(For whatever reason, several of my friends have been taking turns in the hospital recently. My husband and I are bringing food to the third one in the past month, at a different hospital than the others, who is admitted with an extremely damaged hand after an accident. His wife meets us at the door and walks back with us to the room, but becomes lost in the process. The hallways have letter flags on them, but she is unable to locate the one we need. Fortunately, nearby staff take turns stepping in to help.)

Friend’s Wife: “Oh, no. I don’t know where ‘J’ hall is…”

Nurse #1: *on another hall and out of view* “Take a right at ‘H’!”

Friend’s Wife: “Thanks!”

(We get to the end of ‘H’ and become lost again.)

Friend’s Wife: “I don’t see ‘J’ hall. Did we go the right way?”

Nurse #2: *passing behind us* “Through the double doors.”

Husband: “They’re good.”

(We walk through the doors and pass a few doctors.)

Friend’s Wife: “Now we just need room J123.”

Doctor: “Just there on your left.”

Me: “Why can’t every hospital be this easy to navigate? It’s like we have a GPS with us.”

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(I’m in the hospital for debilitating migraines. The pain is vomit-inducing and has no discernible cause. After a slight abnormality shows on the CAT, they send me for an MRI.)

Doctor: “So, we didn’t find the cause of the headaches, but we did find a blood clot, so we’ll be giving you some new medications.”

(My mom and I are horrified at the idea of a blood clot in my brain, of course, and before we can come to terms with what that means the doctor is gone.)

Mom: “Okay, you are NOT moving from this bed! One bad move and the clot could shift, so you have to be INCREDIBLY careful!”

(For two days I barely leave my bed, even to go to the bathroom. They book more tests, but none to do with blood clots. Finally, two days later…)

Mom: *interrupting Doctor* “Okay, a lumbar punctures will help the blood clot how exactly?!”

Doctor: *surprised* “Oh, the clot is old and in a drainage artery. There’s no danger of that hurting the brain!”

(If we hadn’t been so relieved I think my mom would have throttled that doctor for making her think her daughter was on death’s door for two days!)

(I’m in the ER with severe stomach pain and bloating. I’ve just been put in a room, and the ER doctor is asking questions. I’m in my early 20s.)

Doctor: “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

Me: “Nope, no chance. I’m not even dating anyone right now.”

Doctor: “Are you absolutely SURE?”

(She’s pushing on my stomach, which makes the pain worse. At this point, I no longer have a filter on my mouth.)

Me: “Lady, if I’m pregnant, you’d better start looking outside for shepherds, angels, three wise men, and a star.”

Doctor: “…noted. I’ll get you into imaging.”

(I had gallstones and pancreatitis.)

My dad has always been a man of strong opinions, and this was no different back when he was in medical school. One of his professors was super passionate about a subject my dad thought was dumb and unscientific, and shouted at anyone who dared to challenge him in class, so Dad decided to take a more… creative route.

This professor always closed the glass-paned classroom door and pulled the double-sided chalkboard to a very precise angle before beginning to teach. One day, he had just finished his little ritual when his students began to point towards the door and laugh.

The professor, noticing that his students were snickering, started looking around for what had amused them. He checked the door, the back wall, even the reverse side of his chalkboard, but saw only some “gibberish stuff, must be Russian or something.” Eventually he gave up and just taught his lesson, to the accompaniment of much laughter.

My dad had sneaked into the classroom before the lesson and written on the reverse side of the chalkboard, in mirror writing so it would reflect the right way around in the door, “DOWN WITH PSEUDOSCIENCE.”

As far as I’m aware, he was never caught!

(I’ve just had major surgery on my leg and have been taken to my room. I begin to feel chilled, so I press the call button. The nurse who responds covered me with an additional blanket, but after a short time I am so cold I was shivering, so another blanket is added. Within about an hour two more blankets are added but I am colder than ever. Then the charge nurse comes in on her rounds.)

Me: *violently shivering* “C-c-cold!”

Nurse: *having just taken my vitals* “You’re practically hypothermic. Let me check your leg and then I’ll see what else we can do to warm you up.” *checks my leg* “Oh. How long has your leg been packed in ice?!”

Me: “Ice?”

(Neither of us knew, so it must have been done before I awoke from anesthesia which means it had been there for at quite some time. Each blanket that was added sealed in the cold that much more, so of course I was freezing! The ice was quickly removed and with five or six blankets covering me I warmed up pretty fast.)