I work at a mental health clinic. Our treatment rooms are named after various cities, like Paris, Tokyo, etc. I receive a message from one of our therapists.
Therapist: “I’ll be in San Francisco until 12:30 pm.”
I assume she’s working from home.
Me: “Will you be seeing your 9:30 am appointment remotely, then?”
Therapist: “I’m in the room named ‘San Francisco!'”
My job requires yearly blood work, as I work with chemicals on a daily basis. I am phobic of needles and have hard-to-find veins, so the onsite health services usually refer me straight to a lab with a trained phlebotomist to make things easier on everyone.
This year, they apparently switched which company they contract through, so I am told to go to a new place, which turns out to be an Urgent Care clinic. I warn the nurse about the issues getting blood from me before and about my phobia, but despite me trying to point her to the best spot, she insists she knows better and ended up digging in my arm for a good two minutes before I beg her to stop and have a minor panic attack.
Once I calm down, not wanting to have to come back, I give them one more chance, but ONLY in the spot that I indicated. After about fifteen seconds of digging while I cover my face and try not to shake:
Nurse: *Surprised* “Oh!”
Me: *Shaky laugh* “Told ya.”
I keep it together long enough to finish the blood draw and get out to go have another panic attack in my car. Whatever, it’s over, and I don’t have to do it for another year.
And then, a week later, I get a call.
Nurse: “[My Name]?”
Me: “Yes?”
Nurse: “We’re going to need you to come back in. We lost your sample.”
Me: “You what?!”
Nurse: “It got lost in transit.”
Me: “It took half an hour and two panic attacks to get that sample!”
Nurse: “I apologize, ma’am, but…”
Once the call finishes, I immediately call health services, and their reaction is a similar, “They WHAT?!” followed by an apology that I have to do it again and a promise to send me straight to a lab. Unfortunately, I have to return to the Urgent Care to get a referral from them, though health services send me with additional paperwork and a number to call if there are any issues. Sure enough:
Nurse #2: “Oh, we don’t do referrals.”
Me: “Please call the number listed here. They should be able to clarify things.”
I am not sure what was said on the phone, but from a combination of [Nurse #2]’s expression and how I was meekly given a referral several minutes later, I can make some educated guesses. Thankfully, the lab I went to had a trained and experienced phlebotomist on staff, and the second blood draw went much smoother.
I went to a doctor for a consult, and then I scheduled the next two appointments for Tuesdays at 4:30 pm. I didn’t ask specifically for evening appointments; that’s what they offered me. I got no confirmation calls for any of the appointments.
The first Tuesday, everything went fine. I checked in, got my treatment, and went home.
The next Tuesday, I attempted to check in… only to be told my appointment was at 3:00 pm, not 4:30 pm.
Receptionist: “We never start treatments this late, so we never would’ve scheduled me at 4:30.”
Me: “Uhh… well, you did. I was treated at 4:30 last week!”
Receptionist: “No, your appointment last week was at 3:00 pm, as well.”
Me: “Pull up my check-in and medication order from last week.”
She did, and sure enough, it had been at 4:30 pm. She just shrugged and called her manager. Basically, they told me to go home and reschedule. I live two hours away from this doctor, so I decided I wasn’t playing this game. I told them to cancel all my remaining appointments.
I hope I didn’t need to finish that treatment. I’ll never decline a written copy of my appointment time again.
I was a bit of a nightmare patient as a kid. It would take four grown adults to hold me down to get a shot or blood draw.
Then, there was the time I needed my appendix removed and I wasn’t having it. They gave me an anesthetic to knock me out… and I actually FOUGHT IT OFF and refused to go to sleep until the effects finally wore off.
My dad said the doctor told him that in thirty-three years of practicing medicine, he’d never seen someone completely resist an anesthetic.
A patient calls into the doctor’s office where I work.
Patient: “I have an appointment in a couple of hours, but I was wondering… can you write me a doctor’s note for [three days ago]?”
Me: “I see that your appointment is for a small splinter in your hand. Is it infected?”
Patient: “No. But I called off work three days ago for it, and I’m about to lose my job if I don’t get a doctor’s note! So you have to give me one!”
Me: “You called off work three days before your appointment?”
Patient: “My hand was in major pain and I thought it was fractured!”
I was unable to write her the doctor’s note she was requesting, and she screamed at me over it.
It was just a small splinter, not even infected at all. And it’s not like she’d called to make the appointment three days before and couldn’t be seen until today. Apparently, it was MY issue that she called off three days early and was about to lose her job over it.
