(I’ve had problems sleeping most of my life. I’ve mentioned this to doctors before, but I have always been told it is stress and/or that I’ll grow out of it by the time I am 20. I finally go to a new doctor at age 23 to try to get a sleep study to find out if there’s an underlying issue, and I decide before going in that I am not taking no for an answer, collecting everything I can to back my case up. This is my exchange with the doctor.)

Me: “I’ve hardly had what constitutes a ‘good night’s sleep’ in ten years. It takes me two hours to fall asleep at night, regardless of what time I go to sleep, but during the daytime, I can fall asleep within minutes.”

Doctor: “Well, maybe if you didn’t take naps, you wouldn’t have a problem. Why don’t you try that?”

Me: “I have, actually. I’ve done tests on myself using a sleep tracking app and trying two-month test periods of going all day every day without a nap, and then again taking a thirty-minute nap each day. There’s next to no change in the nighttime data, and my self-rating of how I feel after I wake up is the same, too. I’ve repeated this for the past year with variables like listening to music and using a weighted blanket with the same results.”

(I show him the graphs I’ve made from my data.)

Me: “Not to mention, I hardly spend any time in deep sleep. It’s all light.”

Doctor: “Well, sleep tracking apps can be very unreliable. You shouldn’t trust it just because it’s on your phone. Even though it says you’re in light sleep, you might be getting deep sleep.”

Me: “I know it’s not 100% accurate, but it still shows approximately when I fall asleep, and it’s never less an hour and a half, and that’s on my best nights.”

Doctor: “That’s normal! You’ll grow out of it!”

Me: “But when? I can’t wait until my 30s to ‘grow out of it.’ It’s affecting both my work and home lives. I can barely get any housework done on the weekends or after work because I’m too tired, I sleep through holidays with my family, and I have to call into work at least once a month due to exhaustion. Just last week, I was pulled over because a cop saw me nodding off at a red light.”

Doctor: “Just get some melatonin and you’ll fall asleep in no time. And if that doesn’t work, try valerian!”

Me: “I have. Both of them. There’s no effect on how long it takes me to get to sleep or how I feel when I wake up. If anything, I feel worse in the mornings after I take them. I really think I need a sleep study to figure out if there’s something wrong with me. I’ve literally broken down crying because I was so tired before.”

Doctor: “Are you sure it isn’t just PMS?”

(We go back and forth like this for almost fifteen minutes, him suggesting ideas and me telling him I’ve already done it and recorded my data — all of which I’ve already mentioned to the nurse and on my new patient forms. I’m growing frustrated and, thanks in part to the continuing exhaustion, nearly start crying again under his line of questioning. Finally, I’ve had enough.)

Me: “I am not leaving this office until you set me up with a neurologist for a sleep study. I have a family history of sleep apnea, and I need answers.”

Doctor: “So, you want drugs, that’s it. You’re too young and skinny to have sleep apnea.”

Me: “What? Sleep studies don’t even involve drugs! I am literally getting less than five hours of sleep a night; that should be reason enough for me to get a sleep study right there!”

Doctor: “I don’t work with people hunting for drugs.”

Me: “And I don’t work with f****** crackpots who don’t listen to their patients!”

(I stormed out without paying and reported him to my insurance, and I have an appointment with a new doctor this Friday. Hopefully, this one will actually listen to me.)

(I just found out that my fiancé of five years has been cheating on me for three of those years. To be safe, I make an appointment to have a full STI panel done. The only appointment I can get is with the physician’s assistant and not my usual doctor.)

PA: “Okay, dear, I’m just going to give you the swab and let you take the sample.” 

Me: “You aren’t going to do it? I don’t know what to do.”

(She explains how to take a culture and leaves the room to give me privacy. When I finish, she collects the swab and begins to leave again.)

PA: “Okay, we should get results in about a week and we’ll call you.”

Me: “Aren’t you going to take my blood, as well, for HIV and syphilis testing?”

PA: *laughs* “Oh, you only have to worry about that if you’re gay.”

Me: “You know what, I’ll just go and make an appointment with the actual doctor.” 

(That was the second issue I had with her, and the last time I ever saw her working there.)

I have bone conduction hearing issues that I’ve suffered my whole life. It’s hard to explain, but I hear with my bones, which, coupled with my regular ear-hole hearing, means that I am off the charts of any traditional loudness hearing tests. This means that I have a hearing specialist and I have to go every year or so to keep my earplugs current. Inner-ear shape changes with even the slightest weight change. Every time I visit her I’m seen by one of her assistants for the initial consultation and every time she — usually a woman — yells through her questions.

My chart says what I have, but they are so used to yelling to their patients as most of the people they see have the opposite problem to me.

I ask them politely to speak more quietly many, many times each visit, but the volume increases every question they ask.

A few times I try and surreptitiously slip my ever-present earplugs out of my pocket to put them in, but my specialist has asked me not wear them before the physical tests — my hearing is extremely extreme for about 15 minutes after taking them out — but I just can’t be in the room with yellers without them.

To this day, I’ve been searching for a polite way to ask people to talk quieter, but I haven’t found it yet.

Related:
If Only They Could Hear Themselves

(I gave birth to twins several months ago and have since gone back to work. I am struggling a lot with anxiety, inability to focus, and lack of sleep, just having a really hard time in general. I’m not sure who to go to for help as I don’t seem to quite meet the criteria for postpartum depression or anxiety, so I make an appointment with my primary care doctor to see if she can help me figure out who to talk to.)

Me: “I’m just having a really hard time at work and at home, feeling like I’m falling behind at everything. I can’t focus on what I’m doing, and I’m anxious all the time. I just didn’t know who to talk to so I thought I might start with you. I’m really struggling right now.”

Doctor: “I’ll run some blood tests but… I mean, you did just have two babies.” *laughs* “So, I’m not really sure what you expected life to be like right now… Maybe consider finding a new job?”

(I never did get any help from her whatsoever. I am happy to say that my twins are a year old now and that difficult period has since passed.)

(My seven-year-old son broke his arm. The anesthetist is explaining to us what to expect with the sedative they are going to use before setting the bone.)

Doctor: “Ketamine is a dissociative safe for kids. It puts them in a trance-like state where they can’t feel anything. The pain signals don’t reach the brain. It kind of cuts the head off from the rest of the body.”

My Already Distressed Son: “YOU’RE GOING TO WHAAAAT?!”

Doctor: “Oops.”

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