(I have an I.V. scar on the inside of my arm from surgery when I was twelve. I am now thirty-two. The scar is barely visible and it should be clear to anyone who has ever had a shot or blood draw or knows basic anatomy that it is not a fresh needle mark. I routinely donate plasma at a center in my town. While the money is nice, I donate because of what I went through as a child and because my blood type is not compatible with most others but my plasma type is fairly universal. On this day I have just come from work and I am dressed quite nicely, though my hair is colored a vibrant shade of blue, which is new. I have just been called to the back for my physical exam and iron test.)

Nurse: “Hold out your arms, please.”

(I do.)

Nurse: *while poking my scar* “What is THAT?”

Me: “It’s an old I.V. scar from when I was a kid. It’s noted in my paperwork.”

Nurse: “Hang on.”

(She gets up and walks away, and I can see her talking to another nurse. She then gathers some papers and returns.)

Nurse: “Okay, we can’t let you donate with visible track marks. You’re going to be red-flagged in our system. Here is some paperwork about what that means, and the process you need to go through to be able to donate again. You will always be red-flagged, so the next time you come in with track marks or if you come in tweaking or showing any other sign of your drug use, you will receive a lifetime ban from donating plasma anywhere in the country.”

(She is very loud, especially each time she says “track marks.” Since the back of her cubby opens to the waiting room, people are now staring.)

Me: “Ma’am, this is not a track mark. It’s a SCAR. I’ve had it all the other times I’ve donated, and it is noted in my file.”

Nurse: *crossing her arms* “You can leave, or I can call security. Your choice.”

(I suddenly recognize the woman.)

Me: “Is your daughter [Name]?”

Nurse: *going pale* “How do you know that?”

Me: “You don’t recognize me. Must be the blue hair, which I assume is also why you jumped to the conclusion that I’m a drug user. I was your daughter’s eighth-grade English teacher before I moved exclusively to subbing while I get my doctorate.” *I hand the papers back to her, her face is now quite pink* “You can keep these. I won’t be back.”

(I am seeing my primary doctor for my biannual wellness visit. I had gone into the appointment very concerned because my heart arrhythmia had flared up in the past few weeks. At the end of the appointment:)

Me: “I’d like a referral for a cardiologist, for a consult and a Holter monitor [basically an EKG that you wear for 24-48 hours]. My PVCs have been increasing, and I’m becoming alarmed.”

Doctor: *clearly unconcerned* “I don’t think this is an issue. I don’t hear any skipped beats.” *listens to my chest for maybe three or four seconds, not an exaggeration*

Me: “I respect that, but I want a referral to a cardiologist.”

Doctor: *seemingly annoyed* “All right, I’ll put in that referral for you.”

(He did, and I had the Holter monitor and consult done. At the consult I learnt that literally 23% of my heartbeats were premature, resulting in no blood pumping effectively during those periods. I never went back to that doctor.)

(I make an appointment with my primary doc because I’ve been having a long stretch of extremely excessive sleep and fatigue (hypersomnia). I explain the issue, including the fact that several days a week I will sleep anywhere from 16 hours to more than 24 hours, only getting up to eat minimally and to use the bathroom.)

Doctor: “Well, insomnia can have a lot of causes. I think the easiest way to get back on track is to try melatonin, which has been shown to help reset the circadian rhythm.”

Me: “I’m aware of melatonin. However I don’t need help GOING to sleep. My problem is that I’m sleeping too much!”

Doctor: *seemingly oblivious to my reply, continues on about melatonin while I grow increasingly frustrated*

(After the appointment, I looked at my summary of care. He listed insomnia as my diagnosis. He’s my ex-doctor now.)

(After several weeks of severe pain I was recently diagnosed with gallstones following a CT scan. I get a call from my doctor later in the day and she says what amounts to “Gallstones can only be operated out”. I’m resigned to have surgery because the pain gets really intense, but when I share her information with a friend who’s into medical stuff she tells me that doesn’t sound right. I do some more research and find there are multiple, non-intrusive ways to get rid of them. I go back to talk with her about it.)

Doctor: “Okay, so, gallstones, you said you want to have them taken out. You know that’s [really expensive surgery that includes the complete removal of my gallbladder], right?”

Me: “Actually, I was doing some research and does lithotripsy or Oral Bile Acids sound familiar?”

(She just blinks at me twice.)

Doctor: “Er, where did you hear those?”

Me: “A friend told me that she knew for a fact there were non-surgical treatments for gallstones… Why did you tell me surgery was the only option?”

(To my horror, she proceeded to sputter and stare like a deer in the headlights before excusing herself. A nurse came in a few minutes later to tell me that she had just LEFT THE CLINIC and sped off in her car to avoid answering my question. By the way, the answer? Her normal clientele were from some nearby projects, ie. people unable or unlikely to pay another doctor for a second opinion or do their own research. She had been telling people for years that surgery was the only solution to X problem to get money out of them. Unsurprisingly, she was sued twelve ways to Sunday for malpractice once one of the nurses blew the whistle.)

(I had a recent appointment with my doctor. Inevitably one of the many nurses called my name. That day, there was a new nurse calling me.)

Nurse: “Mr. [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes.” *I follow her into the office* “Has anyone ever told you that you look like S—“

Nurse: “Sarah Silverman?”

Me: “I guess they have.”

Nurse: “Every day. I hope it’s a compliment.”

Me: “It is.”

(While I don’t especially like Sarah Silverman, she and the new nurse are quite pretty. I wish I was younger.)