(I go to a walk-in clinic because I have a bad poison ivy rash on my face. My eyelids are swollen almost shut and my eyelashes are stuck together with gunk. I am sitting in the room waiting for the nurse practitioner when she opens the door.)
Nurse Practitioner: “Hi! How are y… Oh!”
I have bone conduction hearing issues that I’ve suffered my whole life. It’s hard to explain, but I hear with my bones, which, coupled with my regular ear-hole hearing, means that I am off the charts of any traditional loudness hearing tests. This means that I have a hearing specialist and I have to go every year or so to keep my earplugs current. Inner-ear shape changes with even the slightest weight change. Every time I visit her I’m seen by one of her assistants for the initial consultation and every time she — usually a woman — yells through her questions.
My chart says what I have, but they are so used to yelling to their patients as most of the people they see have the opposite problem to me.
I ask them politely to speak more quietly many, many times each visit, but the volume increases every question they ask.
A few times I try and surreptitiously slip my ever-present earplugs out of my pocket to put them in, but my specialist has asked me not wear them before the physical tests — my hearing is extremely extreme for about 15 minutes after taking them out — but I just can’t be in the room with yellers without them.
To this day, I’ve been searching for a polite way to ask people to talk quieter, but I haven’t found it yet.
Related:
If Only They Could Hear Themselves
(When I am 24 I notice I am losing weight quite rapidly. I’m a six-foot-tall man and was around 250 pounds with shoulder-length hair. I am at 225 when I go to the doctor about my weight loss. After the blood tests, I am diagnosed with a form of leukemia that is treatable without chemo. I still need to go to an oncologist every few months just to make sure everything is going the way it should be. On my third visit to my oncologist, I am back to my original weight. I’ve seen several patients in the waiting room who have been going through chemo. Everyone else there is going through treatments for more severe forms of cancer and dealing with the effects. I am gaining weight with no side effects from my medication, and have kept my long hair. I can’t help but feel bad, like everyone is thinking I’m not the patient. One day, a woman who is around her mid-30s strikes up a conversation with me. She’s skinny, pale, and wearing a bandanna.)
Woman: “I love your hair.”
Me: “Thank you; I try to take care of it.”
Woman: “So, are you waiting for someone?”
Me: *already feeling my face turning red* “Actually, I’m a patient.”
Woman: “Oh, I’m sorry. Have you just started treatment?”
Me: “No, it’s actually been almost a year. I don’t need chemo; I just come in here so [Doctor] can review my blood tests and make sure my blood count is normal.”
(The woman’s eyes begin to well with tears. I’m feeling really bad, so I start to apologize.)
Me: “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Woman: *raising her hand to shush me* “No, don’t apologize. I’m sorry for making you think that. I’m just glad to see that not everyone has to suffer with such a diagnosis.” *pulls out her phone and shows me some photos* “This was what my hair looked like before my diagnosis.”
(She had long black hair that went down to her hips.)
Woman: “I actually had it all cut off before my treatment and donated it to [Charity that doesn’t charge for wigs]. I was a stylist and loved helping people take care of their hair. Don’t feel bad because you still have your hair; a lot of us actually love it when people don’t have to compromise their health even more.”
(I thanked her for helping me not feel uncomfortable anymore. As we were finishing our conversation, a man and a boy come in and sat next to her — her husband and son. We chatted about how the boy was about to start youth football and how I coached one of the teams. He ended up on my team and we became really good friends. She even invited me and my girlfriend to her cancer-free party.)
(I gave birth to twins several months ago and have since gone back to work. I am struggling a lot with anxiety, inability to focus, and lack of sleep, just having a really hard time in general. I’m not sure who to go to for help as I don’t seem to quite meet the criteria for postpartum depression or anxiety, so I make an appointment with my primary care doctor to see if she can help me figure out who to talk to.)
Me: “I’m just having a really hard time at work and at home, feeling like I’m falling behind at everything. I can’t focus on what I’m doing, and I’m anxious all the time. I just didn’t know who to talk to so I thought I might start with you. I’m really struggling right now.”
Doctor: “I’ll run some blood tests but… I mean, you did just have two babies.” *laughs* “So, I’m not really sure what you expected life to be like right now… Maybe consider finding a new job?”
(I never did get any help from her whatsoever. I am happy to say that my twins are a year old now and that difficult period has since passed.)
(I am a customer at a small medical supply store. While I am being rung up, a man comes into the store. The only other employee working goes up to him and asks how he can help him.)
Customer: “Do you have any plastic forks?”
Employee: *looking confused* “I’m sorry?”
Customer: “Plastic forks? Do you sell them?”
Employee: “No, I’m sorry.”
Customer: “You don’t?”
Employee: “No, we do not.”
Customer: “Why not?”
Employee: *pointing to the display of wheelchairs and walkers/canes* “We only sell medical supplies.”
Customer: *getting upset* “Well, I just got takeout from [Fast Food Place up the road] and I noticed they didn’t give me a plastic fork. How can I eat my food without a fork?!”
Employee: *being nice* “Maybe you should go back there and ask for a fork?”
Customer: *face getting red with anger* “Really?! That’s your solution?! I’ll go next door and get a fork! Thanks for nothing!” *storms out*
Employee: *turns back to us* “Good luck to him. Next door is a dry cleaner.”
