(I am in the hospital, about to give birth to my son. They have been trying to induce me for three days since I am far past term, the baby is large, and it is time for him to come out. Each time we go in to get another round of the lovely stuff they put up your lady bits to try and start contractions, I have the same nurse. She is terribly mean and has a horrid bedside manner. My hubby and I are very non-confrontational people, so we just deal with it and don’t say anything. Fast forward to day three: my water finally breaks at midnight. We head to the hospital to be admitted. Since it is the night shift, we have a new nurse who is a wonderful girl. She gets me settled and set up with an IV. She ends up having to use a smaller gauge since my veins are sometimes a bit difficult, but it’s no problem. The day shift comes and Nurse Meanie is back. She is in a mood and is fuming that the night nurse used a size smaller gauge on my IV. She then spends the next several hours trying to redo it with a larger-gauge needle. She has my hand wrapped in hot towels for a couple hours to make the veins pop, with no luck. After five failed attempts this way, she takes to slapping the back of my hand to make the vein pop out better. My hubby has had to step out to grab something from home we had forgotten, so I am on my own. My hand is hurting quite a bit and she just keeps slapping and slapping.)

Me: “Can you please just stop? I have an IV and it seems to be okay. That really hurts me. Please just stop.”

Nurse: “No. They never should have done this gauge IV. I don’t know what these young nurses think they’re doing; this is absolutely wrong and I will be having a talk with them.”

(She keeps slapping my hand, and has tried the IV another three times. I am now in tears from the constant poking and the prolonged slapping.)

Me: “Okay, this is enough. Stop it and leave the IV alone!”

Nurse: “No, I have to do this. This gauge is not large enough to administer the meds you need. I have to do it. You’re in labor; you can deal with a few needle pricks.”

(I am now full-on crying, and any sense of being nice is completely gone.)

Me: “That’s it! We are done with this. This IV is fine and I will not allow this to continue!”

(I pull my hand away and she tries to grab it back. I pull it close to my chest and glare at her as best I can. She is more than angry and leaves the room. My doctor comes in a few minutes later to check how I am progressing. Nurse Meanie comes in a moment later and proceeds to loudly explain how incompetent the night nurse was at giving me an IV, and how she has been trying all morning to fix it. She shoots me a look and then tells him that I have been incredibly difficult and refused to allow her to replace the IV. She has the smuggest look on her face and smiles at me, all sickly-sweet. The doctor looks at her as though she’s gone mad. He shakes his head.)

Doctor: “There is nothing wrong with that gauge of IV. I would have recommended the same since her veins are hard to find. I don’t blame her for refusing if you have been trying for hours. There is no problem here.”

(Nurse Meanie’s face looked so angry and embarrassed. She opened her mouth to speak and then shut it. And then she stormed out of the room. The doc turned to me and I just said, “Thank You!” He shook his head and said that he would make sure a different nurse was assigned to me from there on out. Thank goodness.)

(It is just before Christmas and my son’s prescription needs to be refilled. The office gets the prescription written in a timely manner, but then my father is hospitalized. I spend the week bouncing back and forth between the hospital and getting our house ready to move him in. Finally, at the end of the week, I get everything settled so I can run over and pick up my son’s prescription so it can be refilled before it runs out over the holiday. Unfortunately, I arrive ten minutes after the office closes for the holiday weekend. I’m sitting on the curb in the parking lot… exhausted, overwhelmed, and feeling like a complete failure.)

Nurse: “Are you okay?”

Me: “I screwed up. I was supposed to pick up my son’s refill this week so he wouldn’t run out over the holiday. “

Nurse: “Did anyone call you?”

Me: “Yes. I’ve just been in the hospital with my dad all week, and I finally was able to get over here. I forgot the holiday hours. It’s my fault.”

Nurse: “It’s a good thing I came out the front. I usually leave by the back door. Let’s go get his prescription slip.”

(The nurse unlocks the door, takes me inside, and signs over the prescription.)

Me: *still a bit teary* “You are the first thing that has gone right for us all week. I’m sorry I kept you late.”

Nurse: “I’m glad you caught me. Merry Christmas.”

(A heartfelt thank-you to healthcare workers. You do not get the credit you deserve.)

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(I am a female with an incredibly rare type of hemophilia which affects both men and women. I have an upcoming surgery, so the surgeon requests an action plan from my hematologist regarding what to do if things go south during my surgery and what protocols to follow for my post-op care. One directive is VERY clear: I am not to receive any anticoagulant medications unless by some freak medical fluke I develop a DVT, since I do not form hard clots and have prolonged bleeding. This is posted in my room in no less than three places, plus on a red armband I am wearing. First nurse shift, no issues. Then night shift comes on… The nurse comes into my room to give me my medication and I see she has Lovenox, an anticoagulant shot.)

Me: “Oh, I think there was a mistake; I can’t take Lovenox. I have hemophilia. It’s in my chart, over there–” *pointing to the places posted* “–and also on my armband.”

Nurse: *rather snotty tone* “It’s standard for all surgical patients. You need it so you don’t get a blood clot. Besides, girls don’t have hemophilia.”

Me: “Hmm, yes, females can get certain types of hemophilia, as I have one of them, and as I said before, it’s in my chart, posted there, and on my armband.”

(The nurse huffed off. About thirty minutes later, I was dozing and the crazy nurse tried to stealthily give me the shot of Lovenox. I screamed bloody freaking murder and knocked it out of her hand. The charge nurse ran into the room to find out what all the commotion was about. I told her what had happened. She paled and took the nurse out. I didn’t see that nurse again the rest of my stay. A few days later I heard some other staff talking about the nurse who got fired for trying to give some patient medication the patient couldn’t take, after the actual patient told her they couldn’t have it, and then tried to sneak in while the patient was sleeping to give it. I’m still not sure what she thought she was going to accomplish.)

(I am about eight years old when my family and I relocate to China for a year. Despite my Chinese heritage, I was born and raised elsewhere, so English is my first language, whereas I tend to struggle with Chinese. In that year, I fall sick enough to warrant a week-long stay at the nearest hospital. My mother and my grandmother accompany me in the daytime to take care of me as well as talk to the nurses and doctors on my behalf. When I’m alone, however, my sole form of entertainment is the TV in the room, which I leave on the only English-speaking channel they have. None of us think much about it until my mom comes in one morning and happens upon two nurses conversing outside my room.)

Nurse #1: “That little girl, she doesn’t talk much when I ask her questions, but she is so focused when it comes to [English channel] on TV. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s all she’s been watching since she got here!”

Nurse #2: “Wow! She’s that dedicated to learning English and keeping up with school, even though she’s this sick? What a studious girl!”

(And that’s how I inadvertently impressed a couple of nurses by lazing around in bed all day watching the telly.)

(My doctor’s surgery does an annual check-up with the practice nurse for all patients with long-term conditions. I go to mine.)

Nurse: “You’ve lost 13 kg since we last saw you!”

Me: *sarcastically* “Yeah, depression and anxiety is an amazing diet.”

Nurse: “Your weight and BMI are well within the guidelines now.”

Me: “Oh, um, great.”

Nurse: “Do you want me to refer you to [Famous Weight Loss Club]?”

Me: “…”

Nurse: “We have to ask everybody.”

Me: “…”

Nurse: “We do have to ask everybody.”

Me: “…”

Nurse: “I’ll take that as a no, shall I?”

Me: “…”

Nurse: “Anyway, let’s check something else, shall we?”

Me: “Yes… let’s.”