This was over twenty-five years ago. I remember I was having a lot of joint pain, especially in my foot. I was a young person, maybe six years old, so we thought it might be growing pains, but for whatever reason, we decided to go to the doctor.

All I really remember is the utter shock I felt when the doctor broke down yelling at me.

Doctor: “You are just stressed out! You just need to learn to handle change better!” 

My mom was standing behind me to the right. I was sitting on the top step of a small step ladder for some reason, in the middle of the room. The doctor, a woman I had never met, was towering in the doorway yelling at us — at me. My mom put her hand on my right shoulder, but otherwise, we were frozen; neither of us is confrontational.

The doctor continued to demand that I “grow up” and “learn to cope with the world,” and insisted that I was only in pain because I wouldn’t accept change and that it was in my head.

At that point, I made eye contact with my mom, and we silently agreed to leave, ducking under the doctor’s arm and sliding sideways through the door to leave.

After, I asked my mom why the doctor had said that, and she just shook her head.

Imagine demanding that a six- or seven-year-old grow up and learn to cope with change.

Anyway, it turns out I have hypermobility and fibromyalgia unless I’ve been misdiagnosed. I have joint pain all the time, still.

Related:
Bedside Manner Who?

My very first word was “ball”. I would point to anything round — like a wheel, a plate, or a ball — and proudly tell anyone within earshot that it was a “BALL”. And given that, like most two-year-olds, the concept of an indoor voice was alien to me, you didn’t have to be standing too near me to hear what I was saying.

The second word I learned was “stick”. And to me, anything straight was a “stick”. Whilst I had no problem pronouncing “ball”, “stick” proved problematic. “St-” sounds came out of my mouth sounding like “Sh-”. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get the “-ick” sound, either; that sounded more like “-it”.

As I said, I would happily describe anything straight as a “stick”; for example, a spoon, a piece of toy railway track… or the gap between carpet tiles on the floor of a quiet but crowded waiting room whilst my mum waited for her pregnancy check-up appointment. Yes, I pointed to this gap in the tiles and, very loudly and proudly, announced to my mum and everyone else there: “S***!”

My mum was too embarrassed to explain to everyone what I was trying to say. You won’t be surprised to learn that my parents very quickly decided to teach me the correct way to say it!

I get called into the doctor’s because they want to get a blood sample from me. There I am in the waiting room, and [Receptionist #1] calls out my deadname.

Me: *Cringing* “Actually, it’s [My Current Name].”

Receptionist #2: “[My Current Name] is her preferred name.”

Actually, it’s my legal name and should be listed as such on my records, but I digress.

Receptionist #1: “Oh…” *Looks at my chart again* “So, where’s [Deadname]?”

I facepalm but respond.

Me: “Yeah, that’s me, but my name is [My Current Name]”

Receptionist #2 & Office Manager: “That’s her preferred name! She was [Deadname], but now she’s [My Current Name]!”

Receptionist #1: “Oh… Sorry, man!”

I’m thoroughly embarrassed but just want to get this over with! My mouth is open but no words are coming out

Office Manager: *To [Receptionist #1]* “Can I talk to you in my office for a second?”

The guy went back completely clueless.

He wasn’t being malicious or anything; the dude just had his head up his a**.

It’s 2020, and I’ve accidentally changed counties. As ridiculous as it sounds, that means my doctor who has been treating me for years is legally no longer allowed to, as the office only takes the Medi-Cal low-income free health insurance associated with [County #1].

After extensive calling around, I get a phone intake (no one is really doing in-person appointments in late March 2020). The doctor asks me personal questions for over an hour, for what was supposed to be a half-hour appointment.

I’m just scared about a lapse in my vital medications, so I’m trying to just bear it, but I have to go to work.

He calls me to finish the intake on a Sunday, on his own time, and asks me personal questions about my childhood and trauma for another hour and a half.

Eventually, I start begging him to refill my medications, offering to send a plethora of documentation. He refuses the documentation, accuses me of being medication-seeking, and says that he has to evaluate me himself to decide what meds I should be on.

He is the only doctor I could get an appointment with, so I am trying desperately to hold my tongue.

Me: “Can I suggest we go over what medications I’ve been on and why, just so you have a comprehensive history?”

Doctor: “I can agree to fill some of them, but not [specific medication]. You’re too fat for it.”

I am speechless for a bit.

Me: “How?”

Doctor: “It’s my discretion and—”

Me: *Interrupting* “Do you know much I weigh?”

Doctor: “Tell me.”

Me: “No.”

Doctor: “That just confirms it; since you don’t want to tell me, you must be fat.”

Me: “I weigh 157 pounds. I’m 5’7″ and I’ve been working out so much lately that I might actually be underweight.”

I shouldn’t have said that because he switches tactics.

Doctor: “You can’t have [specific medication] if you’re underweight.”

Me: “How much am I supposed to weigh, and how do you expect me to prove this?”

Doctor: “If you don’t stop being non-compliant, I won’t fill any of your meds.”

So, I shut up, even though that’s not really what non-compliant means.

I called his office to complain, and the receptionist said that she knows him well, that he is very nice, and that he would never do that, and then she hung up on me.

It actually got worse.

He put me on a new medication, threatened to stop treating me if I didn’t start taking it, and then wouldn’t listen to my complaints. My complaint was that it made me irritable to the point that the smallest thing would actually enrage me. I then snapped at him on the phone, and he started screaming at me. I pointed out that he was the professional, not me, so he screamed more, and my housemate had to remind me to de-escalate.

I had to keep sucking up to that guy for months, with increasingly bad health due to not having all of my medications, until I finally used my old address to re-enroll in my old county. I really hope he no longer practices medicine.

As a middle-aged dude, I just went in for my first colonoscopy. I was not looking forward to it. The med center sent me a fairly thick instruction packet. One of the last instructions was to bring a list of all medications you’re taking and when you last took them.

At my appointment, the intake nurse went through all the usual questions like medical allergies and such. Then she said:

Intake Nurse: “Now I’m going to go through your medications. Some of this might be out of date.”

Me: “I have this list…”

Intake Nurse: *Taking the list* “We’ll still go through them, just in case.”

But then she started reading and mumbling to herself.

Intake Nurse: “Okay, and that one. And the night before last…”

And so on. She made me laugh when she finished, looked at me, and said:

Intake Nurse: “You’re the first patient I ever had who actually brought the whole list.”

This helped my stress level but also made me wonder what’s wrong with people. If you’re having a procedure that involves anesthesia, give the doctors all the information they ask for!