In gym class, we are learning how to check our pulse by placing our index and middle fingers on the carotid artery, on the neck to the side of the windpipe. The teacher is having the class run laps and take our pulse.

My friend is having a hard time finding her carotid artery and can’t take her pulse. She approaches the gym teacher for help. The teacher tries to find her carotid artery on her neck.

Teacher: “I don’t know… Go see the nurse.” 

Friend: “Seriously? I have a pulse. I’m fine.” 

Teacher: “Well, I can’t find it. Go see the nurse.” 

My friend reported to the very puzzled school nurse who confirmed that she did, in fact, have a pulse and helped her find it. I sometimes wonder if that nurse had to keep medical records for students, and what on earth she wrote for that patient encounter.

As part of the world outbreak, the hospital that I work for is doing a free drive-thru clinic that you have to ring and make an appointment for. The swabs are nasopharyngeal, which means throat first and then up the nose to an unpleasant degree.

One of the nurses taking the samples is looking through the list of people coming.

Nurse #1: “Oh! [Patient]! I call dibs on him.”

Nurse #2: “Um, sure, but can we ask why?”

Nurse #1: “Sure. Thirty years ago, he broke my nose at a school dance. I can finally get payback!”

Sure enough, when he arrives, she goes to his door.

Nurse #1: “Hello! [Patient], do you remember me?”

Patient: “You are covered head to toe in PPE; I can’t see you!”

Nurse #1: “Oh, right. I’m [Nurse #1]; you broke my nose thirty years ago.”

Patient: “Oh, my goodness!” *Starts laughing* “Yes, I remember that. I’m still sorry. Get on with it, then!”

She does. He coughs and splutters and, with tears in his eyes, he asks:

Patient: “Are we even?”

Nurse #1: “Yup! Good luck with your results!”

I have just had a flu shot. As I have a fear of needles, I tend to get quite dizzy and sweaty beforehand, and it takes me a couple of minutes for me to recover afterward. I’m sitting in a chair when the woman who gave me the shot comes over. 

Woman: “You didn’t say you were allergic to eggs?”

Me: “I’m not.”

Woman: “Well, you are. It’s very stupid that you didn’t tell the truth. Now I’m going to have to phone for an ambulance.”

Me: “No, I’m just feeling a bit sickly. I’m not allergic to eggs.”

She is already on the phone talking to someone saying “how stupid” I am. By the time an ambulance arrives, I’m already better and trying to leave, but the woman is refusing to let me. When the paramedics come in, I’m forced onto a gurney while the woman talks over me.

Paramedic: “Okay, the pharmacist says you have an egg allergy. Did you know before having your shot?”

Me: “I do not have an egg allergy!”

Paramedic: “Are you certain?”

Me: “Do I look like I’m having a reaction? I’ve had these shots every year of my life, and if you don’t believe me, I had three eggs in the cafe next door for breakfast. Ask them!”

The paramedic checked me over just to be sure before leaving. I was left alone with the woman. She tutted at me and disappeared through a door. I’m never going back.

I’m working on a project at home and slice my thumb pretty bad. Don’t play with Exacto knives, kids! After forty-five minutes, the bleeding still hasn’t stopped, so my husband and I decide to head to the ER to see if I need stitches. 

Fortunately, the doctor is able to glue it back together and I don’t need stitches after all, but I do need a Tetanus shot. The doctor leaves the room and the nurse comes in.

Nurse: “Which arm would you like it in, sweetie?”

Me: “Is it going to cause any muscle soreness tomorrow?”

I ask her this because I’m a photographer and need to use my right arm. I know some shots have this side effect but can’t remember for sure. If it’s not going to cause soreness, then I prefer it in my right arm since I cut my left thumb and don’t want to double up on the discomfort, but if it is going to be sore, then I do want it in my left so my right arm can still be functional for work the next day.

I probably should explain all that, but it’s 1:00 am and I’m tired. 

Nurse: “Oh, no, you’ll be fine!”

Me: “Okay, right arm, then.”

She gives me the shot and is cleaning up and getting ready to leave when the doctor comes back in with my discharge instructions. 

Doctor: “Okay, so, your arm is going to be pretty sore tomorrow from the shot, but don’t worry; that’s completely normal.”

The nurse freezes in the doorway when he says this, and I look at her in shock. 

Nurse: *Muttering* “Rats, almost made it.”

Me: *Incredulous* “You dirty liar!”

I say this very jokingly because we’ve been lighthearted all along and in the grand scheme of things this doesn’t really matter much. 

Nurse: “If I had told you that you’d be sore, you would have refused the shot!”

I sigh over-dramatically, turning to the doctor.

Me: “I’m gonna need a work note.”

I’ve recently started antidepressants, and a nurse calls me a few days later to check on me.

Nurse: “How are you feeling? Are the meds working for you?”

Me: “A bit better, but I’m still taking stock.”

Nurse: “What was that?”

Me: “I’m taking stock? To see if I feel better?”

Nurse: “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

Me: “What? Why not?”

Nurse: “You shouldn’t be taking anything not prescribed by your doctor.”

Me: “But I’m taking stock; it’s just an idiom. Because I’m not sure yet whether the medicine is working.”

Nurse: “Would you like me to have the pharmacy give you a call?”

Me: “That would probably help. Thank you.”