctor: “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS! YES, HE IS! HOW CAN YOU NOT BE ABLE TO FIND HIM?!”

Me: “Doctor [Last Name], I’ve tried everything, and he’s just not found. I don’t know what else to tell you other than speak to him.”

The doctor rants and raves for another minute, and then, abruptly:

Doctor: “Wait, is this [Other Health Insurance Company]?”

Me: “No, this is [Our Company].”

Doctor: “Oh. I called the wrong insurance.” *Click*

No apology for her mistake or her behavior. Bearing her tantrum and wonderful listening skills in mind — I had TOLD her what insurance company she had called — it was more than a little ironic that she was a psychologist. Doctor, heal thyself.

Despite the fact that I’m at very high risk of death from a certain health-crisis-related illness, I’m unable to get a vaccine since my state has not prioritized people like me. I complain about this to anyone who brings it up.

Upon the third day of waking up with a migraine, I go to urgent care where there is also a vaccine site. For their records, they ask if I’ve gotten the vaccine yet. I proceed with my usual rant about it even though I feel terrible. After two different injections for the migraine, I finally feel better and go home. 

That afternoon the physician’s assistant I saw earlier calls me. The vaccine clinic has extra doses and she offers to hold one for me if I can be there in half an hour. Of course, I say yes and race back there. 

And that’s the story of my two visits to urgent care in one day, three shots, a very nice and caring PA, and the only time I’ve ever been happy to have a three-day migraine.

I am the author of this story. I have another story that involves my sweet-tempered and loving son. We are at the doctor’s office. My son has a condition where the usual treatment is penicillin, which he is highly allergic to. The doctor comes in, asks some questions, and then walks out to get some medicine and a needle.

The doctor walks back in, grabs an alcohol wipe, and starts swabbing my son with it, and then she starts to edge the needle close to him. 

Son: “Um, what is that?”

Doctor: “Oh, it’s just penicillin. Nothing to worry about.”

My son pulls his arm away, and I am instantly ticked.

Me: “He can’t have penicillin! He’s allergic!”

Doctor: “Well, sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

Son: “It’s on my chart!”

Doctor: “It’s not my job to look at that!”

Me: “What the f*** is your job, then?!”

Our shouting brought another doctor into the room, and when he heard the story, he told the first doctor to wait in his office. He gave my son a different treatment option, which we took. We switched to him shortly after, and now that previous doctor glares at us every time we go there!

Related:
That Part Of The Body NEVER Made Men Wise