A couple of weeks ago, I was working in the cardiology department and the topic of conversation between me, another medical student, and a specialist somehow drifted towards practical exams. The specialist suddenly asked us if we knew how to fail a student. Neither of us knew what she had in mind, so we shook our heads.

Then, she explained.

First, find a patient with LVAD — a mechanical implantable pump that assists the heart with pumping blood in heart failure; due to how the pump works, the patient has no palpatable pulse. And then, you give the student a regular blood-pressure monitor and instruct them to take their pulse and blood pressure.

Those poor students.

(I’m small and only 16, so I am required to go to the children’s hospital. My parents leave me alone overnight. I’ve been admitted for a possible reemergence of a serious issue, so I’m obviously not allowed to run down to the corner store or anything like that.)

Me: “Excuse me, do you have pads?”

Female Nurse: *freezes*

Me: “You know, for… monthly things?”

Female Nurse: “I… I’m sorry, sweetie, what?”

Me: “I’m bleeding, so I need pads.”

Female Nurse: “I’ll check.”

(She practically runs out of the room. I watch her talk to three others, all with mortified expressions on their faces. Finally, she comes back.)

Female Nurse: “Here you go, sweetie. But this is a children’s hospital, so you need to tell your mother that we don’t have those kinds of things here, okay? Have her bring you some in the morning.”

Me: “But I’ve had this since I was ten…”

Female Nurse: *sputters* “Well, ten isn’t really a child, now is it?” *runs off*

(My three-year-old son has just spent a week in hospital following surgery on his elbow. The team of doctors has done their rounds and the consultant has left his young resident — who looks about twenty — to give us our final instructions for discharge.)

Me: “So, is he going to need rehab or physiotherapy? Or is he right to resume all his regular activity?”

Resident: “Yeah, he’s fine to do everything a normal, healthy three-year-old boy does. No worries.”

Me: *very happy, as getting this child to be still and rest in hospital all week has been no easy feat* “Great! So, running, jumping, climbing trees, sandpit, and playground is all okay?”

Resident: “Oh, no! He can’t do any of that!”

Me: “So, what, exactly, is it that you think a normal, healthy three-year-old boy does?”

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(My grandma has just come out of surgery but is back on the ward and we have been allowed to visit. As soon as the doctor leaves the room, she comes out with this gem.)

Grandma: “I think that doctor is Russian! He must be a spy.”

Me: “Grandma… You’re Russian.”

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I went to see my doctor as I’d had a weird pain in my arm for a week and then it had swelled up at the weekend. He sent me to the hospital for a scan, which confirmed I needed to stay in hospital, but they needed to find me a bed so I went back to the investigations ward to wait. And wait. And wait some more.

At 10:00 pm, there was a teenage lad whose parents were grumbling about how they’d been there for four hours and they were fed up waiting for the boy to be discharged.  

A few others joined in, waiting five, six hours… After a while of this, I decided to pipe up.

“I’ve been here since ten o’clock this morning. I got diagnosed nine hours ago and I’m still waiting for a bed because I don’t get to go home tonight.”

There were a few beats of silence before the original grumblers declared me the winner and happily waited for their son to be discharged. It actually helped break some of the tension in the room and got people talking to pass the time until I finally got a bed, so yay for winning “waiting time” to trumps, I guess.