(I have a bad flu that doesn’t get better for two weeks, resulting in me coughing out bloody phlegm. I go to the hospital to get a checkup to see if anything is really wrong. When I get called into the clinic, the doctor, probably in his 50s or so, asks me about my sickness. He has this really smug look on his face, and I don’t think much about it until I start telling him about my symptoms. When I tell him that my illness began two weeks ago, he gets pissed off. He throws a calendar at me:)

Doctor: “Don’t tell me when; tell me the exact date. Point it out on the calendar.”

(I am dazed and try to recall the exact date I got sick. Meanwhile, he is mumbling about how youngsters have a worse memory than he does. I get pissed off, as well, from his attitude. I slam the calendar onto the table and point at the date. It isn’t the exact date but somewhere there. I take a wild guess.)

Doctor: “I suspect that you may have tuberculosis, but it’s still too early to get an x-ray because it wouldn’t show up. So, you may or may not have it. I don’t know.”

(After that, he had the d*** nerve to say I didn’t respect him, for slamming the calendar on the table. He prescribed antibiotics and I got better. Thank heavens I didn’t have to go back and see him.)

(I haven’t been to the dentist for several years, but an old family friend — who cleaned my teeth when I was a child — has recently moved to the area, so I go to her for a cleaning. The following takes place with her hands and tools inside my mouth, so I can’t spit.)

Hygienist: “You really need to brush your rear teeth better. I know you can, because they’re clean right now. But your lazy brushing has caused all sorts of problems back here. And you really need to lay off the soda. Really, sugar in general. And high-acid foods and drinks. Soda is pretty much the worst, though. And greasy food isn’t much better! You clearly eat too much fast food, and it’s not good for you. Your back teeth are just falling apart because of all that junk food!”

(Her tirade continues for more than ten minutes. She lectures me like I’m still a child despite that I’m in my mid-20s, before she finally removes her hands so I can pause to rinse and spit. She immediately reaches to start again, but I hold up a hand.)

Me: “We need to get something straight. I don’t eat high-acid foods, or greasy foods. I can’t afford to eat out, even cheap fast food. And I have soda maybe once a month. And while I don’t claim to be perfect, and do occasionally forget to brush before bed when I’m exhausted, I am meticulous about cleaning all my teeth, especially the molars. The reason why they’re so bad off is that I have severe acid reflux. I have had it my whole life. I even had an ulcer a few years back. That’s why I can’t eat any of that crap, and why I can’t help my teeth being somewhat decalcified. Until my doctor and I get the reflux under control, there’s nothing I can do to improve my teeth.”

(I sat back, opened wide, and let her resume cleaning. She was silent for a few minutes, before softly starting to catch me up on the doings of her own kids, who I hadn’t seen in years and was glad to hear about. The rest of the appointment went smoothly after that, and the dentist was informed of my reflux before walking into the room, so he didn’t repeat her mistake. I ended up needing all five of my wisdom teeth removed — apparently I had an extra one — due to extreme decalcification. They were honestly getting spongy by that point. But the visit ended well, and I still go back to the same folks, sans lectures now.)

(I’m rather clumsy, and this time it lands me in the ER. The doctor that’s checking me out is actually my neighbor.)

Doctor: “All right, what did you do this time?”

Me: “Well, I woke up and wanted to finish reading my book from yesterday, but I wanted to make breakfast, as well, so I walked downstairs whilst reading, and I kind of fell…”

Doctor: *long pause* “At least you read, right?”

(I managed to break a bone in my arm, and needed a cast.)

(My father was recently diagnosed with a genetic heart condition, and his doctors want all of his children to be checked for the condition. I make an appointment with my doctor so I can get a referral to a cardiologist.)

Doctor: “What are you here for today?”

Me: “My father was just diagnosed with [heart condition], and his doctors have ordered all of his kids to be tested for it. I just need a referral to a cardiologist.”

Doctor: “You’re way too young to be worrying about that. A heart condition wouldn’t affect you right now.”

Me: *initially speechless* “Well, I’d rather get the tests done so it isn’t a problem later.”

Doctor: “As I said, you’re too young. I’ll see you back in a few months for your annual.”

(The doctor left. Needless to say, that doctor did not see me back again. When the practice asked why I was attempting to switch doctors — something they usually don’t allow — I happily told them the whole story and requested that it be put on the doctor’s file as an official complaint. I eventually got the referral and did not have the genetic condition, but they did find a minor issue that just needed to be noted and checked every few years.)

I grew up in a single-parent household without a lot of money. My mom couldn’t afford health insurance and ended up developing severe pneumonia from a neglected cold. She was in ICU for two weeks just before Christmas, and we were flat broke. She was stressed because she couldn’t afford food or presents for my siblings and me.

Some of the nurses, doctors, and staff at the hospital pooled together to get food, and someone told a local radio station about us. Perfect strangers gave us money, presents, food, coats, and decorations, so that instead of my mom having to rush straight back to work as a waitress, she was able to recover, and we actually had a good Christmas.