(I have a massive kidney stone trying to pass. I’m in the hospital, waiting for surgery to reduce the size. I suddenly have massive pain, bad enough my vision goes fuzzy. I’m crying, unable to really form words. I press my call button. After a moment, a nurse comes in.)

Nurse: “Can I help you?”

Me: “Pain… bad…”

Nurse: “On a scale of one to ten?”

Me: “Ten!”

(Because of the pain, I practically shout the number.)

Nurse: “You don’t need to raise your voice! I’ll get you something!”

(She leaves and comes back a minute later with a pill.)

Nurse: “Here’s some Tylenol.”

(All I can do is look at her, since that won’t be anywhere near enough for how my pain is.)

Nurse: “Well?! Take it!”

Me: “Need more…”

Nurse: “Ugh, you’re probably just a drug seeker! I’m not giving you anything else!”

(At this point, I just break down sobbing. She storms out. A few minutes later, my doctor comes in.)

Doctor: “Are you okay?!”

Me: “Pain bad… help…”

Doctor: “Okay, sweetie, I just need to know if you can tell me what number you’re at.”

Me: “Ten…”

Doctor: “All right. Do you want me to wait here while I have someone bring you medication?”

Me: “Please!”

(She does stay with me. After she calls the pharmacy, she holds my hand and talks to me to calm me back down. Once the medication is brought up and put into my IV, she makes sure it starts working.)

Doctor: “Your nurse said you were asking for drugs?”

Me: “No, I pushed my call light and told her I was in pain. She yelled at me saying that’s all I wanted and then left.”

Doctor: “She apparently thought you were faking something to get pain meds for an addiction. There’s no way you could fake a kidney stone on the imaging results. I’ll make sure you don’t have to deal with her anymore.”

(True to her word, I didn’t see that nurse for the rest of my stay.)

(I am in the waiting room of a hospital waiting for a scan to check out my back injury. For the purposes of this story, let’s just say that my name is John Smith. The nurse calls me in for my scan.)

Nurse: “All right, just jump up onto the table.”

Me: “Umm… sorry, I can’t do that.”

Nurse: “We can’t do the scan if you don’t get on the table.”

Me: “But… I can barely move. How do you expect me to jump onto a table?”

Nurse: “Sure, you can.”

Me: “I don’t think you understand. I am physically unable to get up onto the table due to a back injury.”

Nurse: “You don’t have a back injury.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure I would know why I’m at the hospital.”

Nurse: “Your name is John Smith, right?”

Me: “Yes.”

Nurse: “And your date of birth is [date]?”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

(A patient in the waiting room speaks up.)

Patient: “Sorry to interrupt, but I think you might have us confused.”

Nurse: “Your name is John Smith?”

Patient: “Yep.”

Nurse: “And I suppose your date of birth is also [date].”

Patient: “Yes.”

Nurse: “And you’re here for a scan?”

Patient: “Yes, I am.”

Nurse: “Well, this is an interesting coincidence.”

(She looks down at her computer.)

Nurse: “Ah, I see the problem. There are two different people named John Smith with the same birthday, who just happened to both have appointments for a scan within the same hour. I was looking for John M. Smith.”

Patient: “That’s me!”

(The nurse apologized and I got my scan not long after. It was a confusing few minutes, but at least I got a good story out of it!)

(My first job is as a dental nurse working with the city’s university dental hygienist course. I love the job, and I get on well with the students and the tutors. However, I quickly start to find that I don’t get on so well with the other nurses. The majority of nurses have worked with each other for a long time, know each other outside of work, and have the same interests. At first, this doesn’t matter, but slowly, things start to get unfair. I often find myself on the crappy end of jobs, and one of them causes me do serious damage to my right wrist; I tear the tendons and am signed off work for a long time. This is where things get super bad, as my manager never reports the accident, which is something she gets in a lot of trouble for. When I eventually return, I am on very light duties, spending more time as a glorified receptionist than a nurse. The other nurses double-down on their disdain for me. I suddenly find myself even more left out than before, and any slight mistake is blown out of proportion. One of the nurses actually yells at me in front of trainees because I haven’t signed a cleaning sheet. When I complain to the head nurse, she says that I was in the wrong so tough, despite the fact I admitted to the mistake, but I am angry about the way it was handled. I cannot describe the misery I feel for the next six months, but luckily, I am able to find another job in a field that is as far removed from dentistry as possible. On the Monday morning after I get the contract for the new job, I approach the head nurse on clinic first thing before clinic starts.)

Me: “Morning, [Head Nurse], can I have a quick word with you?”

Head Nurse: “No, I’m going up for breakfast break now. It can wait.”

Me: “It can’t really; I won’t get time to talk to you about this before clinic starts, otherwise.”

Head Nurse: “Sorry, not happening.”

Me: *shouting across the clinic as she walks off* “Okay, I’ll leave my resignation letter here, then!”

(She d*** near sprinted back to me, asking if I was joking. I smiled, told her no, and handed her the letter before turning and going back to my duties. I was, at that time, the one who made all of the department appointments, organised clinics, and knew the brand-new booking system better than anyone else. That next month as I served my notice, watching the panic slowly dawn on them was the best!)

(I have just given birth to my son and am with the nurse who is head of the maternity section. It just happens that we went to school together.)

Nurse: “So, we just have to get some things out of the way. First, do you want him circumcised?”

Me: “No, definitely not.”

Nurse: “Thank goodness. Do you know how horrible it is? They do it without anaesthesia and basically just cut the foreskin off with scissors. The poor babies go through so much pain, it makes me sick every time a parent wants it done, and I’m not allowed to try to talk anyone out of it or… um… say what I just said.”

(I am in the hospital after falling down a flight of stairs. My ankle is fractured.)

Me: “Excuse me. Can you please hand me my phone?”

Nurse: “No.”

Me: “What? Why not?”

Nurse: *huffy* “Well, it says on your chart that you’re a smoker. I’m not going to give you your phone so you can buy more cigarettes.”

Me: “I wasn’t planning on buying anything; I wanted to update my family and friends.”

Nurse: “I don’t believe you. I know your kind. You think you’re special because you destroy your body with drugs. I’m not letting you buy drugs!”

Me: “All right, let’s see what a patient advocate thinks about what you just said.”

Nurse: *goes pale and hands me my phone*

(Later, when I told my dad about it, he told the doctor, who rolled his eyes and said we weren’t the first to complain.)