(During my third trimester, I am being seen one visit by a doctor who is not my usual ob/gyn. My usual doctor is about five feet tall — 5’2” in heels. I’m 5’3” if I don’t slouch, and my baby is about six pounds. As the doctor in this visit is going over my information, verifying who my doctor is, and checking the size of my baby, he finally exclaims loudly:)

Doctor: “Jeez, there are a lot of short people involved in this pregnancy.”

(My husband and I kept it together but had a really good laugh later on.)

(I have appendicitis and have presented at the hospital late at night. These conversations take place over the time between then and finally having surgery the following afternoon. My cis female partner is with me throughout.)

Doctor: “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

Me: “No, this is my only sexual partner and she can’t get me pregnant accidentally.”

Partner: “Well, we aren’t using contraception.”

Me: “True. We’d make a fortune if you did get me pregnant, though.”

Doctor: “We have to do a pregnancy test, anyway.”

(Forty minutes later, in the surgical assessment unit…)

Junior Doctor: “And any chance you are pregnant?”

Me: “The GP did a pregnancy test and it was negative and no, no sperm has been anywhere near me.”

Junior Doctor: “Well, we will do another test.”

(Two hours after that, when I am finally seen by the on-call registrar…)

Registrar: “You must be in agony. Any chance you might be pregnant?”

Me: “You’ve done two pregnancy tests tonight, both negative. This is my only sexual partner. Please, can you just give me some pain relief?”

Registrar: “Yes, we will get antibiotics and saline set up via a cannula and get you some pain relief and then admit you. We need to do swabs for MRSA and a pregnancy test.”

Me: “I have not been able to keep anything down, including more than a sip of water, for over twelve hours now. I am quite dehydrated. The chances of me being able to pee into a cup are very slim.”

Registrar: “Well, just do what you can.”

(A few hours later, I am admitted in the middle of the night and finally given pain relief, and I wake up on the ward.)

Nurse: “Now, we have an order for a pregnancy test; apparently, you couldn’t produce a sample last night, but now that we have fluids in you, you should be able to.”

Me: “I have had two pregnancy tests already since I got here, but sure, let’s do a third.”

(Later, during surgical rounds…)

Surgeon: “Right, well, you’re on the list for urgent surgery. We will need to do a pregnancy test before we can operate, though.”

Me: “You have done three already. All negative. My only sexual partner doesn’t produce sperm and we are not trying for a baby.”

Surgeon: “Three? Maybe I can check those results.”

Me: “Thanks.”

(Nope, the nurse appeared with another cup for me to pee into. I had my appendix out and I was very definitely not pregnant.)

I grew up in a small country town that was mostly made up of farms. As a result, I learned to drive as soon as I could see over the steering wheel — sitting on my grandfather’s lap — but didn’t actually get my license until I was 21. My home town is separated by a river and, until about ten years ago, there was only one bridge. Quite often there would be an accident on the bridge, blocking the whole bridge, effectively cutting off one side of the town to the other.

Before I got my license, my best friend had her first baby. Three weeks before her due date, she and her fiance had a BBQ as a last hurrah before the baby came. As I was working late, by the time I got there, everyone but the mum-to-be was well over the legal driving limit. About 20 minutes after I arrived, my friend’s water broke and the contractions were coming hard and fast — she’d been suffering Braxton Hicks Contractions for about a month so when labour actually started she didn’t realise.

We called an ambulance, only to find that an accident had shut the bridge down and all three of the ambulances in town were stuck over on the other side. As we were on the same side of town as the hospital, I decided to drive her the kilometre and a half to it. I managed to get her, the father, and my boyfriend into her car and race to the hospital. With about one kilometre to go a police car pulled up behind me and put its lights and sirens on. I ignored the cops and kept going.

I pulled up in front of the emergency department and got out, only to face two pissed-off officers. I ignored them as I send the father in to get help and, without looking at the officers, opened the back door to get my friend.

As I did this, I said to the cops, “Look. No, I don’t have a license. Yes, I was speeding, but the bridge is closed, there are no ambulances on this side, and she’s having a baby. Everyone else is drunk; I’m sober. You can arrest me once she’s taken care of.”

Another contraction hit my friend and both the male officers went pale. Doctors and nurses came rushing out and managed to get her inside.

One cop said to me, “We’ll give you a warning due to the circumstances, but you need to get your license. We hope everything’s okay with the baby.”

My friend didn’t even make it to the maternity ward, and not even ten minutes later, she delivered a happy, healthy baby boy. I got my license the next week.

(I’ve been referred to a gynaecologist. After taking my history he shows me behind a curtain, where there is a bed with stirrups, and asks me to get ready for an examination. After a minute or two, I am ready.)

Doctor: *from the other side of the curtain* “Are you decent?”

(My legs are in stirrups, and my genitals are completely exposed.)

Me: *jokingly* “Well, I definitely wouldn’t say I’m decent…”

(I am in the ER due to a high fever and an inability to breathe without wheezing for a week, having been urged by the nurse advice line to go in. Previously, my GP, who works at the hospital, said that my inability to breathe was due to allergies. I am annoyed at this because she did not even listen to my lungs, even when I told her it felt like I had something in my left lung. After a surprisingly short wait for this emergency room, I get my vitals taken, and then I’m sent back to a room to wait for the doctor to see me. When she finally comes, the doctor barely looks up from her clipboard.)

Doctor: “Miss [My Name], it looks like to me that you have allergies.”

Me: “No, I–“

Doctor: *looks up, clearly annoyed* “Your previous doctor said it was allergies. Coming to my emergency room will not make it not allergies. I’ll even give you an x-ray to show it.” *looks back down at her clipboard* “So, I need you to take a pregnancy test.”

Me: “Don’t need it.”

Doctor: “Yes, you do.”

Me: “I am asexual and my girlfriend lives in another state. No, I do not!”

(I start a wheezing, coughing fit; I try to talk when I can get a breath.)

Me: “Allergies in me makes me lose hearing in my right ear. It makes me look like I’ve been bawling. This. Is. Not. Allergies!”

(The doctor is stunned at my outburst, and because she accidentally left the sliding door open, there are a few other attendings who are staring. The doctor runs off, slamming the door shut behind her. It is over a half hour before a nurse comes to wheel me to the x-ray.)

Nurse: “By the way, good job at getting her to look up and shut up. We said it didn’t look like allergies when [Other Nurse] took your vitals.” *under her breath* “I bet she wasn’t even reading your chart.”

(After the x-ray and breathing treatments, the doctor came back and sheepishly admitted that I had pneumonia in both lungs, my left lung being the worst she’d ever seen. I was also pleasantly surprised to learn that whenever I returned to the hospital for a followup, I didn’t have to deal with the pregnancy question again.)