(A friend of mine has had problems with a stomach ulcer for some time. Today it’s causing a lot of pain, so he goes into A&E to get it checked.)

A&E Receptionist: “Since you haven’t been to the hospital with this problem for over a year, you need a referral from your doctor in order to be seen.”

(He then leaves, but sits in the car still in the hospital car park to phone the GP.)

GP: “Well, I can refer you, but if the pain is that bad you need to phone [non-emergency urgent care line] to get an appointment straight away.”

(He phones this number and explains all of the symptoms.)

Call Handler: “With the symptoms you’ve explained, you need to be seen straight away. We’ll send an ambulance on blue lights to you now.”

Friend: “I’m in the hospital car park; I can walk to A&E from here.”

Call Handler: “No, absolutely no walking there. We’ll send you an ambulance.”

Friend: “I’m in the hospital car park! I don’t need an ambulance!”

Call Handler: “With your symptoms, you must be transported to the hospital via an ambulance. It’s not safe for you to get yourself there.”

Friend: “I can see three ambulances from here! I can go and over and sit in one if it makes you feel better!”

(They did eventually consent to allowing him to walk the 50 feet back into the hospital himself.)

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(I work at a sleep clinic work with people who have sleep disorders such as apnea and Hypopnea. These disorders, in a nutshell, make a person stop breathing or breathe so shallowly the oxygen in their blood is affected like with apnea. And I get this almost every time I’m working when I put CPAP on a patient!)

Patient: “Excuse me, miss? I can’t breathe with this thing on!”

Me: *after seeing them stop breathing for almost a minute* “Well, you aren’t breathing with it off, either.”

(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 had been having horrible stomach cramps, to the point where I could barely stand. I’ve already had my appendix removed, so my doctor ran a few other tests and determined the pain was from a bowel obstruction. He sent me home with instructions to drink more water and take a laxative and some OTC pain killers.

While waiting in the checkout line with my purchase, several waves of cramps came over me and I started seeing stars. The cashier saw me start to stumble and called for help. More stars appeared before the pain became so intense I passed out.

When I regained consciousness, there was a crowd surrounding me with a mixture of emotions on their faces. Some were concerned, others embarrassed, and others looked like they were trying not to laugh, but none of them are looking at me. I started to sit up and the associate closest to me — the pharmacist who helped me pick my laxative — told me to stay still and wait for the ambulance to arrive.

I asked what happened and the pharmacist blushed deeper. I looked down to make sure I hadn’t lost control of my bladder. I hadn’t, but then I realized my stomach didn’t hurt as much anymore. I made that comment aloud, and some of the crowd laughed. A man from the crowd leaned in and told me that when I hit the floor, I’d released the biggest, loudest, longest fart he’d ever heard out of any human being.

The people gathered around were obviously there to see how I handled the news of my flatulent faux pas. I was terribly embarrassed, but I was also so relieved that I wasn’t in pain anymore, I just laughed until I cried. The ambulance arrived shortly thereafter and gave me the okay to go home. I apologized to everyone in the vicinity and told them I hoped the rest of their day went better than mine.

(I’m a dental assistant at an orthodontics office where we have several locations, but we switch between locations daily. It’s planned out months in advance for scheduling purposes which doctors and team will be at which location. I’m covering phones for some girls that work front desk because the assistants don’t have any patients when this goes down over the phone. A patient’s Momzilla calls.)

Mom: “My son has a broken bracket again. I need an appointment for today to fix it.”

Me: “All right, well, we’re pretty slow for the next few hours at [location], but if you can come in before the afternoon we can see him.”

(I get the patient info to look at the chart and schedule her son.)

Mom: “You make sure the doctor knows this is an emergency. I have had to come in twelve times already to fix multiple brackets, and he only got his braces on five months ago. This is ridiculous; you all are supposed to know what you’re actually doing there. I’ll be at [location that’s closed] in an hour.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry about that, but [location I’m at] is the one that’s open today.”

Mom: “What? That doesn’t work for me. Didn’t you hear me say this is an emergency? Tell the doctor to come to this office for my son.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we will be getting busy soon, and our doctor can’t just leave for another location. If you can make it to this one today, I’ll schedule that walk-in, but it’s Friday, and the next day we have appointments at that location isn’t until Wednesday.”

Mom: “YOU ARE THE WORST OFFICE IVE EVER DEALT WITH! WEDNESDAY IS TOO FAR AWAY!”

Me: “Okay, well, maybe you should stop letting him have what looks like taffy and caramel popcorn, which we told you he is not allowed to have because it can break his brackets or wire. I assisted the doctor the last three times your son was in, and he also can’t brush out all the bits of those foods from his back teeth, so at this point, there’s nothing we can do if you can’t listen to simple directions.”

(The mom hung up on me, and later called and told the front desk girls that it was no big deal, and they’d just come in on Wednesday.)