(I have been going to the same GP since I was about fifteen, my daughter since she was born, but it seems to be time to find a new one as ours is showing his age; he has been getting more and more forgetful. I have ordered blood tests as I have developed some allergies recently; my daughter needs hers done for a heart issue and also needs a script for heart meds. He asks her what she needs this particular medicine for and we have to explain, even though he has been doing the scripts for the past five years. We get our bloods at the same time. He starts with my daughter’s and tells her that everything but her iron levels is in the normal range. He gives her the printed results to take to her cardiologist; he is going to print a copy for himself but he writes the results into her file. Then, he goes over mine. He reads out everything as good, but when he gets to my liver results…)

GP: “Oh, no, we need to get you some tests right away; your liver results are not good.”

Me: “Yes, I know. I have [liver disease].”

GP: “You have [liver disease]? Who told you that?”

Me: “You did.”

GP: “Not me. I would have remembered that. There would be notes and paperwork in your file.” *rifles through files to prove it isn’t there and finds the paperwork* “Oh, I did tell you.” 

(We realise that he’s not given us a new referral letter for the cardiologist appointment, so we go back.)

GP: “Okay, [Daughter], we need to get blood tests done for you to take to your appointment.”

Daughter: “I had the blood tests done already.”

GP: “Who with?”

Daughter: “Uh, you.”

GP: *rifles through her files and after looking over some paperwork* “Oh, looks like you have to get more sun; you have very low Vitamin D.”

Daughter: “No, you said low iron.”

GP: “No it’s Vitamin D. Look; it’s only sixteen.” *hands her a blood test result*

Me: “No, she had low Vitamin D last year; this time it was low iron.”

GP: “It says it right there.”

Daughter: “Um, this is last year’s result; look at the date.”

GP: “It has it on this result, too. You had the test in September.” *holds up another sheet that I take off him*

Me: “This is last year’s, too — September 2018. Her last one was in October this year.”

GP: “But the results aren’t here; if I did them they would be.”

Daughter: “You gave them to me.”

GP: “Why did I do that?”

Daughter: “I needed them for the cardiologist.”

GP: “But I would have written the results on your file and printed up a copy, as well; I definitely didn’t write anything.” *runs his finger up the writing on her files* “Oh, so I did.”

(I’m sitting in the doctor’s office and see two old biddies greet each other and have a nice, friendly chat, asking after each other’s families and discussing their doings for the week. When the first one leaves, the second one turns to the receptionist and says:)

Old Lady: “Who was that lady? I don’t know who she is!”

(I am at the checkout desk of an urgent care medical office.)

Coworker: “How was your visit today?”

Patient: “Pretty good. I don’t like going to the doctor, but this was a great experience. Everyone was really nice.”

Coworker: “Thanks! Glad everything went well. Yeah, I work in a doctor’s office and I don’t really like going to the doctor, either.”

Patient: “Oh, really? What kind of doctor’s office do you work in?”

My Brain: “Seriously? Did she just ask that?”

(I work at a non-profit rehab for teens as a counselor. During their lunch, a new resident is having a heated argument with other staff over her dietary restrictions.)

Teen: “I can’t eat this; it has cheese. I’m vegan.”

Staff: “We’re trying to accommodate. The cooks have been made aware and are working on fixing you something else.”

Teen: “You shouldn’t be eating this stuff. Do you know how badly dairy and meat harms your body? You guys are all disgusting.”

Me: *screaming internally* “You shouldn’t lecture anyone when you smoke meth!”

When I’m in high school, I come down with a bad fever and my mother takes me to the doctor. I’m still seeing a pediatrician at this point. The building the office is in is undergoing construction.

Pretty soon I’m in the examination room, my mom sitting to the side. The doctor is a young woman, wearing a gauzy green sweater and some light gold jewelry. I notice a very shiny, pretty brooch shaped like a scarab pinned to her sweater.

She leans in with the tongue depressor, and as I watch in horror, the “brooch” sticks out a barbed leg and starts crawling up her shoulder! I scream and throw myself back. 

“Are you okay?” asks the doctor. She thinks I’m scared of the tongue depressor. 

“There’s a huge bug on you!” I yell. 

This sets the doctor off. She shrieks, drops the tongue depressor, and starts frantically trying to brush the bug off her sweater. In the process, she breaks her necklace, sending bits of golden chain flying across the room. Part of it hits me and I think it’s the bug, so I scream again and the cycle begins anew. 

Eventually, the doctor calms down a little, but we’re still trying to find the bug. She turns around and I spot it on her shoulder and yell, “It’s still there!” This time she holds still and my mom gets it off her with a tissue and squishes it in the garbage can. 

Once everyone’s calmed down, Mom comments that she should have saved it, or at least not crushed it, since it was actually very pretty. She thought I was having a hallucination until she saw it herself! We figure it got in from all the construction downstairs. The rest of the appointment goes fine, though the doctor and I are a bit shaken up; my mom is pretty level-headed. 

When we check out, the nurse at the desk asks what happened. We tell her and she laughs and says, “We get a lot of screaming in this office, but usually it’s not from the doctors!”