My thirty-five-year-old son is having his first appointment with his new optometrist. As usual, he gets a pre-appointment packet to complete with personal and family medical history questions. He calls me for clarification on some things and goes off to the appointment. Then, he calls me from the exam room.

Son: “Mom, I’m in the appointment now, and the doctor has some questions about family history. I have you on speaker.”

Doctor: “Hi, Mrs. [My Last Name]. I think your son made some mistakes here. I need you to clarify. Let’s start with his father’s family history.”

Me: “Sure. His father’s father had cataracts. There’s a family history as my husband’s grandmother had them as well as her son.”

Doctor: “That’s what he had — no issues there. Now for your family.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s the bad one.”

I start listing ALL the eye problems in the family history, including strabismus, glaucoma, cataracts, macular degeneration, retinal degeneration, severe nearsightedness, and various forms of color blindness.

Doctor: “Um, really? Who had each of those, and what were their ages at diagnosis?”

Most of these are either me or my mother, some are both, and all were diagnosed at a younger age than generally diagnosed.

Me: “Oh, and my retinal degeneration was diagnosed when I was thirty-two, and I was not and still am not diabetic. I actually had a pregnancy glucose challenge test after diagnosis and was still fine.”

Doctor: “That’s what he had, but it’s just too much. No one has this much in one family.”

Me: “Well, we do.”

Doctor: “That’s unbelievable.”

Me: “How do you think I feel?!

Eventually, my son was able to order new glasses. He’s back on the hunt for a new optometrist before next year.

I’m the charge nurse in a huge emergency room. It’s a holiday, and we are very busy. The secretary comes up to me and says there’s a phone call from somebody who just got discharged. The caller is yelling about 911 and saying they have a major emergency. I drop what I’m doing and take the call.

Patient: “You need to call 911! Call them right now!”

Me: “What’s going on? What’s the emergency?”

Patient: “I just spent all day in your ER. I had such a bad headache, and they had to give me medicine in an IV.”

Me: “Okay. What’s happening now?”

Patient: “The medicine made me so drowsy, and they told me not to drive home, so I called a taxi. They dropped me off at my house.”

Me: “Fine, but why are you talking about 911? If you need an ambulance—”

The caller interrupts and talks over me. 

Patient: “Not an ambulance! You need to call 911! Call the police! They were here, and they took my money. You need to tell them to give it back.”

Me: “… What? You’re telling me the police stole your money.”

Patient: “The taxi driver called them. I told him I wasn’t paying. I came from the hospital, so it should be free. He called the police, and they came to my house, and they said I had to pay for the fare.”

Me: “Who told you the cab ride would be free?”

Patient: “Call the police! Call the cab company! Tell them the ride is free! Give my money back!”

Me: “Miss, I’m not in charge of the cab company. I’m certainly not in charge of the police. And I don’t even have your money.”

The patient yells an insult down the phone. 

Patient: “If you don’t give my money back right now, I’m coming back there, and people are going to get hurt.”

Me: “Oh, you just said the magic words. I’ll call the police for you right now. What’s your address?”

The patient gave me her name and address. I hung up, called 911, and reported that she had made threats against the hospital. 

About an hour later, the patient wound up back in my ER, this time in handcuffs. Apparently, when the police got to her house, she took a swing at a cop. They brought her to us to get the taser darts removed.

I work in healthcare, and last week, I had a patient call in to reschedule her upcoming appointment.

Me: “I can give you our next available time, which is 10:00 am on [day] next week.”

Patient: “I can’t do mornings.”

Me: “Okay. The next available appointment with [Provider] at our office isn’t for a few months; it’s on [date] at [time].”

She refused that appointment. I then offered her appointments at one of our other offices, but she refused those, as well. She begrudgingly took the first 10:00 am slot I offered her.

I came to find out that the reason she couldn’t do mornings was that her medication made her sick in the morning. Now, she didn’t tell me this. I found it out from our nurse, who I guess the patient called and begged for another appointment after she got off the phone with me. You would think that would be the end of that, but it wasn’t.

Two days after this happened, I got called into my boss’ office and asked about the situation. Apparently, the patient reported me for being “unkind” to her. Had she told me the reason why she couldn’t do morning appointments, I would have gone out of my way to accommodate her needs. But she didn’t; she just refused the appointments offered to her.

So, no, ma’am, I was not “unkind” to you. You just didn’t give me all of the information I needed.

CONTENT WARNING: War, Serious Injury (Limb Amputation)
 

My grandfather was conscripted into the Red Army. In 1944, he fought from Stalingrad to Budapest as a tank driver. In Budapest, his tank was blown up, and he managed to get out with only one leg to be amputated.

A few weeks later, in the hospital, he got a false leg and was told that he was not allowed to drive anymore.

As he got up, a nurse helped him out of the hospital. A commissar walked up to him.

Commissar: “Comrade, I see you are ready to fight for the people again.”

Nurse: “But he cannot walk, let alone fight!”

Commissar: “Nonsense! He’s got both legs, both arms, and a head. That’s enough!”

My grandfather realised that the commissar was trying to joke with this description. The nurse, however, did not. Instead, she grabbed his false leg and pulled it — pulled it straight out of his pants while my grandfather was leaning on her.

Nurse: “See? He can not run anymore; he even has to relearn how to walk.”

The commissar turned white, the nurse was all red, and my grandfather started laughing. The commissar told him to spend some time walking and getting used to the new leg and then just walked away.

The nurse became my grandmother, and they lived happily together.

This happens before the global health crisis. I’m a nurse, and I work at the one emergency room in town.

My doctor’s office is in the same building as an urgent care. There’s one sliding door, all glass, and you turn left for urgent care or turn right for the doctor’s office. It’s clearly marked.

It’s my day off, and I’m sitting and waiting for my appointment at my doctor’s office, messing around on my phone. I’m wearing Converse, jeans, and a hoodie that has the name of my partner’s workplace on it — not a medical job. I’m also the only person waiting on that side; the urgent care has standing room only.

A lady stomps in and walks up to my outstretched feet.

Lady: “I need help.”

I point to the check-in window and tell her to talk to them.

Lady: “No, you have to help me.”

Me: *Confused* “…I’m here for an appointment?”

Lady: “You’re a nurse! Get up and do your job!”

I’m now extremely concerned that this woman somehow knows my profession.

Me: “I don’t work here. I’m a patient.”

Lady: “Yes, you do! You’re a nurse.”

At that point, the desk staff opened the glass window and asked if they could help the lady. She stomped up to the window, demanding to immediately be seen. The staff figured out that she was not an established patient, didn’t have an appointment, and needed to go to the urgent care.

I was called back while the lady was demanding to see a doctor.

By the time I got out, she was gone. The desk staff told me they had to ask her to leave, and she did so while continuing to yell.

I still have no idea who she was. I assume she knew I was a nurse because she had seen me in the ER at some point. I never saw her again.

She was not in visible distress, walking normally with a steady gait. I’m not so heartless as to ignore someone in need of medical care. But if you’re able to stand at a window and shout at staff members, you’re probably not a critical patient.