My job requires yearly blood work, as I work with chemicals on a daily basis. I am phobic of needles and have hard-to-find veins, so the onsite health services usually refer me straight to a lab with a trained phlebotomist to make things easier on everyone.

This year, they apparently switched which company they contract through, so I am told to go to a new place, which turns out to be an Urgent Care clinic. I warn the nurse about the issues getting blood from me before and about my phobia, but despite me trying to point her to the best spot, she insists she knows better and ended up digging in my arm for a good two minutes before I beg her to stop and have a minor panic attack.

Once I calm down, not wanting to have to come back, I give them one more chance, but ONLY in the spot that I indicated. After about fifteen seconds of digging while I cover my face and try not to shake:

Nurse: *Surprised* “Oh!”

Me: *Shaky laugh* “Told ya.”

I keep it together long enough to finish the blood draw and get out to go have another panic attack in my car. Whatever, it’s over, and I don’t have to do it for another year.

And then, a week later, I get a call.

Nurse: “[My Name]?”

Me: “Yes?”

Nurse: “We’re going to need you to come back in. We lost your sample.”

Me: “You what?!”

Nurse: “It got lost in transit.”

Me: “It took half an hour and two panic attacks to get that sample!”

Nurse: “I apologize, ma’am, but…”

Once the call finishes, I immediately call health services, and their reaction is a similar, “They WHAT?!” followed by an apology that I have to do it again and a promise to send me straight to a lab. Unfortunately, I have to return to the Urgent Care to get a referral from them, though health services send me with additional paperwork and a number to call if there are any issues. Sure enough:

Nurse #2: “Oh, we don’t do referrals.”

Me: “Please call the number listed here. They should be able to clarify things.”

I am not sure what was said on the phone, but from a combination of [Nurse #2]’s expression and how I was meekly given a referral several minutes later, I can make some educated guesses. Thankfully, the lab I went to had a trained and experienced phlebotomist on staff, and the second blood draw went much smoother.

I was a nurse in a hospital. I had a patient and his name was Mr. [Patient] Comdon. I was explaining his discharge instructions, and before I walked out I said:

Me: “It was a pleasure, Mr. Condom.”

Then, I realized what I said. Neither one of us said a word, and I just walked away as fast as I could.

This happened when I was eleven years old, in year seven at secondary school. I was running late one morning, due to my younger brother throwing a strop over not wanting to go to school. As a result, I was riding my bike as fast as I could down the pavement on the street my school was on. Until, that is, I saw a fire officer’s car coming the other way. Being a pre-teen obsessed with shiny things — which a red and reflective yellow livery most definitely was — I lifted a hand to wave to the car’s occupant.

And I promptly fell off my bike. 

To his credit, the fire officer immediately stopped his car and came over to check on me. I was mostly unhurt, apart from a few grazes and an impressively skinned knee where I’d slid along a few feet. I remember being more worried about my brand new tights — completely shredded — than the multiple places I was bleeding from.

The fire officer got me loaded into the front seat of his car and my bike into the back, and he turned round to take me the rest of the way to school. He carried me to the visitor’s reception and plonked me down into one of the chairs there.

He asked the receptionist to call the nurse up from her office to come take care of me. The receptionist was unwilling to do so. I don’t remember the full conversation, as it’s been quite a few years since then, but the receptionist was arguing that the school, and therefore the school nurse, was not responsible for dealing with anything that happened off of school grounds, even if it happened on the way to school and practically within sight of the gates.

An offer was made to have an older student, a sixth-former who’d made the mistake of wandering into sight at the wrong time, escort the fire officer and me down to the nurse’s office. The receptionist dismissed the possibility that the nurse should be the one coming to a student with an injured leg. I was just faking it, by her estimation.

The sixth-former wasn’t stupid, though, and ran off during the argument — straight to the nurse’s office. He did what the receptionist wasn’t willing to do and told the nurse that she was needed in the visitor’s reception. A few minutes later, she arrived, and she promptly tore a strip off the receptionist while simultaneously reassuring me and getting all the bleeding bits bandaged up.

The fire officer left once he knew I was being taken care of, leaving my bike in the care of the groundskeepers, whose office was next to the bike sheds. The nurse had the helpful sixth-former carry me round to the student reception and pastoral care area — through the staff corridor, which was a big treat at that age — so my parents could be called to come collect me and take me for a checkup and proper wound clean at hospital.

My leg was fine, but the experience left me with a nice scar on my knee. And a few days later, some of the little jerks I went to school with decided to shove me along a pebble-dashed wall so that my other knee was also ripped up.

I’m a male nurse and work in the emergency room. My shift ended a little late today (like always) and I really wasn’t in the mood for bulls***. I headed to the changing rooms to shower and change. The locker rooms are in a separate building, so normally, I have to leave the building the ER is in, cross the main building, and then enter the separate building. But there are some shortcuts in the hospital and really, no one cares. If you wear scrubs or a lab coat, no one will bother you.

I was wearing dark blue scrubs. Only the ER and ICU staff wear dark blue; most bedside nurses wear white.

As always, I walked through the hospital, greeted some other nurses or doctors I knew, and then I stopped to look at my phone. And then, it started.

Woman: “Umm, excuse me?”

Me: “Huh? Me?”

Woman: “Yes, you! Is there anyone else here? I’ve been searching for a d*** nurse for, like, ever, and the unit clerk couldn’t help me.”

Me: “Okay. Maybe I can help. What’s the problem?”

Woman: “In which room is [Patient]? The clerk wouldn’t tell me.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t work here.”

Woman: “I don’t believe you! You’re wearing scrubs, so you’re a nurse! Now, where is [Patient]? I’m his wife and want to visit him.”

Me: “As I said, I don’t work in this station. You’ll have to just ask one of the nurses around here.”

Woman: “Ugh, you’re just lazy!”

At this point, I was really annoyed, so I basically detached my ID card from my scrubs and showed it to her. It said clearly, “RN OP — Emergency Room”. She looked at it, then at me, and then again at the ID card.

The woman apologized and then she flagged down another nurse who actually worked there.

CONTENT WARNING: Needles

I am not a tricky stick. I started donating plasma when I was seventeen and continued twice a year until I got pregnant, so I’m not afraid of needles, either. 

When I am pregnant, they have to draw my blood for the gestational diabetes test. When I get there, there are two people. The woman tells me the young man is a nurse doing his residency and asks if I’m okay with him doing my blood draw. I say sure. Again, I’m not afraid of needles and not a tricky stick.

It goes terribly. He misses my vein on the left arm twice. I’m still calm, but now he’s freaking out a little and misses again.

Older Nurse: “Are you okay, Mrs. [My Name]?”

Me: “I’m doing fine.”

Older Nurse: “Do you want me to draw your blood, instead?”

Me: “No, I’m good. He can keep trying. Better on me than on someone who needs a needle urgently in the future.”

The young nurse tries again and misses again. Now he looks close to tears and way more emotional than me. The older nurse pulls him aside and talks him through a few deep breaths. They come back, and he tries to stick me again and misses twice.

Me: “Would you like to try my other arm?”

Older Nurse: “That’s probably a good idea.”

After five failed tries in my left arm, he preps my right.

Me: “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. You’ll get it this time.”

Older Nurse: “Keep calm and focus. The more emotional you are, the harder it will be.”

After three tries, he finally got the needle into my right arm and could draw blood. I left looking like an addict with holes in both arms. Hopefully, he didn’t get discouraged and is working as a nurse today with a steady hand.