(My nurse recounts this story to my father, her coworker, after I wake up from appendix surgery.)

Nurse: “I’m getting her to recovery and expecting her to be out for another few minutes when she suddenly sits up, turns to me, and tells me in the most deadpan voice, ‘Hey, I’m going to throw up now. Sorry,’ and spews. Then she makes a face, lays back down, and falls right back asleep.”

Dad: *snorts* “Funny thing is, sleep-walking and -talking runs in our family. I do it, and my sister does it. It wouldn’t surprise me if my daughter does, too.”

Nurse: “She warned me. Maybe she just woke up for a minute.”

Dad: “She’s a teenager. She hasn’t been awake since she was twelve.”

(And that’s when I ACTUALLY woke up from the surgery and started grumbling about feeling groggy. Either way, I don’t remember puking, or telling the nurse I was going to. And to be fair to my dad, it’s ten years later, and I’m STILL always tired.)

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

(I am a female and a teenager. I’m temporarily on a medication that has a lot of side effects, one of the main ones being high cholesterol. I have no prior history of high cholesterol, though. I’m at the doctor’s office with my mom specifically to check that the side effects of the medication are not getting out of hand.)

Nurse: “Okay, so, looking at your results, your cholesterol is higher than it should be.” *addressing my mom* “Mom, no more serving hamburgers, and no more fast food! All that salt, red meat, and fat is really bad for teenagers, even if that’s all they want to eat.”

Mom: “Actually, we never eat fast food, and we’ve been eating pescatarian for the past few months.”

Me: “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve gone to a fast food restaurant in years.”

(The nurse looks a little flustered at this point.)

Nurse: “Well, I know how teenagers are in the summer, so try to do some walking, at least! No more laying around on the couch all day!”

Me: “I’ve actually been swimming a mile every day, and I am working as a lifeguard.”

(The nurse is starting to look annoyed, like she doesn’t believe us.)

Nurse: “Right… Well, you need to fix this, or we’re going to have to put you on medication, and you’re too young to be on cholesterol medication.”

(My mother is getting annoyed and defensive now.)

Mom: “She’s on [Medication]; that’s the whole reason we’re here! Isn’t high cholesterol one of the side effects of the medicine?”

Nurse: *glaring at my mom* “Well… Sometimes.”

Mom: “Don’t you think that might be the reason she has high cholesterol, then?”

(The nurse just walked out at that point, and we didn’t see her the rest of the visit. We mentioned it to the doctor later, but she just said, “Well, your cholesterol is kind of high.” Luckily, once I got off the medication a few months later, my cholesterol dropped back down. But seriously, at least ask questions before making patronizing assumptions about someone’s diet and exercise.)

(I’m Bipolar I and not medicated. We’ve tried a few different combinations of drugs for me, but unfortunately I either have side effects or it simply doesn’t help anything. While therapy has been helpful, it’s not perfect; I still need the occasional trip to a psychiatric hospital. For this particular incident, I am sent to a completely different hospital, which I later learn is more adequately equipped to handle patients seeking drug rehab. However, even that seems to be inaccurate, as I learn during my three-and-a-half day visit. On day one, a patient and the head of the wing are talking in a common area:)

Patient #1: “When do you think I can go home?”

Doctor #1: “Sunday. Your insurance lets us hold you another week.”

(For a little context, during a previous group session I had with [Patient #1], he mentioned he’s been here almost two weeks and the head of the group commented on how much progress he’s made. As my stay continues, it isn’t uncommon to overhear the nurses gossiping about how they can’t believe the doctors still won’t discharge [Patient #1]. Day two: one of the other patients is a new mother with apparently no thought filter. As a result, she frequently talks about how she has to pump if the subject even remotely drifts towards family or children. One of the other patients finally gets fed up with it and a fight nearly breaks out. Unlike the mother, the other patient is allowed to leave the wing to go have lunch in the cafeteria.)

Doctor #2: “Okay, [Patient #3], you just lost your cafeteria privilege for today.”

Me: “But doesn’t [Patient #2] have to stay up here, too?”

Doctor #2: “Of course.”

Me: “So, you’re going to lock them in the wing together when most of the staff is down in the cafeteria?”

Patient #1: “Besides, isn’t [Patient #3] getting discharged tomorrow?”

(After enough of us band together, the doctors finally agree the best thing they can do for both patients is to separate them. Also of note, a fourth patient is discharged at the end of day two, with a certain nurse helping her gather her things. On day three, though I’ve only had three or four sessions with her, I bid [Patient #3] farewell as she is gathering her things from the storage locker with the same nurse who assisted yesterday’s discharge. Just as I go to leave:)

Patient #3: “Where’s my backpack?”

Nurse #1: “Your what?”

Patient #3: “My backpack. I came in with a pink backpack from [Brand]. Where is it?”

Nurse #1: “We only had one like that. It was [Patient #4]’s, wasn’t it?”

Patient #3: “Wha?!”

Nurse #1: “She said that bag was hers. We gave it to her when she left last night.”

Patient #3: “YOU GAVE HER MY BACKPACK?!”

Nurse #1: “Sorry. We’ll call the police and report the theft.”

Patient 3: “WHAT THE F***’S THAT GOING TO DO? SHE’S BEEN GONE A DAY ALREADY! WHY DIDN’T ANY OF YOU NOTICE THE BAG WASN’T LABELLED FOR HER?” *begins crying*

Nurse #1: “Calm down! It’s just a backpack!”

Patient #3: “THAT BACKPACK HAD MY WALLET IN IT! WITH MY LICENSE AND SOCIAL SECURITY CARD! YOU LET HER STEAL MY IDENTITY!”

Nurse #1: “We can replace those things!”

Patient #3: “IT HAD THE ONLY PICTURE I HAVE OF ME WITH MY FATHER! YOU CAN’T REPLACE THAT! HE DIED AFTER I WAS BORN!”

Me: “Get the f****** police already, you dips***!”

(I didn’t know what else to do. The police do show up, though I have no idea how this story ends or if anything was done about [Nurse #1]. On day four — my release day — I’m sitting in the common area playing cards, waiting for my girlfriend to show up and drive me home. Needing a fourth for Hearts, one of the nurses agrees to join us.)

Nurse #2: “[My Name], you sure know how to pick ’em. Of all the weeks you could’ve shown up!”

Me: “I’m amazed, too.”

Nurse #2: “Yeah, but this ain’t even the worst of it. One patient last year always ran his mouth. ‘I’m in for bestiality!’ ‘I’m a member of the local KKK and they think this’ll cure me!’ and on and on. All cause he didn’t want to admit he tried to kill himself after his girlfriend broke up with him.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Nurse #2: “Yeah, he just kept making excuses to justify the cuts on his arms.”

Me: “You can’t tell us that! His medical records are still privileged!”

(I’ve never been back. I haven’t looked it up yet, because I’m truly frightened that it might still be open.)

(I am allergic to both latex and nitrile, but they’re both relatively new allergies for me, so I don’t think to mention them at first. I need blood taken, so the nurse and I are chatting as she gets the vials ready. As she reaches for the gloves, I notice the box.)

Me: “Oh, sorry. I forgot to say, I’m allergic to both latex and nitrile. Do you have different gloves?”

(The nurse looks at the box, as well.)

Nurse: “These are latex free.”

Me: “I know, but they’re usually nitrile, and I’m allergic to that, too. Do you have vinyl?”

(She grabs a box of vinyl gloves for me.)

Nurse: “Do you know how often I need to wear these? Maybe once a year. They’re horrible! They’re too big, and they feel awful on your hands! I hate them so much!”

(She continued to complain about the gloves as she took my blood. I know vinyl gloves are horrible; I have to wear them for work, too. But I’d also rather not spend the next few hours itching because I got latex or nitrile on my skin!)

(I am in high school, and for this semester I need to have a physical done so that I can participate in a mandatory PE class. My mom brings me over to the doctor’s office the school recommends, since our regular GP is currently out of town. At this time in my life, I am very active; I regularly go to karate lessons, hike, swim, and go mountain biking. I also take after my mother’s side of the family, who are built very squarish: short, with broad shoulders and hips. After going through all of the questions and tests, we have this gem of a conversation.)

Nurse: “It looks like everything is in order. Just remember that walking from the fridge to the couch is not ‘exercise.’”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Nurse: “Honey, calling it ‘hiking’ doesn’t make it any better for you.” *she turns to my mother* “Especially with that as an example.”

Mom: “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize that judgemental comments were part of the package. We don’t have to pay extra for them, do we?”

(The nurse looked shocked, but we got the paperwork we needed and headed out. We also let the doctor know about his nurse’s behavior.)