(I have recurring nosebleeds. I’m at school when I get my first one this year, and I ask to go down to the nurse’s office. The nurse isn’t there, so I just wait around with a tissue under my nose to catch any leakage. After ten minutes, a nurse comes in. I have never seen her before.)

Nurse: “Look at all the mess you’re making! Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

Me: “I have a nosebleed. I can’t exactly stop it. All the blood is in the tissue, anyway.”

(She huffs and leaves the room. A few minutes later, she comes back with a plaster and attaches it to my nose — as in, over the nostrils — pushing so hard it makes the bleeding worse. I protest, but she leaves the room again. I yank the plaster off and some of the blood drips onto the floor. I’m in too bad a mood to clean it up. She comes back in.)

Nurse: “You messy boy! Look at all the blood on the floor!”

Me: “It’s one drop. I’ll clean it up before I go.”

Nurse: “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d kept the plaster on!”

(I swear at her — admittedly, this was wrong — and she storms out, returning with my tutor.)

Tutor: “[My Name], I hear you’ve been swearing at [Nurse]. You know our policy on this kind of behaviour.”

Me: “I’ll be more than happy to apologise, after she apologises for insulting me and acting like my nosebleed has been a personal grievance to her. She even stuck a plaster on my nose!”

Tutor: “[My Name]! You will apologise this instant, and I’m giving you a detention tomorrow. This is unacceptable behaviour. [Nurse] is the best nurse we’ve ever had!”

(I look between him and the nurse, who is looking triumphantly smug.)

Me: “That isn’t something you should be proud of.”

(I ended up with a week’s worth of detentions or that, but I refused to go — which my parents agreed with after I told them. The last straw was when they sent a letter home saying I had been suspended. My mum went down to the school to speak with the head teacher and the nurse. Apparently, she had only been in the building a couple of minutes when the nurse ran out in tears. The school retracted the suspension, but my parents moved me to a better school equipped with more competent staff.)

(After surgery on my leg, I need to pee, so I ask the nurse for help using the bedpan. After I’m finished, I can’t see the contents from my position but she obviously can, and she looks up with a horrified expression:)

Nurse: “This… This is your urine?”

Me: “Er, yes.”

Nurse: *speechless*

Me: “Oh! I forgot! I’m on my period!”

(She immediately sighs with relief. Sorry for scaring you, nurse!)

(I am a trans guy, currently at the doctor’s office for an ear infection. The person I’m seeing about it is the nurse practitioner, our practice’s head nurse.)

Nurse: “Are you sexually active?”

Me: “Yes.”

Nurse: “Is there a chance you could be pregnant?”

Me: “Nope.”

Nurse: “I know your partner is male; you could be pregnant.”

Me: “I’m not.”

Nurse: “Just because you think you’re a man, that doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant.”

Me: “Not pregnant.”

Nurse: “You still have female anatomy. Quit pretending you don’t. All you people are like this, thinking you can’t get pregnant because you think you’re not a girl. I’m giving you a pregnancy test.”

Me: “I had a hysterectomy last year; my medical records are in front of you.”

Nurse: “That doesn’t matter. You people are all like this. I’m giving you a pregnancy test.”

(I am a male nurse. On my coat is my “Man of Men” pin badge in support of Prostate Cancer UK, since my partner had surgery for prostate cancer in 2018. The badge is of a male stick figure with a smaller male figure within it. Whilst taking my order, a young male barista sees the badge and says:)

Barista: “That badge is really cool; what does it mean?”

Me: “It’s from Prostate Cancer UK. Did you know that it’s the biggest cause of death in men now? Since my partner was diagnosed, I’m keen to support the cause.”

Barista: “Wow… I wonder why it affects so many more men, then?”

Me: “Erm…”

(I’m getting an x-ray done of my back for a suspected back fracture. Essentially, I am in so much pain I can’t stand straight; I’m sort of bending over and favoring one side. The technician is setting me up by the machine but frowns.)

Technician: “Can you stand up straight? We aren’t going to get a clear picture this way.”

Me: *wincing, gasping in pain as I clearly struggle to even stand up* “No?”

Technician: “Oh… Right.”

(She figured out another way.)