The Only Wrong Thing Here Is The Therapy

, , , , , , , | Friendly | December 12, 2017

(I am in bad shape after a rough breakup that involved several of my friends “choosing sides” in favor of my ex. This happens not long after my parents’ divorce, and I am also a senior in college with a thieving roommate. I am struggling daily with extreme stress and depression, and on a particularly bad day, I swallow a bunch of pills. A friend takes me to the hospital, where I am informed that my action has triggered some legal thing in which they must send me to a psychiatric unit, that I have no say in the matter, and that my friend must leave. I am horrified, ashamed, and alone. Hours later, after being locked in a dark hospital room, an “intake counselor” comes in and starts asking me questions before I’m taken to the psych unit. I answer him honestly and list all of the factors in the thunderstorm that was my life, including my parents’ divorce, a dear friend moving away, and my fiancé dumping me, and at the end of it all, I say:)

Me: “I just feel so abandoned, like people keep leaving me.”

Counselor: *puts down his pad, looks me straight in the eye* “Well, clearly, there’s something wrong with you.”

Me: “What?”

Counselor: “There’s something wrong with you, or people wouldn’t leave you. Something about you makes them leave.”

Me: *shocked and in tears* “There’s nothing wrong with me; I’m just having a hard time—”

Counselor: *cutting me off* “No. There’s something wrong with you. We’re going to take you to a place where they fix you. Then, this won’t happen anymore. We’re done. They’ll come for you soon.”

(He abruptly left, and I burst into tears, suddenly terrified by whatever this place was they were taking me to and what could be in store for me. The scary place turned out to be a rehab facility, not an electro-shock chamber with “A Clockwork Orange” eye clamps like I imagined, and I was actually able to get some help in dealing with my losses and grief. My friend who took me to the hospital continues to be amazing and helps me sort out things in my life so that I can get healthy. I have never gone back to that dark place, metaphorically or literally. Thankfully, when I told my parents about what the intake counselor said, they furiously called up the clinic. The clinic representative admitted it wasn’t the first time they had received complaints about how he talked to patients. A year later, I heard through my therapist with whom the clinic had placed me that the intake counselor had been let go. I was glad to hear, because his words haunted me, and still do to an extent.)

Nurses Are Hard-Working Before They Are Nurses

, , , | Learning | December 12, 2017

(I work at a training school for LPNs – the level of nurse below Registered Nurses. One day one of my students is feeling ill, and throws up in the bathroom. After she is finished, she goes to the secretary to explain why she is leaving school early.)

Student: “Hey, I just vomited so I’m going home for the rest of the day.”

Secretary: “I’m sorry to hear that! You go home and feel better. I’ll tell our custodian to take care of the mess.”

Student: “Oh, I already cleaned it up; just tell him he needs to sanitize the handicapped stall really well. I would have done that, too, but didn’t have the supplies for it.”

(The secretary told me later that when she told our custodian what the student had said, he replied, “This is why I love working at a nursing school – easiest job ever!”)

Death By Chocolate Is A Happy Death

, , , , , , | Working | December 11, 2017

It was my great-grandma’s 103rd birthday, and the family had gathered for a small celebration. By that point she had several health problems, including having a breast and a leg amputated because of cancer, having a foot amputated because of adult-onset diabetes, general difficulty with hearing and sight, and a tendency to have her mind wander quite badly. At one point, she seemed to notice the party happening and asked for a piece of cake, which my cousin and I cut and attempted to serve her.

One of the nurses who worked there came rushing out, smacked the plate out of my cousin’s hand, smacked the fork out of mine, and started yelling about how our great-grandma couldn’t have cake; she was diabetic, it might make her sick, etc.  

After a bit of a fight, which left my great-grandma crying, the nurse wheeled her away to her room, told us she could only have one visitor at time in there, and we would have to pack up to start leaving. As everyone was packing up, my cousin and I snuck a piece of cake to our great-grandma’s room and helped her eat it, which made her stop crying and start to smile. As we were leaving, the same nurse caught us and gave us a big ticking off, with the final shot, “You could have killed her.”

She’s 103 already; if she wants cake, she can have cake. If she wants a lap dance and some heroin, she can have that, too. It’s better to die of cake at 103 than to sit in your room by yourself crying on your birthday!

Allergic To Dairy And Dip-S***s

, , , , , , , | Romantic | December 11, 2017

(I am allergic to dairy; I will go into shock if I have even a small amount. A surprisingly large amount of stuff has dairy in it and I hate making people wait while I check whether something will kill me, so I often go for the easiest thing on the menu. I meet this guy online and we go to a coffee shop to meet, safely, in person. I ask for soy in my drink and he asks if it is for flavour reason; I state it being a dietary requirement, but we don’t talk much about it further than that. We decide to continue with the relationship, and a week or so later we go on our first date. He chooses an Italian place for dinner, which is a very risky place for me go to. I find it a little odd, considering the coffee shop, but I just go for a vegan dish to be safe. A few weeks later, he invites me out to a steak place. I have never been to this place and I can’t find a website to check their menu prior to going. It’s a little bit worrying, but I know most dairy in a steakhouse is in the optional sauces. When I arrive, my date keeps glancing at me, which I don’t really understand. We are seated and given menus, and he is now staring at me intently.)

Me: “What?”

Him: *somewhat smugly* “You won’t find anything vegan on the menu”

Me: “What’s your point?”

Him: *smug looks falters* “Huh?”

Me: “I said, ‘What’s your point?’ I’m not vegan.”

Him: “But… The soy? And at the Italian place?”

Me: “I’m allergic to dairy. Severely allergic, actually, so vegan is a safe choice for me. You took me to a steakhouse thinking I was a vegan?” *pause* “And you thought I would accept it if I was a vegan?”

Him: “W-Well, I thought it would be funny to watch you struggle.”

Me: “You wanted to watch the little vegan get upset over not being able to eat off the menu. Wow.”

Him: “But this is great that you’re just allergic! That means you’re fine to be with!”

Me: “What?”

Him: “Yeah, cause vegans are crazy! You don’t f*** crazy!”

(I stare at him.)

Me: “You’re totally right; you don’t f*** crazy. I don’t f*** crazy, or stupid, or a**holes. See ya.”

(I get that some vegans are in your face about it, but that guy was just a jerk.)

Not So Highly Recommended

, , , , , , , | Related | December 9, 2017

(My husband and I are visiting his family for Thanksgiving, including his mother, aunt, and grandparents. His mother in particular is a very impatient and self-centered person. We’re in the open living room and kitchen area while his grandparents are working in the kitchen. They refuse to let us help out at all, as we are “guests,” so we are chatting with his aunt and mother when she interrupts my husband’s story:)

Husband: “So, we were trying to–“

Mother: “You know what?! I woke up this morning with a really bad pain in my neck!”

Husband: *caught off guard by the interruption* “Uh… Um, I’m sorry?”

Me: “Well, I’ve got some acetaminophen in my purse if you want some?”

Mother: *with a dramatic sigh* “No, no, no! Those just don’t work on me! They never make the over-the-counter stuff strong enough for me! I have to have a prescription for any kind of pain, but I left my pills at the hotel!”

Aunt: “Well, all I have is some muscle relaxant for my shoulder, but that won’t help much with the pain.”

Mother: *shouting across room at grandparents who are busy in the kitchen* “[Grandmother]! Do you have anything that might actually work for me?! It has to be something strong!”

Grandmother: “Well, I’ve got some leftover oxycodone from when they fixed my knee. Would that work?”

Mother:Yes! That will work! Where is it?”

Grandmother: “It’s just in our bathroom, on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet.”

Mother: *exaggeratedly rubs side of neck* “Oh! Can you go get it for me? My neck hurts too much to look up!”

Me: *starts to get out of chair* “I can go grab it.”

Mother: *waves her hand at me to sit back down* “Oh no, dear! Don’t you fuss over little ol’ me! [Grandmother] can get it just fine!”

(My husband and I just sit awkwardly while [Grandmother] has to stop working on a side-dish and wash her hands to go to the bathroom and retrieve the pills. She hands one to [Mother] who immediately swallows the pill without water.)

Mother: “Oh! I hope that helps! My neck is just so sore!”

(But, not even five minutes later, she’s still complaining about the “horrible pain” in her neck:)

Mother: *turning to aunt and interrupting my husband again* “You know that pill just is not working! Can I have one of your muscle-relaxers?”

Me: “It probably just hasn’t kicked in yet. You could try to give it a few more minutes?”

Mother: *in a snotty tone* “No! It’s definitely not working! I knew this would happen; I always have to take more than other people! [Aunt] please? My neck hurts!”

([Aunt] turns and pulls a pill out of her purse, while rolling her eyes so I can see, and hands it to [Mother] who, once again, swallows it without a drink. She finally stops complaining and we go back to chatting. About ten minutes later she is telling a story about her work when this happens:)

Mother: “—and they said I did such a good job with the display that they want me to…” *voice trails off and she just sits quietly for a moment*

Husband: “Uh… Mom?”

Mother: *softly* “It’s really pretty in here with all these lights!”

([Aunt] turns to hide her face as she quietly shakes with laughter.)

Husband: “Um, okay. You were saying? About the display?”

Me: *looking at [Mother]’s eyes, which have dilated considerably* “Uh, honey, I don’t think she’s going to finish that story.”

Husband: *whispering to [Aunt]* “Did she just get high off those pills?!”

([Aunt] just lost it and started laughing so hard she almost fell out of her chair, which just made the rest of us laugh! [Mother] was so out of it that we couldn’t get her to stand up, so we just let her sit at the table. She was so high she just stared at the lights and occasionally giggled to herself for the next few hours while we continued to hang out. She did mostly come-to once dinner was served. I don’t know if she realized what happened, or refuses to admit it as she has never mentioned it, but the rest of the family likes to joke about it every year!)

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