(I am in the hospital after falling down a flight of stairs. My ankle is fractured.)

Me: “Excuse me. Can you please hand me my phone?”

Nurse: “No.”

Me: “What? Why not?”

Nurse: *huffy* “Well, it says on your chart that you’re a smoker. I’m not going to give you your phone so you can buy more cigarettes.”

Me: “I wasn’t planning on buying anything; I wanted to update my family and friends.”

Nurse: “I don’t believe you. I know your kind. You think you’re special because you destroy your body with drugs. I’m not letting you buy drugs!”

Me: “All right, let’s see what a patient advocate thinks about what you just said.”

Nurse: *goes pale and hands me my phone*

(Later, when I told my dad about it, he told the doctor, who rolled his eyes and said we weren’t the first to complain.)

(A couple of years ago, I started having really low blood sugar levels. It turned out that I needed surgery but I could not get it right away. To try to help me during the wait, my endocrinologist referred me to a dietician so see if there were some diet changes I could do to reduce the risk of going so low I passed out. I am very allergic to nuts. I go to the dietician and she looks at my list of food that I have eaten for the last three days and asks if I have any allergies, which I tell her about.)

Doctor: “You need to eat a snack in the afternoon that keeps the blood sugar levels up better. A handful of nuts is good.”

Me: “I am allergic to nuts.”

Doctor: “So, as I was saying. You need to eat at least 60g for it to be good for you.”

Me: “Still can’t eat nuts. Allergy…”

Doctor: “But nuts are good for you.”

Me: “They might be good for other people, but I am allergic to nuts. Is there really nothing to replace them with?”

Doctor: “Nuts are good for everybody. They help stabilize the blood sugar.”

Me: “One more time, I am allergic to nuts. I will die if I eat them. I can’t have nuts.”

Doctor: “I don’t know why you came here if you don’t allow me to help you.”

Me: “I want help. I just can’t eat nuts. Are there any other foods that I can have as a snack?”

Doctor: “I recommend at least 60 grams of nuts as a snack.”

Me: “Thanks for your time. I’ll see myself out.”

([Doctor #1] and [Doctor #2] are married. [Doctor #1] is a neurosurgeon and [Doctor #2] works in the NICU. They’ve made a cake for a coworker’s birthday.)

Doctor #2: “Can we write anything better than just, ‘Happy Birthday, [Coworker]!’ on the cake?”

Doctor #1: “You have doctor handwriting and can’t write anything on the cake.”

Doctor #2: “You’re also a doctor!”

Doctor #1: *jokingly* “Excuse me. Neurosurgery is the calligraphy of medicine. These hands are the surgeon’s hands! Artist’s hands!”

Doctor #2: *laughing* “Okay, Dr. Artist, go ahead.”

([Doctor #1] grabs the frosting and accidentally leans on the tray the cake is sitting on. The tray scoots backward and he grabs it to stop it from falling off the counter, but he misjudges the weight and pulls it off the counter towards him. Instinct kicks in and he tries to catch it with his foot but ends up punting it directly into a wall.)

Doctor #2: *sitting on the ground and crying with laughter* “If you ever come into the NICU and try to touch a baby, I’ll have you shot.”

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

In 2013, at the age of 25, I begin to have tonic-clonic seizures. Prior to this, I have never experienced any kind of seizure. As the doctors are trying to understand what’s going on with me, they recommend an MRI to see if there are any physical indications in my brain as to what’s going on. Before the referral is made, the doctor asks if I have any metal in my body and I tell them no, and they note it in my chart. They tell me not to wear any jewelry when I go to have the MRI. 

I go to the MRI clinic and throughout the paperwork process, I am asked several times if I have any metal in my body. I write “no” on all the paperwork and confirm this verbally with the intake person. I then speak with the nurse who takes me back to where the MRI is, and she asks me a couple of times if I have metal in me, as well. I tell her no and that I didn’t wear any jewelry. She writes that down and leaves me to change into clothing with nothing metal in it and to hang out in the room until the tech can come in and prep the machine.

After about five minutes, the tech comes in and begins prepping everything. “Before you lay down, I need to ask if you have any metal in or on your body.”

I am profoundly tired, in a lot of pain from the seizures, and scared I have a brain tumor, and so my coping mechanism kicks in. “Oh, no, just the implant the alien put in me when I was taken up on the mothership,” I say, as brightly as possible.

She looks at me quizzically and I repeat myself, smiling to let her know I’m kidding. She’s silent for a beat and then just sighs and tells me to get on the table. No chill at all.

I understand why they have to ask about metal due to the intense magnetism, but jeez, look at the charts, people! I don’t think I need to answer this question twelve times in the span of 48 hours.

Also, I don’t have a tumor, and my implant didn’t show up in the scan!

(I’ve just been in an accident. While I haven’t been seriously injured, I’m badly shaken and have been told to take a couple of days off work. I call in before getting stitches.)

Me: “Hey, it’s [My Name]. I won’t be able to come in tomorrow or the next day.”

Manager: “Why? Is everything okay?”

Me: “I’ve just been in an accident. They told me to take the next two days off to recover.”

Manager: “Let me look…”

(I hear her typing a bit.)

Manager: “[My Name], you aren’t scheduled for the next two days.”

Me: “Wait, really?”

Manager: “Yep, your next shift is [date].”

Me: “Okay. Thank you.”

(The nurse gives me a look.)

Nurse: “Everything okay?”

Me: “Yeah, I apparently called out for my days off.”