(I’m pregnant and my husband and I are at a routine appointment. My OB gets a call from an unknown number, so he has to answer as it could be a call from another part of the hospital. He greets the caller, and then we get this gem.)

OB: “I’m a gynecologist, wrong kind of plumbing. You’re supposed to know where that is.”

(Cue hubs and I devolving into silent laughter. Apparently, there was a leak somewhere in the building, and the plumber was asking where a line was.)

(I’ve had serious sinus/throat/ear problems for most of my life, along with pretty severe anxiety disorder; it’s so bad I was put on anti-anxiety meds at eight years old. Unfortunately, since I have an anxiety disorder, most of my problems have been brushed off as panic until they’re either too late to fix properly or until I fight with the doctors. I miss a pretty good bit of school because my ears hurt or I feel like I am choking, and I will go to the doctor each time. Each time, the pediatrician tells me, “It’s just a viral infection,” or, “It’s just your anxiety acting up.”)

Me: “I really don’t think this is viral; I’ve been coming in every month or so for two years or so.”

Doctor: “It’s just viral. I think you just like getting out of school, too.” *nudge nudge wink wink*

Me: “Uh, no. My grades are taking a hit. I can barely breathe and I feel like I’m choking constantly. This is not a panic thing, and it’s obviously not viral; otherwise, it wouldn’t always come back. Maybe you should do your job and actually figure out what’s wrong?”

Mom: *staring in shock because I’m not one to smart off*

Doctor: “If you can smart off like that, then you don’t need to see a pediatrician any more!”

(My mom schedules an appointment at a different doctor’s office, with a different doctor. I’m freaking out because I’ve never seen another doctor before in my fifteen years and many, MANY doctors appointments.)

New Doctor: *looks in my mouth* “Oh, my God! Your tonsils are huge. Like, can you breathe at all?”

Me: “No, not really. I always feel like I’m choking.”

New Doctor: “These have to come out.”

(So, I got my tonsils out, along with my adenoids. The surgeon told me they were the biggest he’d ever seen. I no longer feel like I’m being choked to death constantly. But having your tonsils pulled out at sixteen sucks.)

At work, I miss a call on my cell phone, but the caller leaves a voicemail. The caller states they are from a counseling office and are returning my call about whether they accepted a certain insurance or not. I hadn’t called them so I initially brushed it off as a wrong number.

But then I get to thinking. I did previously have a policy with the insurance they mentioned but it was a while ago. I listen to the message again for the name of the office they were calling from and then I remember. I called this office and left a message to ask that question…

FOUR YEARS EARLIER. 

I can’t fathom how it took four years to return a phone call for a simple question and how they never realized how old the message I left was.

(I get fed up with my old doctor refusing to do anything other than tell me to “just lose some weight” and I go to a new clinic.)

Doctor: “I see you changed practices. Do you have any medical files with you or are they sending them over?”

Me: “They might send them over, but they’re going to be next to empty and claim I’m only overweight. My last doctor didn’t pay any attention to any of the symptoms I would tell him about. If it doesn’t happen in front of him he thinks it doesn’t happen ever, and all he would ever tell me is that I need to lose weight. I know I need to, but I’ve honestly been dieting and exercising and nothing has happened. I’ve had hormone problems my entire life, but he just kept telling me to eat better.”

Doctor: “That sounds… bad. Okay, tell me what’s going on with your hormones, and I’ll have a nurse come in and draw your blood for labs. You also seem to have a small lump on your neck.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m prone to cysts. I was going to get it looked at if it didn’t go away. Getting them drained isn’t pleasant, so I wait and see if they take care of themselves before I go in.”

Doctor: “I’ll take a look at it, anyway. You’re already here, might as well.”

(I leave the appointment satisfied that the doctor didn’t mention my weight at all except to ask if I’ve noticed any fluctuation with it. A week later, the doctor calls me back in.)

Doctor: “I ran your labs and, like I thought, you also high levels of testosterone. You have something called–“

Me: “Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome or PCOS?”

Doctor: “Exactly.”

Me: “I asked my old doctor about that years ago since I’m prone to getting cysts on my ovaries, but he never tested me for it.”

Doctor: “Well, I did, and you definitely have it. You also seem to have some thyroid problems, and I’d like for you to get a biopsy of the lump on your neck.”

Me: “Really?”

Doctor: “Yes, since I saw you last week, it’s gotten bigger, and I don’t think it’s a cyst.”

(It wasn’t. It was a cancerous tumor on my thyroid. When the surgeon opened me up to remove it, cancer had already spread to the surrounding lymph nodes, which then also had to be removed. After some radiation and chemo, I’m in remission, but if I had stayed with the old fat-shaming doctor, I’d be dead. Thankfully, that doctor retired and no longer “treats” patients.)

(While waiting at the doctor’s office, I overhear a conversation between a four-year-old girl, her mom, and her aunt. The mom is filling out an intake form for the little girl, chuckling at some of the questions.)

Mom: “Do you have a headache? It’s important to tell the truth, because the doctor needs to know.”

Girl: “Yes. No. Yes. Yes, I do. No.”

Mom: “Okay, are you pregnant?”

Girl: “Nooooooo.”

Aunt: *laughs* “I bet she doesn’t even know what that means.”

Mom: “Tell your aunt what you have to do to become pregnant.”

Girl: *raises her hand and counts off with her fingers* “Go to school! Get a job! Get married! Have lots of babies!”

Mom: “See, I told you she knows.”

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