I am a retired family physician. Before the days of computers, two patients arrived at the same time. [Patient #2] was scheduled ten minutes after [Patient #1]. [Patient #2] was having chest pain and was extremely short of breath — actually turning blue. The reception desk called for help.

My assistant got him in a room and started getting vital signs. I sent another assistant to get the crash cart and a third to start oxygen. I went into the hall and picked up the phone to call 911. I picked it up just before it had a chance to ring, and the reception desk was on the line.

[Patient #1] was upset and wanted to know when she would be seen.

Me: “We’re in the middle of a code blue.”

I hung up the phone and called 911. I gave the operator the information and went back to the patient. They were on oxygen and hooked up to an ECG, which showed they were having a heart attack.

By the time the paramedics arrived, we had given them aspirin and nitroglycerin. The paramedics took over, loaded [Patient #2] onto a gurney, and rolled them out through the waiting room to the aide car for transport to the hospital.

My assistant was busy putting away gear, so I went out to the waiting room and got [Patient #1]. I brought her back to an exam room, and she started complaining bitterly.

Patient #1: “I can’t believe I’m being seen out of order! I’ve been waiting for too long!”

Ten minutes had elapsed since she had arrived. I tossed her chart on the desk.

Me: “The reason you waited was that the patient seen before you was dying of a heart attack, and we had to save him! You waited all of ten minutes, and I brought you back myself. What clinic have you been used to going to where you wait less than ten minutes despite a medical emergency? I’d like to go there myself!”

I read this story and was already dreading the ending because I am a person with a uterus.

I was recently diagnosed with Lupus because of a work injury, so I currently have three doctors: a specialist, my primary doctor, and my worker’s comp doctor.

I had to get my arm X-rayed.

Nurse: “When did you have your last period?”

Me: “[Date about three weeks prior]. My next one is due in five days.”

The app on my phone is a lifesaver.

Nurse: “Any chance you got a baby going on in there?”

She’s always funny; I love it when she does my intake.

Me: “None. Yes, I am sexually active, but our birth control is one hundred percent effective. I’m addicted to lesbianism.”

Not a bad outcome. [Specialist] wanted full-body X-rays to see the deterioration of my joints — fun times. 

X-Ray Tech: “Any chance you may be pregnant?”

Me: “My girlfriend loves to try, but we have found that we can’t make one.”

Yes, I know, don’t be rude to medical staff, but I have heard that question fifty million times. Mentioning [Girlfriend] usually shuts down the follow-up, and I’ve gotten sarcastic over the years.

X-Ray Tech: “Right on. Let’s get these pictures and get you home to the girlfriend. Is she pretty?”

Me: “Very, and my best friend.”

And then comes the bad one — the one that every uterus owner dreads. I needed antibiotics because of an infection unrelated to everything else. 

Doctor: “When was the first date of your last period?”

Me: “[Second week of December].”

Doctor: “It’s January.”

Me: “I know. My app says I can start any day now.”

Doctor: “It’s been twenty-five days. You’re probably pregnant.”

Me: “There are a couple of issues I take with your statement. It’s been twenty-three days; these little numbers tell me that. Since I started at eleven years old, my cycle has been twenty-five days. My girlfriend’s is twenty-eight days, and I have a friend who has a regular medically checked-out forty-day cycle. Second, I’m not able to get pregnant because I live with, sleep with, raise a cat with, and have sex with another uterus owner.”

I’m non-binary; we use trans-inclusive language.

Doctor: “Do you use condoms?”

Me: “…On the toys, to make clean-up easier.”

Doctor: “And you’re not on hormonal birth control, so you’re probably pregnant. You should take a test before you start antibiotics.”

Me: “[Doctor], my partner is a girl. I don’t have a medical degree, but I do know how babies are made. You need, at the very least, sperm. I have not had sex with or even kissed someone who makes sperm since 2018. I have hugged a few, but all our clothes stayed on. I have not gone to a sperm bank or in any other way had sperm near me since 2013. I am not pregnant.”

She flat-out refused to give me the script. I flat-out refused to leave without a second opinion.

The second doctor took my no and the girlfriend thing as proof that I was not pregnant and gave me the script.

Reasonable Doctor: “Not like it matters much; we’re giving you low-grade antibiotics that are perfectly safe for pregnant people.”

The infection is gone, and my period started the day after that whole interaction. Turns out I am not pregnant. Who knew?

Related:
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 18
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 17
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 16
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 15
They Don’t Always C When They’re Sticking To The Script

My five-year-old has just had a dentist appointment and is playing with the prize she picked out. 

Daughter: “Mama, do you get any surprises when you go to the dentist?”

Me: “The bill. Or if I have a cavity.”

Daughter: “Those aren’t prizes!”

Me: “No. But they sure are surprises.”

Daughter: “That doesn’t sound like a fun surprise.”

Me: “It’s not.”

I work in an orthopedic office, so I see a lot of broken legs and feet, and I do my best to make sure that I’m happy and joking with the patients when I check them out of their appointments. Sometimes the jokes are a little off-kilter, but I figure if I can make a patient laugh when they’re not feeling well, I’m doing okay.

A patient is pushed up to my desk in a wheelchair with his family in attendance.

Me: “How are you?”

Patient: “I’m… I guess I’m doing all right. How about you?”

Me: “Well, I’m not in a wheelchair, so I guess I’m doing great!”

Patient: “Oh, yeah? Are you calling me out?! I tell you what. Give me three weeks to get healed up, and you and I will go a few rounds. We’ll see who’s in the wheelchair then!”

Me: “Ah. I’ll start training today, then.”

The patient laughed, his family laughed, and I laughed. He was a good sport and not at all upset about the fact that he was injured. It was a good interaction.

And then, after he was checked out and ready to leave:

Patient: “Three weeks!”

Me: “I’ll be ready!”

I will not be ready, but I will see him again in three weeks. And I have no doubt that he will be fully capable of putting ME in the wheelchair.

I have just moved to a new state and am looking for a neurologist, as I have had epilepsy since I was a teenager. I get the mandatory referral and wait on hold for over an hour.

Receptionist: “So, why were you referred to [Doctor]?”

Me: “I just moved here. I have had an epilepsy diagnosis for over fifteen years but have been seizure-free for several years under the treatment of my old doctor. I just needed a doctor down here.”

Receptionist: “…Ma’am. You’ve called a neurology office. [Doctor] doesn’t treat seizures.”

The next day, she begrudgingly calls me back.

Receptionist: “Hi, is this [My Name]? You called yesterday wanting to see [Doctor]?”

Me: “Yes, I did. You told me he doesn’t treat seizures.”

Receptionist: “Well, he’s making an exception just for you!” 

Sadly, I live in the middle of nowhere and there really isn’t another choice of doctor.