CONTENT WARNING: Description of needles / blood

As a student midwife, one of the things that I had to learn was drawing blood for testing.

One morning, I was given this task as there were a lot of blood tests due and it would be good practice. Together with my mentor, I put together all the bundles of equipment I would need into trays along with the paperwork for the test, so I could pick up the next set while sending the ones I had just taken to the lab. My mentor joined me for the first couple to make sure of my technique, and then I was set loose on my own.

After four women, I had gotten into a routine: enter the bedside, introduce myself and explain why I was there, check that I had the right patient, place the tourniquet, find the vein, clean the skin, needle in, attach the blood bottle, take the blood, detach the blood bottle, release the tourniquet, needle out and onto the tray, plaster on, and throw the contents of tray into the sharps bin. Then, I would sit and write the name of the patient on the blood bottle and package it up to send to the lab.

I got to one patient’s room who needed multiple bottles of blood, so I put them all down on the tray as I filled them. Then, when I had finished, I picked up the tray and threw every single blood bottle into the sharps bin.

I have never felt my stomach drop so quickly, and the look of horror on my face as I turned around to my patient (who it turned out was a nurse) made her burst out laughing.

As I was taking her blood again, she told me the story of the first time she had done that and reassured me that I was now part of a very large club.

I work in an operating room. A nurse comes into the break area looking angry and grumbling.

Me: “What happened?”

Nurse: “We told [Patient] that for his outpatient procedure, he had to eat or drink nothing after midnight, and he just told me he ate a full breakfast this morning!”

Me: “Did he understand the instructions?”

Nurse: “English is his first language! No, he said it was because we were replacing his knee, not working on his stomach, so it didn’t make any sense. We have to cancel the procedure now!”

Me: “If it makes you feel better, one of my patients last month, a college kid, was told ‘only clear liquids until midnight and then nothing.’”

Nurse: “And?”

Me: “And they drank vodka and did cocaine up until midnight because it was a ‘clear liquid’. Of course, he didn’t tell us any of this, so we didn’t find out until the kid started aspirating and crashing as soon as he went to sleep.”

Later that day, I told a patient not to eat anything after midnight and they said, “What’s gonna happen to me? Am I gonna turn into a gremlin?” Gotta love people.

I’m a nurse. I have to “shave prep” someone’s inguinal area for an upcoming cardiac angiogram. This is the area where your thigh meets your hip. Try to find your pulse there; that’s the spot.

Me: “I’m going to go get the clippers, sir. Just lay on the bed and drape this towel over your privates.”

I come back to find him standing naked.

Patient: “What? I thought you wanted to see my d**k.”

Me: “Sir… what part of my instructions to cover yourself made you think I wanted to see it?”

Patient: “Oh… Sorry.”

My girlfriend has been injured at work and has gone to A&E (Accident & Emergency). I meet up with her shortly before she’s taken in for triage, and she asks me to come in with her.

Nurse: *Eyeing me* “Are you pregnant?”

Girlfriend: “No.”

Nurse: *Eyes me again* “How can you be sure?”

Girlfriend: “I’m on my period.”

Nurse: “Do you think it’s possible that your period is causing your symptoms?”

Girlfriend: “No.”

Nurse: “Why do you think that?”

Girlfriend: “My fingers don’t usually break when I’m on my period.”

Nurse: “What?”

Girlfriend: “I’ve broken my finger.”

Nurse: “But we were talking about your pregnancy.”

Girlfriend: “I’m not pregnant.”

Nurse: “So, you’re having trouble with cramping.”

Girlfriend: *Getting irritated now* “No. I’ve broken my finger.”

Nurse: “But are you sure this has nothing to do with your pregnancy?”

Girlfriend: “I’ve broken my finger.”

Nurse: “And—”

Girlfriend: “I’ve broken my finger. What aren’t you getting?”

Nurse: “Yes, but… No. I think we should do a pregnancy test just to be sure.”

[Girlfriend] looks at me like she’s about to snap a certain someone’s neck.

Girlfriend: “I’m not f****** pregnant. Can someone look at my f****** finger?!”

The nurse purses her lips and leaves, muttering about my girlfriend being a problem patient. We wait for about five minutes before I look outside the room for someone. I wave a nurse down and ask what’s happening. She disappears, too, and I sit back down.

Twenty minutes later, another nurse comes in and is startled to see us. She says my girlfriend has already been discharged, mentioning something about morning sickness, before my girlfriend screams at the top of her lungs:

Girlfriend: “MY FINGER IS BROKEN!”

The nurse’s face went pale, and within a minute, [Girlfriend]’s finger was being looked at.

We left another hour later. [Girlfriend] was given two discharge letters. One was for the broken finger. The other said she was having problems with her pregnancy because of her period, and it was making her irritable.

She has since received a letter and phone call apologising for the problems she had. She’s adamant that she will go further afield if she needs to go to the hospital again.

This story is part of the Readers’-Favorite-Stories Of-2023 roundup!

Read the next story!

Read the roundup!

My mother is… not a nice person. A lifetime of self-centered nonsense caused my father to divorce her. She promptly got together with my stepdad but managed to keep custody of me.

After I grew up and moved out, something she actually tried to forbid, she would call at random hours of the night to scream at me for being a horrible person for abandoning her and defying her will. I went low-contact with her for a long time after that.

Years later, I was pregnant with twins. My husband, unfortunately, had to work through most of the day. I was having a high-risk pregnancy, so my mom was staying with me to help. Her behavior had mellowed out considerably in the intervening years, so I thought we were working toward reconciliation.

That changed when she decided to go home for the weekend to spend it with my stepdad for his birthday.

Her last words to me before she walked out the door were:

Mom: “Don’t go into labor while I’m gone!”

Because the world has a sick sense of humor, twelve hours later, my water broke and I went into premature labor.

When she got to the hospital, my mom didn’t even ask where the babies were. No, instead she came up to me and yelled at me for having gone into labor and messing up her weekend with my stepdad.

She was screaming at me so loudly that I couldn’t even hear the staff rushing to my room.

Mom: “I ordered you not to go into labor! How dare you defy me yet again? How dare you go into labor?! You made your water break on purpose just for attention and to sabotage my weekend!”

And other insane things.

The hospital staff tried to pull her away. She shook them off several times until three burly security guards had to get a hold of her and physically force her out.

Her few years of better behavior were swept away after spending just a little time with me, and it brought back every nasty behavior she had dumped on me during my younger years.

The hospital was amazing. My mom was persona non grata at the door, and I got a security guard to guard my room door during visiting hours just in case. My husband managed to get a day off work to change our house keys; my mom had gotten a copy while “helping” me.

I am now fully no-contact with my mother, and she has never met my gorgeous children — her grandchildren. She never will, either.