I’m getting a vasectomy, and my doctor asks if I want a local or general anesthetic. Since I have problems with general anesthetics, I opt for the local.

After supposedly numbing the target area, he begins the procedure.

Doctor: “Let me know if you feel anything.”

Me: “I can feel that!”

Doctor: “You were the one that opted for a local anesthetic!”

Me: “You were the one that said to tell you if I felt anything!!”

The next day, a stitch popped and I had some very minor bleeding. I gave his office a call because, you know, that doesn’t seem like something that’s supposed to happen. The nurse said, “Well, that’s what they do!”

This doctor had a history of being jerky, but my philosophy at the time was “better the devil you know…”

I work for a doctor’s emergency answering service. A frantic woman calls in at three am.

Me: “Hello, [Service].”

Woman: “I need [Doctor] to call me ASAP! My son has swallowed a nickel!”

Me: “Certainly. Just let me get some information and I’ll have [Doctor] call you right back.”

The woman gives me all the pertinent info. I call [Doctor]  and wake him up from a very obvious sound sleep.

Me: “Sorry to wake you, [Doctor]. I’ve got a call from [Woman]; she says her son has swallowed a nickel.”

There’s a five-second pause.

Doctor: “So, is he choking or does she want me to make change?”

I have a job that requires frequent handwashing, even prior to a certain global health crisis. A combination of the handwashing, stress, and weather results in what I suspect is eczema on my hands. I’ve never dealt with it before, and regular moisturizer isn’t cutting it, so eventually I go to see a dermatologist.

The doctor does a quick exam and determines that it is, in fact, eczema.

Dermatologist: “I’d recommend [Hand Cream] and I’ll prescribe you [Steroid Cream]. What did you say you did for a living? Is it possible you could wash your hands less often?”

Me: “I’m… not sure that’s really possible. I work in a lab, studying [bacteria known to cause flesh-eating disease].”

The doctor was speechless for a second and then laughed. I doubt she’d gotten that answer before.

Thanks to the prescription cream and a better moisturizing regimen, my hands are much improved, though I still need to wash them frequently!

Like a lot of people, I hate going to the dentist. My first memory of going to the dentist was traumatic and growing up I inherited my parent’s bad teeth, which made dental visits painful and embarrassing. Unfortunately, my attempts at better dental hygiene ended up ruining my teeth; it got to the point where every single tooth was rotting and needed to be pulled.

The first dentist I went to for a checkup and to discuss my options insisted on pulling my teeth that day. He went on and on about how the infection was going to spread to my brain and kill me. The staff insisted my insurance would cover it, but only the novocaine. He didn’t pull all my teeth — ten or less — and it lasted two hours. Later, I received a bill for all the little fees that the staff conveniently didn’t go over. I decided infection and potential death wasn’t too bad if it meant avoiding bills.

A couple of years later, after I had to switch insurance, and at the insistence of my therapists and case manager, I went to the dentist again — a different place this time.

The first visit was a check-up and only that. We talked about my options, and there was no pressure on what I should do or that I needed to get it done right then and there. The assistant even expressed sympathy when she saw how bad my teeth were instead of being judgmental. I set up several appointments to get my teeth pulled and get dentures.

Despite having to do everything in stages, the process was quick. My insurance would cover the surgery, but only the basics. The dentist, who had a heart of gold, gave me laughing gas anyway, no charge.

They made dentures on-site, so I was able to get dentures fitted as soon as I was healed. For the first time since I was a child, I smiled without covering my face and the staff was thrilled. I can’t thank them enough for all the kindness they showed me.

This story was included in our May 2020 Inspirational Roundup.

Click here to read the next story!

Click here to go to the roundup!

Unfortunately, I have notoriously difficult veins to hit when I need blood drawn. Many, many seasoned medical professionals have tried and failed to hit the veins in my arm. Usually after poking me up to six times — ouch! — they find a vein in my hand they can use that I have started calling Old Faithful.

Doctor: “We’re going to draw some blood for labs.”

Me: “Okay, but I have really, really bad veins despite all the water I drink. Send in your best vein finder — it’ll save everyone a lot of time — and tell them to go for this vein in my hand.”

Doctor: *Chuckles* “Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad. People always say they have bad veins but usually it’s because they had a bad experience. You’ll be fine.”

Me: “I had cancer two years ago. My blood is drawn all the time at every doctor I visit. My veins are so bad people have had to use ultrasound machines to find them. Whoever is drawing my blood needs to go through my hand after using a warming pack. I cannot stress enough just how hard my veins are to hit.”

Doctor: “It’s more painful when we stick your hand instead of your arm.”

Me: “Usually, it’s more painful, yes, but I have Old Faithful here, and someone hitting her on the first or second try is much better than them trying four or five times on each arm before going through my hand anyway.”

The doctor leaves, shaking his head, and sure enough, the nurse who comes in ten minutes later tries my arm first despite my pleading. She tries twice before I say anything more.

Me: *Pained* “Please just use my hand.”

Nurse #1: “Oh, but it’s so painful through the hand! I’ll go get [Nurse #2]; she’s very good at hitting veins!”

[Nurse #2] enters and sticks my arm three more times before switching to my other arm, despite my protests. My entire forearm hurts at this point, and I’m annoyed that three different people have ignored me. [Nurse #2] misses yet again.

Me: “Go through my hand, please; you’ll hit Old Faithful so much faster.”

Nurse #2: *Trying my arm yet again* “The hand is more—”

Me: *Snappy* “More painful! Yes, I know! Everyone keeps saying that, but you know what really hurts? Being jabbed seven times in the wrong place because no one will listen when I tell them I have bad veins! Just go through my hand, please!”

Nurse #2: “Fine, fine, I’ll give it a try. It’s gonna hurt.”

She hit Old Faithful easily and immediately and got the blood needed in less than two minutes. The arm that was jabbed five times predictably had four large bruises — two had merged into one huge super-bruise — where the vein finding attempts were made, and now I refuse to let anyone touch me until they confirm they’ll try my hand first. Old Faithful hasn’t let me down yet.