I fall down at work and badly injure my foot and ankle. I limp to the bathrooms and feel it; it’s puffing up quick. My supervisor comes over and asks what happened. I tell him; he facepalms and tells me to drive myself to the hospital and not to worry because I have worker’s compensation.

I do, but the adrenaline wears off. I can’t use my right foot because it’s too painful, so I have to use my left. Luckily, there’s no traffic because it’s very awkward and painful to drive. I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. Once I get there, I park and hop to the lobby. My supporting leg buckles and I can’t go further.

I yell for help and the receptionist gives me a wheelchair. I check in and tell her it’s worker’s compensation and she says okay. I’m feeling quite sorry for myself, and then I hear sobbing. There’s an older woman whose foot looks black and rotted. I stop feeling so sorry for myself. 

After a long wait, I’m taken to get x-rays, and after a longer wait after that, the doctor comes in.

Doctor: *Very cheerily* “Well! I looked over your x-rays and you have sprained your ankle and broken your foot!”

Me: “Oh, no! I’ve never broken anything. Will I need surgery?”

Doctor: *Big grin* “No, it’s just a foot! Ha! You can just use a boot!”

Me: “Oh, but I need it.”

Doctor: “Now, let me just wrap your foot!”

She grabs my poor, already black and blue foot, roughly.

Me: “Owwwwww!”

Doctor: “Oh, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

Yeah, it’s broken, duh.

She wrapped it up while humming and gave me a boot and crutches. Then, I was thrown out, and later, the hospital said I needed to pay. I told them again that it was worker’s compensation and they said okay. But they kept calling and sending letters every day, saying the worker’s compensation company wouldn’t answer their calls! They kept harassing me until I finally gave in. Yes, I know I shouldn’t have, but anyone who’s been harassed every day for years would go nuts. I still have pain in my foot.

When my brother is about five or so, he is at a grocery store with my mom. They happen to see our pediatrician there shopping for groceries, too. He and my mom greet each other, but my brother is confused.

Brother: “What are you doing here?”

Doctor: “I’m getting some things for dinner.”

Brother: “Don’t they give you food at the office?”

Doctor: “Sometimes people bring in food, but I’m having dinner at home with my family.”

Brother: “You have a home?”

Doctor: “[Brother], I don’t live at my office.”

For bonus points, our grandfather and two uncles are doctors, and Mom’s a nurse — and my brother was well aware that none of them lived at their offices or hospitals!

Related:
Sequel To The Children’s Classic, “My Teacher Sleeps In School”

I develop a hernia on vacation so I go to my urologist for help.

Me: “Is this a hernia?”

He has done other surgeries for me before.

He pokes it a few times — ouch! — and agrees.

Doctor: ”Yup, that’s a hernia. Good.”

Me: ”Why is this good?”

Doctor: ”Because I get paid more to fix this.”

He retired a few years ago. I miss that guy.

I’ve had severe pain in both of my feet on and off for two years. I’ve been diagnosed with tendonitis, mild tendon tears, plantar fasciitis, Morton’s neuroma, and arthritis. I’ve tried everything that two doctors have suggested, plus a few things I learned about doing my own research. I’ve also had an MRI.

I’m getting pretty desperate for relief. This means that I’m willing to see a doctor despite the rapidly spreading illness going around, even though I’m at extremely high risk for it.

At my most recent appointment, the doctor proudly announced that I had metatarsalgia. This was a fancy way of saying that the bones in my feet hurt. No kidding, doc! He recommended highly cushioned shoes — which is all I’d been able to wear for two years — and that’s it.

I’ll be seeking out yet another doctor for this.

I’m a nurse on a busy med surge floor. Shift change has just occurred. My CNA calls me to let me know one of my patients’ blood pressure readings is high. I pull up the chart, check the newest results, and realize their drug test is positive for absolutely everything drug we test for and they also have a very high alcohol score. I go into the room to access my patient and as soon as I get in, I know they are starting to go through withdrawals.

I call the doctor immediately to get a drug and alcohol withdrawal medication bundle on. I end up getting a brand-new resident. I introduce myself and explain the issue.

Me: “…and I need a stat order on the drug and alcohol withdrawal med bundle. Thanks!”

Resident: “I’m new; I don’t know what that is.”

Me: “No problem.”

I list the meds I need, the dosages, frequency, etc.

Resident: “I can’t write those orders; those are controlled medications.”

Some of them are, but most are anti-nausea and anti-diarrhea meds.

Me: “You’re a doctor; you can write controlled meds. This is a standard medication bundle for this issue.”

Resident: “I don’t think I can write those.”

Me: “Is [Doctor] there? Can you put him on speaker, please?”

He does and I repeat the request.

Doctor: *To the resident* “Start typing what the nurse tells you.”

Resident: “But I can’t write those orders; they are controlled.”

Doctor: “I’m only going to tell you this once more. Put in all the orders the nice nurse tells you right now. We have a patient who is about to go into severe drug withdrawals. She is trying to avoid the massive projectile vomiting, diarrhea, and seizures that are about to happen. Nurse [My Name], how long do you think we have?”

Me: “Thirty minutes, maybe less. They are already starting to sweat and look a bit green around the gills.”

The new resident was still arguing with the doctor that he couldn’t write those orders. The doc got fed up with him and told him that from then on he was to write every effing order I told him. I got my orders.

A few days later, the new resident was on the floor. I went up to get a med order and he started again with the “I don’t think I’m allowed to write that.” I smiled and let him know that I was nurse [My Name], and that he might remember that the doctor in charge of him told him not to argue with me about med orders. I did have to show him how to put them on, but it got done.

The other nurses asked how I managed to get orders out of him because he’d been pulling the same garbage with all of them. The doctor ended up giving him blanket orders that he was to listen to the nurses, and if he really wasn’t sure to call him or the pharmacist, but he was not allowed to utter “I don’t think I can write that” ever again.

We are wondering if he’ll last through the end of the month.