Paczkis [Polish filled doughnuts] are VERY important in Chicago culture. On Paczki Day/Mardi Gras, bakeries are extremely busy. 

Unfortunately, I have to get dental work done that day. However, as I’m leaving work, one of my coworkers tells me to grab a Paczki. Of course! It’s the end of the lunch hour, so there are only powdered sugar-coated ones, but not only are they fresh, they’re filled with Boston creme. 

I think I can spend the drive to the endodontist with sticky fingers… and sticky teeth. 

I’ve never been to this office before, so as I walk in, I’m trying to dust myself off. The powdered sugar got EVERYWHERE — it’s still on the passenger seat in my car — meaning it’s also all over me. Have to look nice otherwise, I guess, right? Even if my teeth are awful? 

Eventually, a tiny lady with a thick accent leads me into the room. She’s the tech and is to prep me. 

Tech: “Okay, please have a seat. You can put your jacket on the bench over there.”

Me: “I’m so sorry if I look like I’m dusty. I just had a Paczki on the way here.”

The tech eyes me strangely for a moment and then bursts out laughing.

Tech: “That’s right! It’s Paczki Day! I have to get one later.”

As the tech is busying herself with prep, I try to make polite conversation. (I’m anxious, breakfast was that Paczki, and I’ve never had this kind of work done before!) 

Me: “How many of these procedures do you do a day?”

Tech: “How many of what you’re getting? I mean, we do just about everything every day. Sweetheart, don’t worry. Yours will be forty minutes. Forty-five, tops.”

Me: “Wait, seriously?”

Tech: “We’re only doing one tooth today, right? You’ll be fine. In fact, think about Paczki!”

She pats my shoulder and winks at me. 

In the middle of the work, I have to stop them so I can swallow. As I’m doing so, I motion to the tech. 

Me: “I’ hryink whoo hink ahou’ hasskeys!”

Endodontist: “…suction?”

Me: “Oh, oh, hasskeys!”

Endodontist: “What?”

Tech: “You want to think about… Paczkis?!”

She loses her cool for a second and laughs, leaving the doctor bewildered and a little upset that he had to stop work. 

As I’m leaving when it’s over and chatting with the tech again (who tells me that once the novocaine wears off, it’ll be very painful), just before she leaves…

Tech: *Triumphantly* “Now I’m going to get a Paczki!”

Me: *Laughing* “Enjoy!”

It was VERY painful when the novocaine wore off, but remembering this helped me to forget it!

I’m a home health nurse and take care of primarily medically homebound children. At one home, I found myself using tactics I’d usually use to deal with unruly children to deal with fully cognizant adults. 

Our company provides us with some supplies that we use daily in the home, like hand sanitizer, hand soap, paper towels, and gloves. I had worked for a while with a family with several young children and had learned that if I didn’t lock it up or keep it in my pocket, little hands would find and walk off with everything they could reach. Kids are kids, and they loved playing doctor with real medical supplies — and my pens and chapstick!

After that family moved, I was called into the office for a new client assignment. They asked if I would be willing to work, even very temporarily, in a house where they had a small theft problem. The nurse working a different shift from mine had been complaining of all the company supplies going missing, as well as several of her personal items. It wasn’t her purse or wallet but frustrating little things like her pens, notebooks, personal hand lotion, etc.

They had spoken to the family, and everyone denied taking anything. The parents were very apologetic and had replaced several missing items, but the thefts continued. The office figured since I was so well trained by the last family, I’d be able to help the other nurse solve her problem and protect my own things, as well.

On my first day at the new client’s home, I showed up with my locked supply bag. I explained to the family that I’d gotten in the habit of protecting my supplies from very determined, sticky-fingered children and just kept up the habit wherever I went. I figured it sounded nicer than, “I know there’s a supply thief in the house.”

I had been working for about two or three hours when a family member came in, looked around the room, and asked where the paper towels were.

Me: *Politely* “I assume you keep your paper towels in your kitchen.”

They paused.

Family Member #1: “No, your paper towels. I just need one.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but my company-issued supplies are for the client only due to our infection control policies.”

They tried again, arguing about only needing one, and then gave up when I kept repeating my answer.

Later in the day, another family member asked to borrow my pen “for just a minute”.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t loan out my personal items due to infection control policy.”

Family Member #2: “I only need it for a minute.”

Me: “I’m not endangering myself, my family, or my patient for so much as one second.”

That stopped them in their tracks.

I started keeping little notes in my pocket notebook. By the end of the day, I had been asked for “just one paper towel” about six times, to “borrow” something of mine “for just a minute” about a dozen times, where the hand sanitizer or my personal hand lotion was four or five times, and on and on. It was easy to see that the family had denied taking anything because they didn’t see taking “just one” or “borrowing for a minute” and then never returning something as taking what didn’t belong to them. 

I told the other nurse and the office about the mystery of the missing supplies. Our supervisor spoke with the family again. I had the pleasure of watching her resort to using props and counting things out like she was speaking to a kindergarten class to try to explain to several grown adults that if everyone takes “just one”, that’s how you end up with none, and that “borrowing” without permission and forgetting to return something is how the nurse “lost” several personal items.

They promised to stop taking and borrowing things meant for the client and belonging to the nurse — a promise that didn’t last a day.

So, the last time I worked there, both the other nurse and I took locked bags and kept everything else in our pockets.

I still laugh sometimes thinking of the confused looks on their faces when told that taking one thing is still taking things that don’t belong to you. It made me miss the sticky-fingered kids who just wanted to play Doc McStuffins with my stuff.

My partner and I lived in Alberta for quite a long time. In 2020, he decided to move some of his belongings to Nova Scotia. (We planned to retire there together, so we wanted to take belongings there over time.) He got to the Nova Scotia border at the end of April 2020, right when the border slammed shut.

Fast forward two years. We only saw each other three times in that time period, even though we talked on the phone every day. In July, I flew to spend two and a half weeks with him. My dad was also driving across the country to meet us there to spend time with me, my partner, and his family. 

At the end of the first week, my partner and I went camping for five days, trailering our motorbikes there. (It was too far for me to drive that entire way.) The first day, there was no problem driving my bike; we spent hours all over the place. The second day, the morning was fine, although I laid the bike down a couple of times. We came up to a T intersection, I waited for traffic, and then I started around the corner. My handlebars jerked to the left, I lost my balance, and I fell with my left arm outstretched. Instant pain. I could wiggle my fingers and move my wrist. I thought it was sprained.

My partner got the bike up and yelled at me to get up, which took me a few minutes to do. He kept telling me, “It’s just a bruise, it’s just a bruise,” so I got back on that bike, lifted my left hand to the clutch, and rode the bike for a half hour back to the campsite.

Some of the other campers came over to see what had happened and got me kitted out with a sling. We stayed there until the last day of our reservation and then drove back to [Partner]’s mom’s place where he was living. [Partner]’s mom took one look at me and told me that I was going to the hospital; my arm had swollen right down to my fingertips, and my upper arm was blueish-black.

We eventually got to the metropolitan hospital, and after a few hours, they were able to see me. After TEN X-rays, I figured it was worse than a sprain. The doctor came in.

Doctor: “The good news is that you need a CT scan. The bad news is that you need a CT scan because your shoulder is broken in three places.”

We got home at about 10:00 in the morning, and Dad arrived at noon. He was NOT expecting to hear that his daughter had a broken shoulder!

They were able to get me into surgery two days after that — a full seven days after I broke it! I had a plate and screws put in, and then I had six weeks of physiotherapy. I was planning to go to my dad’s at that point, so I was happy when I went in for my surgical follow-up. I was NOT so happy when they told me that it hadn’t healed at all. In fact, the bone had slid, and screws were up in the joint space. I ended up having an emergent shoulder replacement (titanium) and a lot more physio after that.  

The total time that I spent in Nova Scotia was three and a half months — way longer than the two and a half weeks I’d planned! After that, I did go to my dad’s, and I have been there since. I was off work for thirteen months, and I went back to work for the same company with restrictions. (They were so patient; it was unreal.) It’s been a bitter pill to swallow that I’ll likely never be able to lift properly above my head or make certain other movements.

On the other hand, my physiotherapist has been a godsend, as has as my auto insurance!

Don’t be like me: when you’re hurt, get it checked out!

I am a retired family physician. Before the days of computers, two patients arrived at the same time. [Patient #2] was scheduled ten minutes after [Patient #1]. [Patient #2] was having chest pain and was extremely short of breath — actually turning blue. The reception desk called for help.

My assistant got him in a room and started getting vital signs. I sent another assistant to get the crash cart and a third to start oxygen. I went into the hall and picked up the phone to call 911. I picked it up just before it had a chance to ring, and the reception desk was on the line.

[Patient #1] was upset and wanted to know when she would be seen.

Me: “We’re in the middle of a code blue.”

I hung up the phone and called 911. I gave the operator the information and went back to the patient. They were on oxygen and hooked up to an ECG, which showed they were having a heart attack.

By the time the paramedics arrived, we had given them aspirin and nitroglycerin. The paramedics took over, loaded [Patient #2] onto a gurney, and rolled them out through the waiting room to the aide car for transport to the hospital.

My assistant was busy putting away gear, so I went out to the waiting room and got [Patient #1]. I brought her back to an exam room, and she started complaining bitterly.

Patient #1: “I can’t believe I’m being seen out of order! I’ve been waiting for too long!”

Ten minutes had elapsed since she had arrived. I tossed her chart on the desk.

Me: “The reason you waited was that the patient seen before you was dying of a heart attack, and we had to save him! You waited all of ten minutes, and I brought you back myself. What clinic have you been used to going to where you wait less than ten minutes despite a medical emergency? I’d like to go there myself!”

I work at the main entrance of a hospital. To get inside, you walk through one set of sliding doors, which leads you into a small area with a couple of parking machines and another set of doors that goes into the main lobby.

One afternoon, I am on shift during a horrible cold snap where it is -35 Celsius (-31 F). Suddenly, a pipe between the doors bursts, and it immediately starts flooding the entire area, including the main lobby!

When the pipes first burst, I am talking with someone who is trying to locate a patient. Our conversation is interrupted when someone comes to the desk and points out the water pouring from the ceiling. I inform the lady I’ve been helping that I need to deal with the disaster, and I point to a courtesy phone in front of her that will immediately connect her with staff who can locate the patient. To my surprise, she gives me a look of absolute disgust. I point to the courtesy phone again as I pick my phone up to call in for help, and she very hesitantly looks at the courtesy phone. Not sure why she is so uncertain!

Then, as water rapidly begins filling the area, a patient in a wheelchair attempts to go over to the ATM located right next to the doors. I inform him that he can’t go there.

Patient: “But I want to use the ATM!”

Me: “You will have to go to the food court to use theirs.”

Patient: “But that one doesn’t work with my card!” *Tries to move forward*

Me: “Sir, you cannot go past here!”

Patient: “I want to use the ATM!”

Me: “Sir, this is an emergency! You absolutely can’t go past here!”

A healthcare worker was able to redirect him, thankfully, but there were towels and an inch or two of dirty water everywhere, and people were frantically running about, trying to mitigate the disaster… and all he cared about was using the ATM!