(I’m at a popular glasses chain for my yearly check. I’ve been going to this chain and the attached eye doctor for many years. Note: I am Latina. My last name usually gives this away. I’m very light-skinned, though.)

Nurse: “Okay, so you’re [My First and Last Name].”

Me: “Yes.”

Nurse: “[Address]? [Phone Number]? Still correct?”

Me: “Yes.”

Nurse: “Single or married?”

Me: “Single.”

(I notice the nurse peer at the screen, turn around and study me, and then squint at the screen again.)

Me: “Is everything okay?”

Nurse: “Whoever entered you in the computer listed you as ‘Hispanic/Latina.’ Don’t worry; I’ll fix it.”

Me: “I am Latina.”

Nurse: “Seriously? But you’re so light!”

Me: “We do come in all shades, you know.”

Nurse: “Wow!”

(The rest of the exam proceeded normally. I know my area doesn’t have a huge Latino/a population but come on now.)

I have been having menstrual problems for my entire life, which is later discovered to be a cyst on my ovary. About four years before it was discovered, though, I would bleed constantly. It was never fresh blood, though; it was old and black. I would go months without a period, and then months with one.

A doctor sent me to a gynecologist to make sure it wasn’t cancer causing my problems, as I have a family history for various kinds. I was 26, but I took my mom with me for support. The female gynecologist sent my mom out of the room to ask me medical questions, one of which was if I was sexually active.

I told her I wasn’t, because I hadn’t had sex. I’m used to people acting like they don’t believe me, so when she gave me this look, I just nodded to confirm that I was telling the truth. A few questions later, she asked if I had done any “self-stimulation” that may have resulted in a scratch or a tear that would explain the bleeding.

I told her no, because there was always too much blood and it grossed me out. She became exasperated and yelled, “YOU HAVE TO BE HONEST WITH ME!” in a very hostile voice.

I was angry, but I wanted to get this over with, so I just accepted it. Mom came back in and sat in the room on the other side of a curtain, so she couldn’t see any of what happened next.

This doctor was going out of her way to be rough in her examination. I was very sure it shouldn’t be as painful as it was. At one point, she used what she called a probe to hold me open and use a light for a better view, which I felt was fair, but it opened me very wide to the point of near pain. When I hissed and told her it was very uncomfortable, she looked at me like I was an idiot and told me, “You need to calm down. It’s smaller than a man’s penis.”

Now I was offended and angry, but I didn’t want to yell at this woman and upset my mom by “being rude,” since she couldn’t see what was going on. I tried to ignore it, and after another minute or so, I felt the need to fart.

I waited to see if she’d move away for something, but she didn’t. Before I could tell her, though, she realized I was tensing up but not why, and she leaned in to me and, in a very aggressive whisper, said, “If you do not relax right now, I will end this exam and make you come back, and I don’t think you want that.”

So, I nodded and said, “Okay. I’ll relax.”

When she turned away and came back to continue her examination, I finally relaxed and just let it go right in her face. My mom heard and yelled at me for it, and I just told her, “No, no. She was turned away; it’s fine.”

The doctor said nothing about it, but the exam concluded quickly and with no pain, like someone had flipped a switch on the whole thing. I later found out, while telling another female friend about this incident, that this particular gynecologist was known for being horrible to patients, and she thanked me for doing what she wished she had.

(I’ve suffered from chronic pain for ten years now. I’m on opioid medications and have been for five years. I have to go to my doctor every month for the prescriptions since they’re strictly controlled. One visit, I get a new nurse. She sees my reason for the visit but apparently ignores my medical history.)

Nurse: “So, you’re after a refill for [current medication]?”

Me: “Yeah, I need to get a refill before I go out of town next week.”

Nurse: “You know that’s an opioid, right?”

Me: “I’d hope so; I’ve been on it for years now.”

(She looks at my weight on my vitals. Because of my condition, I’m on the lighter side.)

Nurse: “Well, I’m telling the doctor not to. You’re obviously an addict.”

Me: “What?!”

Nurse: “You’re just on it for the high! Whoever started you on it is an idiot!”

Me: “[Doctor] put me on it!”

Nurse: “Well, I’m taking you off of it! It’s for your own good!”

(She storms out. I’m in too much shock to say or do much of anything. A few minutes later, my doctor comes in.)

Doctor: “So, the nurse suggested I cut you off of [medication].”

Me: “Yeah, she yelled at me and called me an addict.”

Doctor: “I told her that unless she knew a way to fix [condition], you were staying on it. She said you didn’t look like you had anything, but we’re going to talk to her about jumping to conclusions. So, usual pharmacy?”

(While I’ve seen her at that practice since, I’ve never had to deal with her again.)

(I am running a test in clinic. Twenty seconds into the three-minute timer, I can already very obviously see what the result will be. I go to tell the doctor.)

Me: “That test is so positive it could be an inspirational poster!”

When I was about 17, I was treated for an ingrown toenail. After several tries, the doctor decided to remove part of the nail and the root of the nail so that it wouldn’t grow back.

The doctor prescribed the strongest pain medication he could. A stronger medication would have counted as narcotic. I went home, an hour passed and the local anesthetic wore off. I took the pain medication as the pain got stronger.

Due to brain damage I suffered as a child, my pain reception doesn’t work that well. So, I soon reckoned that something was off, since the pain continued to increase. I double-checked the medication, took some more, and waited. The pain still increased. I was going up the walls.

Now it was too late to revisit the doctor, so my dad drove me to the hospital. Luckily, the emergency room was quite empty. I told the doctor there what was up and he wanted to take a look. As soon as he cut the bandage from my toe, the pain was gone. He reapplied a bandage, put the old one in a bag, and told me to bring it to my doctor the next day.

So, the next day, I was back at my surgeon. He was a cheery guy normally. But as he took the bandage from the bag, he grew silent. His head whole head went red as he calmly excused himself. He went on the floor and bellowed through the whole office for the nurse, who had applied the bandage the day before. He was so loud, I expected windows to shatter. As soon as he saw her, he chewed her out. He was fuming.

Afterward, he explained the problem: the nurse had fixed the bandage with a knot, which was a normal procedure, but in the process, she had placed this knot right on the incision in the nailbed. The pressure applied this way was the source for the pain. No amount of pain medication could have helped against this.