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There Is No Joy In Mudville
Bad Behavior, Children, Health & Body, Non-Dialogue, Sporting Event, USA, Wisconsin | Healthy | August 2, 2021
I have been playing baseball since I was about eight years old and this story takes place when I am eleven, in 1991.

There are a couple of league rules for our age group and the most important one is no cleating. For anyone unaware, this means that when you slide into base, you are not allowed to put your foot in the air with the spikes/cleats on the bottom of your shoe into the person guarding the base. You have to keep your feet down when sliding. Anyone that cleats will be kicked out of the game and suspended for other games or kicked from the league, depending on the infraction.

The season has just started, we’re only a few games in, and everyone is having fun. Today is the day my mom is volunteering at the concession stand, so she’s not down by the field watching my game. She can see us playing from where she’s at, but she can’t pay attention to all of the game since she’s helping people. My dad is working; he can’t be at the game at the start and will be around about halfway through.

The game is still pretty early, just starting the third inning. I’m put in to replace the pitcher. I take over the mound and there is a runner on third. The runner is the biggest kid in our league. He’s in sixth grade, but he’s already a good foot taller than most of us and weighs a good sixty pounds more than most of us, too.

I strike out the first batter I go up against. Two more outs to end this inning.

The next batter hits a pop fly out to shallow right-center field. The outfielder comes in and makes the catch, and the runner on third tags up on the base and starts to run to home plate, but he holds up as the outfielder throws the ball to the catcher. Unfortunately, the throw from the outfielder is wide and the ball goes behind the catcher and rolls to the backstop. My job now is to help cover home plate. The catcher runs back to the ball, turns, and tosses to me. Because the throw to home plate was bad, the runner on third runs home in an attempt to score.

I’m now straddling the side of home plate, waiting for the ball to come to me so I can attempt to tag the runner out. I catch the ball and swing my glove down to make the tag, but the runner slides into home and cleats me. He ends up cleating my left arm, kicking my arm out of the way, and forcing me to drop the ball. At the time, it doesn’t hurt, and I turn around to take a few steps to where the ball landed. I go to scoop the ball off the ground with my glove, and when I try to turn my arm, that’s when the pain strikes me. I drop to the ground in agony, clenching my left arm.

One of the other parents runs up to the concession stand and gets my mom. She comes over with a bag of ice and we end up leaving for the ER to get x-rays.

About thirty minutes after my mom and I leave, my dad shows up and he sits in the bleachers and starts watching the game. After about fifteen minutes, he notices that he doesn’t see me on the field and asks one of the moms sitting near him where I am. The lady tells him what happened and that I left to go to the ER.

My dad looks at the lady, with a deadpan face, and asks, “Did he make the out?”

The lady is so upset with my dad’s lack of concern — because she doesn’t understand that he’s joking — that she punches him in the arm, actually leaving a bruise, and tells him he should be ashamed of himself. My dad tries to tell her he was joking, but she wants nothing more to do with him.

The kid that cleated me broke my arm, and he is never kicked out of the game or suspended for cleating. In fact, he never receives any kind of disciplinary action against him… probably because he is the kid of one of the coaches. The kid develops a bad habit of cleating others until someone gets tired of it and cleats the kid back.

X-rays show a fractured ulna, and because some strain is put on the ulna when you twist your forearm, I can’t just have a short cast put on. I have to have a full arm cast — from my hand to my bicep — for six weeks.

I spend the summer being unable to do most things — playing ball, hitting up the pool with friends, and wrestling. The upside is that my mom feels so bad for me that she takes my younger brother and me to an amusement park. I can ride some of the roller coasters, and as we stand in line for a ride, one of the employees sees me and asks why I am waiting in line and not using the accessible entrance. He says I should be using that entrance and gives us a pass to use them. We get to bypass the long lines and I have a blast that day.

Some People Shouldn’t Be Nurses
Bad Behavior, Medical Office, Nurses, Ohio, USA | Healthy | July 30, 2021
I am newly eighteen, so at my doctor’s office, I have to fill out new paperwork — confidentiality and whatever they make you do. I’m a short, very light-skinned girl with bright blonde hair which is naturally dark brown but I dye it. My mother is from Cuba and her father is from Spain, so I am 50% Latina and Hispanic. I definitely don’t look it, which isn’t normally a problem. It’s more like a fun trivia tidbit about me.

On one of the papers I am filling out, it asks if I am Hispanic/Latina. I check yes, because I am. I give the nurse the paperwork and wait in the room for a doctor. I can hear some nurses outside the door in the office area talking rather loudly.

Nurse #1 : “She’s got blonde hair and blue eyes — perfect Aryan. I think she checked the wrong box.”

Nurse #2 : “Change it for her. Obviously, she got it wrong.”

Nurse #1 : “Maybe she’s trying to scam us. One of those people begging to be oppressed.”

For the record, I have deep brown eyes, not blue. But I’m very upset about the conversation I’m hearing. My ethnicity is not for them to decide or discuss, and my patient records are supposed to be confidential, not talked about in front of or to anyone.

The nurse comes back in and hands me the clipboard.

Nurse #1 : “I think you marked that wrong — the Hispanic/Latina question.”

Me: “Uh, I am both Hispanic and Latina. I’m Cuban and Spanish.”

Nurse #1 : “Are you sure?”

Me: “Are you sure you should be gossiping about your patients’ medical files to other nurses and whoever else can hear right in front of the door?”

She left without another word. I’ve considered switching from that office for a while, but I don’t go enough for it to be a huge problem. I’m still bothered by this incident, though.

One Wild Ride
Home, Hospital, Patients, Siblings, Texas, USA | Healthy | July 26, 2021
The summer before my brother starts college, we go to an amusement park. He drags me on a bunch of terrible rides and a fun time is had by all. A few days later, however…

Brother: “My stomach hurts.”

Mom: “Where? How bad is it?”

Brother: “It’s not bad, just kind of sore right here.”

He gestures vaguely to the middle of his stomach, so my mom dismisses his appendix.

Mom: “It’s probably bruised from the bars on the [ride]. It’s what you get for dragging your sister on it and flipping it over.”

Over the course of a week, the pain doesn’t subside, but my brother hasn’t mentioned it getting worse or anything like that. My mom lets it go for the moment but decides to take him to the doctor if it doesn’t get better by next week. Come the weekend, I find him lying down on the floor of his room.

Me: “[Brother], are you okay?”

Brother: “No, my stomach really hurts. I just took another Hydrocodone, and it still hurts.”

The Hydrocodone was for his oral surgery he’d had earlier in the year. That surgery bothered him so little he never ended up taking the pills and just left them in the medicine cabinet.

Me: “Don’t worry. I’ll get Mom and we’ll take you to the doctor, okay?”

I got to my mom’s room.

Me: “Mom, we need to take [Brother] to the doctor. His stomach hurts and he took another Hydrocodone.”

Mom: “He did what?”

She rushed out, collected my brother, and drove us to the emergency room. It turns out it was his appendix. It had actually ruptured partially, though thankfully his body had walled it off. He had to go in for emergency surgery. My parents were pissed he let himself suffer so much before getting help. He recovered fine and was more upset that he had a weight limit for his first two weeks at college.

Diagnosis: Unnecessary Anguish
Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Medical Office, Texas, USA | Healthy | July 24, 2021
In 2016, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Due to the cancer being estrogen-related, she opted out of chemotherapy and decided that the mastectomy and pills would be enough. I supported her 100% and even argued against doctors and my father when they tried to pressure her.

Two years later, her thyroid started acting up. She went in for multiple biopsies. While we waited for results, I started Googling if the breast cancer could have metastasized into her thyroid. A week went by, and she went to her regular doctor and was told that the results were cancer. We got a nice report that said whatever they found was malignant.

We were devastated, and I blamed myself for not pushing chemo on my mom. We got the results Wednesday and had to wait until Monday to see her cancer doctor. It was a bad week. The day of the appointment, I tagged along with my mom and dad so I could be kept informed. The doctor walked into the office smiling.

Doctor: “How are we doing today?”

Mom: “I don’t know, you tell me. Do you know what stage it is? Has it spread?”

Doctor: “Cancer?”

Mom: “In the thyroid?”

Doctor: “You don’t have cancer.”

Mom: “What? They told me it was cancer.”

That was apparently shocking enough that the doctor left the room to go talk with the other doctors who did the biopsy.

Doctor: “Well, I mean it’s not not cancer. We don’t know exactly what’s wrong. It needs to come out for sure, but it’s probably not cancer, and if it was, it’d be stage zero and not dangerous.”

I sat in silence while the doctor hashed out treatment and surgery options with my parents. I felt relieved but also annoyed and confused.

Me: “I read the report, though. Why’d they put ‘malignant’ if they didn’t know?”

Doctor: “Oh, well, sometimes they just need to put something on the report.”

It wasn’t cancer, by the way. The thyroid was two times bigger and three times heavier than it should have been and covered in nodes, but my mom made a full recovery and is healthy.

Cat Poop: It’s What’s For Dinner
Funny, Houston, Revolting, Texas, USA, Vet, Wordplay | Healthy | July 22, 2021
My cat’s name is Dinner; my boyfriend, who is Vietnamese American, named him. He hasn’t been feeling well (the cat), and the vet told me to bring in a fecal sample.

They are still doing business by car, so when I pull up and the vet tech comes out, I hand over the bag of poop.

Me: “This is for Dinner.”

Vet Tech: *Stammering* “Thank you?”

Then, I come to my senses.

Me: *Laughing* “It’s a sample from my cat, Dinner. The vet needs it.”

She was so professional and so polite, in spite of her “WTF” face.

Sometimes You Have To Go Off-Script
Australia, Current Events, Health & Body, Patients, Pharmacy, Retail | Healthy | July 20, 2021
I work in a pharmacy, so you can imagine that we get more than our fair share of sick, coughing people. Unfortunately, that also means that we get more than our fair share of people who insist they cannot wear a mask. While corporate has refused to allow us to use curbside service, my management HAS been very good at backing us up and insisting we can refuse service to people that don’t comply.

Customer: “Hi, I just need this script filled.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, can you please put on your mask?”

Customer: “No, I have a medical exemption.”

Me: “I’m afraid that I am going to have to insist.”

Customer: “I cannot wear a mask.”

Me: “Ma’am, we will refuse service to anyone who isn’t wearing a mask. Many of our customers are high-risk.”

At this, she lifts her script to press it flat against the plastic of the barrier between us.

Customer: “The sooner you give me these, the sooner I can leave and start taking them so that I can wear a mask. But I need this script first.”

I am about to keep arguing, but then I realise what the medication on the script is. It’s a strong prescription painkiller, used for nerve disease and shingles and its complications.

I then look at the woman’s face again, and I realise the redness on her cheeks and jaw are not embarrassment or just a ruddy complexion but inflammation.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll… get right on that.”

Could she have been clearer? Given the particular painkiller, probably not.

Crown This Lady “Worst Patient Of The Day”
Bad Behavior, Dentist, Instant Karma, Patients, Reddit | Healthy | CREDIT: EWhiskeyM | July 13, 2021
I’m a dental assistant for a private practice. Most of our patients are wonderful people — friendly, happy to see us, respectful of our professional opinions and recommendations, etc. But today, I had the most entitled jerk in for what should have been a simple appointment.

When we do crowns — or caps, as some people know them as — we prep the tooth beforehand and take an impression. Then, that impression goes to a lab and the techs there make the crown. It takes two or three weeks for them to send the crown back.

When we deliver the crown to the patient, the doctor and I try the crown in first to see how it fits. It is VERY rare that it fits perfectly. We almost always have to make some adjustments — shaving down the crown here and there, checking the space between the teeth, checking the bite, etc. All of this is standard. The main thing we use is called “articulating paper”. When the patient bites down on it, we can see heavy blue markings where the bite needs adjusting. The more we adjust, the lighter those marks get, and it even stops marking altogether sometimes.

Most exchanges with the patient are like this.

Us: “How’s it feel?”

Patient: “It’s a little high.”

Us: “Okay, we’ll adjust that.”

We use the articulating paper and then grind the crown down a little.

Us: “How’s it feel now?”

Patient: “Oh, that feels much better.”

Us: “Okay, cool. Let’s cement it in.”

This takes maybe five minutes AT MOST. This lady we had tonight was having none of it.

Us: “How’s it feel?”

Lady: “Ugh, it’s way off.”

Us: “Okay, we’ll adjust it. How’s it feel now?”

Lady: “The same.”

Us: “Umm, really? No change?”

Lady: “The same.”

Us: “Okay, no biggie. Let’s adjust more.”

Over and over, she kept insisting that it was exactly the same, no change, even though the marks were gone at this point, meaning that her other teeth were no longer even touching the crown.

At this point, we had a couple of options that the doctor presented to her.

Doctor: “I can keep adjusting the crown. The only issue is that if I keep reducing the porcelain on top, the metal underneath might end up showing. Are you okay with that?”

Lady: “No.”

Doctor: “Okay. Well then, I need to make a small adjustment to the tooth above this one so that they don’t touch. It’s very superficial.”

Lady: “No! Don’t touch my other teeth!”

Doctor: “We do this all the time, ma’am. It doesn’t harm the teeth. We’re basically just polishing it.”

Lady: “No! That’s a lie! If you guys did it correctly the first time, you wouldn’t have to adjust it at all!”

Doctor: “Ma’am, we do this for everyone. The lab almost never makes them perfect. We either have to adjust the crown itself or the opposing teeth.”

Lady: “No, you screwed up.”

Doctor: “We have to adjust one or the other, so which would you prefer? Do you want metal showing?”

Lady: “No!”

Me: “So we can polish the opposing tooth?”

Lady: “No!”

Me: “It’ll literally take a few seconds.”

Lady: “No, you’re lying! It’s gonna harm my teeth!”

The doctor suggests getting our office manager to talk to the patient. Our office manager is an awesome lady. She’s old — two years away from retirement — and doesn’t give a f*** anymore. I tell her the situation and she laughs.

Office Manager: “Okay, let’s make her wait another month. I don’t give a s***.”

I laugh as she marches right in there.

Office Manager: “Okay, ma’am. Since you don’t want this crown, we’ll send it back to the lab and have them redo it.”

So, instead of just waiting the sixty seconds for us to adjust, she now had to wait three weeks to come in again. And that was just to RE-PREP the tooth. Then, she had to wait another three weeks for the crown to come back from the lab, again.

She had every right to request that the crown be redone. That’s not my issue. My issue is that she accused us of lying, screamed at us, wouldn’t tell us why it felt “exactly the same,” and didn’t want any solutions we offered.

This All Sounds Totally Normal
Doctor/Physician, Lazy/Unhelpful, Medical Office, Pennsylvania, Pittsburgh, USA | Healthy | July 9, 2021
I’ve had some worrying symptoms, so I go to see a new doctor for the first time. I recently lost my insurance and then the health crisis hit, so I haven’t had a primary care provider in some time. As suspected, the doctor orders some bloodwork.

Me: “Will this require me to fast? Because if I don’t, fair warning, my liver enzymes will be high.”

Doctor: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Any time I take a blood test and I’m not required to fast, my liver enzymes are always reported as abnormally high.”

Doctor: “And your previous doctor never bothered to try and figure out why that is?”

Me: “No, they would just order another test, have me fast, and then go, ‘You’re normal.’”

The doctor rolls her eyes in annoyance at this.

Doctor: “Okay, but… why wouldn’t they check that?” *Sighs* “Don’t fast for this one, but I’m going to have to have that checked out… like somebody should have a while ago.”

Soccer Is Always Bloodiest When Parents Get Involved
Bad Behavior, Health & Body, Parents/Guardians, Reddit, Sporting Event | Healthy | CREDIT: xylophoneplayer88 | July 8, 2021
When I am about eleven or twelve years old, I play for a local girls’ football/soccer team as the goalie. We play on a field not far from my house for home games.

We go up against another local team in the county tournament. This team has a girl on it whose mother is a known problem. She’ll scream if her daughter is so much as touched and has been known to be threatening to both parents and players. [Girl] is lovely, and we actually know each other from school. There is a friendly sort of rivalry between us.

About halfway through the first half, [Girl] comes at the goal and we end up both going for the ball at the same time. Her foot connects hard with my ankle and I immediately know it is broken. [Girl] apparently heard the break, and helps me to the ground, yelling for help. When I look down, my foot is at a very strange angle.

Both coaches help me off the pitch, [Girl] beside me holding my hand, both of us crying. Other players are gathering round, but the coaches tell them to step back and give me some space. My parents appear and sit with me while my team’s coach calls for an ambulance.

[Girl]’s mum appears. I hear her before I see her.

Girl’s Mum: “What’s going on? [Girl], get back on the field.”

Girl: “Mum, I broke [My Name]’s ankle. I want to stay with her. I’ll be red-carded, anyway.”

Usually, if there’s a foul you get a yellow card, and two yellow cards cause you to be red-carded and sent off. However, if a foul is particularly bad or causes serious injury, you’re red-carded straight away.

Girl’s Mum: “Red-carded?! Why, because she didn’t get out of the way in time?”

My Mum: “No, because it happened. I don’t think [Girl] meant for it to happen, but it still did.”

Girl’s Mum: “Well, I think your daughter did this on purpose to make [Girl] look bad. I bet she’s faking it.”

I’m still crying and in too much pain for patience.

Me: “If you think I can make my ankle bend like that myself, then you’re stupid.”

Girl’s Mum: “How dare you?!” *Turns to the coach* “I want the police here, too, for defamation of my daughter’s character.”

The referee comes over to check how I am and to let [Girl] know that, as she thought, she’s red-carded. [Girl] doesn’t seem to care, but her mother explodes.

Girl’s Mum: “You can’t red-card my daughter. Red-card that little b****. In fact, ban her from the game! She’s putting it on on purpose. Look!”

She kicks my ankle. It’s not hard, but it still causes me agony because of the break. I scream, and my mum jumps up to take the woman on. The other team’s coach has to get between them to stop a fight.

An ambulance shows up during this, and the paramedics come to help me. They manage to get both [Girl] and me laughing and help to secure my ankle so as not to cause more injury. My dad tells them about what [Girl]’s mum did, and one of the paramedics shakes her head.

Paramedic: “You can’t help stupid, I guess.”

The police also showed up while I was being sorted out. I didn’t see this part but was told about it by other players later. [Girl]’s mum started yelling that my mum and I should be arrested for defamation. However, after the police were told by several witnesses what had happened, [Girl]’s mum was arrested for assault.

I was taken to the hospital in the ambulance, my mum riding with me and my dad driving the family car. It turned out that I had a break in two places in my ankle. I have a strong suspicion that one of the breaks was the result of [Girl]’s mum’s kick, though that couldn’t be proven.

I had to wear a cast for six weeks and missed a week of school. [Girl] and other members of both teams came to visit me at home in the following days.

[Girl]’s mother was cautioned and released but was issued with a lifetime touchline ban by the team’s coach. She apparently tried to show up at a couple of games, but other parents made her leave again. Thankfully, [Girl] is still lovely, and we remain friends to this day.

A Very Patient Patient
Doctor/Physician, Lazy/Unhelpful, Psychiatrist, USA, Virginia | Healthy | July 7, 2021
I’ve just begun seeing this psychiatrist for treatment for ADD after having been diagnosed by a different doctor who, unfortunately, was too far away for me to see him regularly.

First, I go over history, habits, etc. with her.

Me: “I’ve read that [Drug #1 ] is more commonly used to treat this, but [Drug #2 ] has less anxiety-inducing side effects, and I think that that might be the better choice for me—”

Doctor #1 : “Oh, no, you don’t want to take either of those. They can both be addictive, but [Drug #3 ] works just as well and doesn’t have nearly so many terrible side effects.”

Me: “Oh, all right! That sounds a lot better. Let’s try that!”

She then goes over what she says are all the potential side effects I need to worry about and writes me a prescription. Two weeks later, I return for my first follow-up.

Doctor #1 : “So, how do you like them?”

Me: “I don’t know. They make me sick to my stomach. Most days, I throw up for the first time pretty soon after taking them, even if I’m sure to do it with food and without anything else that might upset my stomach, so I don’t think they’re actually being properly absorbed, and then I’m sick throughout the day. When I can keep them down, I still get very nauseous. I’m having headaches and feeling really tired.”

Doctor #1 : “That’s normal while you’re starting the medication. You just need to keep taking it; your body will adjust.”

Me: “Even though I’m throwing it up almost every day?”

Doctor #1 : “Yes, it’s still getting into your system. You’ll see.”

Me: “And the headaches and tiredness?”

Doctor #1 : “The headaches will go away, and tiredness isn’t a side effect of this drug. You need to make sure you’re maintaining a good sleep schedule; that way, you’ll be able to separate your regular feelings from the medication. Just stick with it.”

Two weeks after that, I go back again.

Me: “I haven’t been getting sick quite as much, but the headaches and drowsiness are really bad, even on days when I’m getting eight hours. Also, does this medication react with alcohol at all? Because I was at a party and I had a drink, and I started feeling way too intoxicated for just having had one drink.”

Doctor #1 : “What? You must never drink while you’re taking this medication! You shouldn’t drink at all — it’s so bad for you — but if you drink while you’re on this medication, it will kill you!”

Me: “I told you in the intake interview that I drank occasionally. Why didn’t you warn me?”

Doctor #1 : “You shouldn’t drink at all! It’s terrible for you! You’re so lucky nothing else happened to you!”

So, I give up drinking. At her insistence, I keep taking the medication, in part because she’s told me that she won’t prescribe me anything else, despite me requesting that she change it multiple times. I assume that since she’s a doctor, she must know better than I do, even though the side effects still remain and I haven’t noticed many changes in my symptoms.

After ten months, I start seeing a psychotherapist for different reasons, and when she hears about what’s been going on, she insists that I take her referral to a different psychiatrist.

Doctor #2 : “So, you’ve been taking [Drug #3 ] for eight months? Have you noticed your symptoms improving?”

Me: “A little, I guess. I think it’s hard to tell because I’ve been so tired lately. I know that that’s not supposed to be a side effect for [Drug #3 ], but I’ve been making sure I get enough sleep and it’s still a problem.”

Doctor #2 : “You noticed you were becoming tired after you started [Drug #3 ]? You know, just because something isn’t one of the listed side effects, it doesn’t mean it can’t possibly happen. So that’s made it hard for you to tell if your symptoms are improving?”

I’m encouraged that he hasn’t just dismissed me.

Me: “Yes, definitely. And the headaches. They’ve been so bad that I can’t focus at all sometimes.”

Doctor #2 : *Taking notes* “Are those all the side effects you’ve noticed?”

Me: “Well, it doesn’t happen as frequently now, but probably once a week I’ll end up throwing up from the meds.”

Doctor #2 : “Once a week isn’t frequent?”

Me: “It used to be almost every day. My old doctor said it was just my body adjusting to the medication.”

Doctor #2 : “How long did that go on?”

Me: “The first few months? When I first started, I’d be sick throughout the day, but after a while, it would just happen right after I took the pills. Now, though, I’m usually just nauseous for a while, but sometimes that gets so bad that I need to lie down.”

Doctor #2 : “So, we’ve got drowsiness, nausea, and headaches. Anything else?”

Me: “No. The only other weird reaction was when I drank, which I found out I wasn’t supposed to do.”

Doctor #2 : “Not supposed to drink?”

Me: “Yeah, my other doctor told me afterward about how it can be deadly, so losing some of my equilibrium seems like a fair trade-off since that’s the only bad thing that happened.”

Doctor #2 : “There are warnings about drinking on [Drug #3 ] because it can increase the effects of alcohol on your system, but the only life-threatening concerns are for binge drinkers, because [Drug #3 ] could exacerbate liver damage. Your doctor told you drinking on [Drug #3 ] was prohibited?”

Me: “She basically told me that it would be fatal.”

Doctor #2 : “All right. Well, first of all, that’s not true. Second, since you’re having such bad side effects from [Drug #3 ] and you haven’t noticed much improvement, I’d recommend switching medications, all right?”

He ended up prescribing me [Drug #2 ], the same drug that I requested from my first doctor during our first appointment. It’s been a month, and all the drowsiness, nausea, and headaches are gone, along with a lot of my initial symptoms. Let this be a warning: if your doctor refuses to work with you to find an acceptable course of treatment and you have any other options at all, explore them! An MD doesn’t always mean that the doctor knows best.

Honey, He Ain’t A Scrapbooking Project
Editors' Choice, Health & Body, Hospital, Impossible Demands, UK | Healthy Right | July 16, 2008
(I witnessed this on the hospital floor where I work. A patient’s daughter comes out of a hospital room and stands in the hallway, staring around looking lost.)

Nurse’s aide: “Can I help you?”

Daughter: “Yeah… can I have a stapler?”

(The nurse’s aide walks about two steps away to get a stapler and then thinks better of this request.)

Nurse’s aide: “Why do you want a stapler?”

Daughter: “My dad’s IV tubing is getting in his way. I thought it would be better if we stapled it to his arm.”

Nurse’s aide: “Um, I think tape would work better for that.”

Daughter: “You guys have tape here?”

Nurse’s aide: “Yeah, I have some here in my pocket.”

(The aide walks into the room to secure the IV tubing before any more of his genius children try to help.)

Daughter: *muttering* “I still think a stapler is a better idea…”

Hippocrates Is Rolling Over In His Grave
Doctor/Physician, Insurance, Jerk, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | May 13, 2009
Me: “Thank you for calling. How can I help you?”

Doctor: “I need to verify my patient’s coverage. Her number is [number].”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there is a problem and I can’t access that account. I will have to forward this issue over to our technical department, and they will get back to you as soon as possible.”

Doctor: “I need this information immediately. Can I talk to them now? It’s very important.”

Me: “I’m sorry, they are very backed up over there and everything is handled in the order it is received. You will be added to the queue and they will get back to you later today.”

Doctor: “What if she was dying and I needed her coverage information? What then?!”

Me: “Ma’am, with all due respect, if the patient was dying there in your office, I would hope you would treat her regardless of her insurance coverage.”

Doctor: “Well, yes — I mean… Just make sure they call me today.” *click*

Where The Sun Don’t Shine, Bungholio
Funny, Patients, Pharmacy, Stupid, USA | Healthy | May 12, 2009
Customer: “These things don’t work! They are hard to swallow and I nearly choked to death.”

Me: “Ma’am, they are suppositories. You don’t swallow them; you insert them rectally.”

Customer: “What does that mean?”

Me: “You unwrap them and insert them in your rectum.”

Customer: “What’s my rectum?”

Me: “Ma’am, please forgive me, but your rectum is your butthole.”

Customer: “Well, up yours, too!” *stalks off*

(This is not the first time someone misunderstood when we explained how to use a suppository. It’s the only time we can tell a patient, “Up yours,” and get away with it!)

The (Brain) Damage Has Already Been Done
Alcohol, Call Center, Emergency Services, Germany, Health & Body | Healthy Right | May 6, 2009
(Note: 1-1-2 is Germany’s version of 9-1-1.)

Me: “1-1-2, what’s your emergency?”

Caller: “Oh, my god! Help me! Help me!”

Me: “Calm down, please. Can you tell me what happened, if someone is hurt, and where you are?”

Caller: “I’m at home, and my brain stopped working!”

Me: “Your brain… stopped working? Sir, if your brain would stop working, you would be dead. Can you tell me exactly what happened? Are you bleeding?”

Caller: “No, no. But my brain stopped working! At least half of it! Oh, my god, will the other half stop working as well?! Will I die?! My wife was right! I can’t believe it!”

(At this point, I’m unsure what to do. The man is really in a state of panic, but sounds otherwise fine.)

Me: “Sir, is your wife at home? Can I speak to her? If not, please tell me exactly what you did when your… brain stopped working.”

Caller: “I watched soccer! And drank beer! My wife always told me ‘When you don’t stop that crap, your brain will stop working’ and now it did! I was sitting on the couch and turned my head to look at the clock and suddenly I can’t move my head anymore because the left side of my brain stopped working! Help!”

Me: “Sir, it sounds like you only cricked your neck!”
that this is indeed his problem and that he’ll see a doctor in the morning. I’m about to end the call, when…)

Caller: “Hey, dude…”

Me: “Yes?”

Caller: “Is she right?”

Me: “Who?”

Caller: “My wife. You seem to know a lot about medicine and stuff, so can my brain really stop working from watching too much soccer and drinking beer?”

Me: “Well, alcohol is known for indeed killing brain cells when you drink too much, but you won’t–”

Caller: “Oh, my god! Thank you! I thought she was only kidding me, but when you say it, then I’ll stop! Thank you so much for saving my life! Thank you!”

Me: “Wait, I didn’t say–”

Caller: *hangs up*
(I start describing him what a cricked neck feels like and he agrees

It’s Called Healthyitis
Bizarre, Doctor/Physician, Health & Body, USA | Healthy Right | April 16, 2009
Me: “Thank you for waiting. My name is [My Name]. What is your call regarding?”

Patient: “Yeah, I want to ask the nurse a question.”

Me: “Is this regarding symptoms you are experiencing?”

Patient: “Yeah… well, kind of.”

Me: “What symptoms are you experiencing?”

Patient: “Actually, none.”

Me: “You are experiencing no symptoms?”

Patient: “Yeah… I have no pain and I just want to know if that is normal.”

I Am Anti-Antibiotics
Doctor/Physician, England, Hospital, Jerk, UK | Healthy | May 30, 2019
(After I get back from my vacation, I get a bad UTI infection and need antibiotics from my General Practitioner. I am prescribed a course and everything is good until the evening. My entire body randomly breaks out in spots — big, red, blotchy patches. It feels like ants are crawling over my entire body. At around three am, I go to the urgent care centre and the out-of-hours GP calls me through.)

Me: “I have this rash. It hurts so much. It started after I started taking the penicillin this morning. I’ve never been allergic before but my mum and grandma are—“

GP: “I’ll stop you there. This is clearly eczema.”

Me: “I don’t think so. My chest really hurts, too.”

GP: “Definitely eczema. There isn’t much I can do.”

Me: “I don’t think it’s eczema. It’s come on really suddenly.”

(I’m struggling to breathe and the rash has spread up my neck and throat.)

GP: “Stop being a baby! My niece has diabetes and she’s never moaned as much as you have right now!”

(I excuse myself and stumble back to the waiting room. My mum is there and manages to catch me as I collapse on the floor. She calls for an ambulance and the doctor comes back out.)

GP: “You can’t sleep here!”

Mum: “She can’t breathe, you idiot!”

(The ambulance came and I was given an adrenaline shot and rushed into the main section of the hospital. I was right. It was anaphylaxis. I was having an allergic reaction to penicillin.)

I Don’t Drink, But After This, I Wanna
Bad Behavior, Doctor/Physician, England, Hampshire, Medical Office, UK | Healthy | May 29, 2019
(I am 19, and I go in for my annual checkup at the doctor. I am given a standard medical questionnaire to fill in. One of the questions is, “On average, how many units of alcohol do you drink a week?” I have never been a big drinker, not even as a teen. Not for any particular reason; it just isn’t my thing. At most, I have a few drinks on New Years and a few on my birthday. I write on the form that I have a couple of units a week, which would average out to the few drinks on my birthday and New Years with plenty of wiggle room to spare, just in case. I hand the form in, and it is sent to the doctor. Eventually, he calls me in. We do my height and weight and blood pressure. All good. Then he comes to my alcohol intake and narrows his eyes at me.)

Doctor: “You can be truthful, you know. I’m a medical professional.”

Me: “I know. I am being honest. I’m not a big drinker.”

(He stares at me for a while.)

Doctor: “I was young once. And I have teenage kids. I’m not going to judge you. Be honest.”

Me: “I am being honest. I’m not a drinker.”

Doctor: *condescendingly* “What do you do when you go clubbing? Drink water?”

(Taken aback, I shake my head. I don’t go clubbing; nightclubs are my idea of Hell. I have a full-time job, often working fifty or more hours, and I have no interest in going to loud clubs or bars on my days off.)

Me: “I don’t go out much. I’d rather go out for coffee than go clubbing.”

(The doctor raises his eyebrows.)

Doctor: “Okay, well, I’m going to put you down for ten units a week.”

(He picks up his pen and actually crosses out what I wrote.)

Me: “No! What I wrote was true. I don’t drink. Even a few units a week is generous. I don’t want you to change what I wrote.”

Doctor: “Look, just be honest. If you’re not, we can’t treat you.”

Me: “I am being honest. I don’t give you permission to change it.”

Doctor: “Well, I’m the doctor, and I have reason to believe you are being dishonest. You need to stop lying on medical forms. That’s a big deal. If you keep lying on them, you could die because we don’t have the right information.”

(I keep trying to argue with him but he writes over what I wrote and puts down ten units a week. Dumbfounded and unsure of what to do, I carry on with the rest of the exam, just wanting it to be over. As soon as I am out, I go straight to reception and tell them I want to make a complaint. At first, the receptionist is alarmed and asks what the problem is. When I tell her, she pauses and then rolls her eyes.)

Receptionist: “Look, sweetie, we won’t tell your parents. Everything you tell us is confidential.”

Me: “I live by myself. That’s not my issue. The doctor falsified my medical records without my permission.”

Receptionist: “Your medical records need to be accurate, sweetie. Otherwise, we can’t treat you.”

(The receptionist refuses to log my complaint. When I continue to insist, she looks down her nose at me.)

Receptionist: “For somebody who doesn’t drink, you sure are protesting a lot.”

(I wanted to scream at her that I was angry because they were DELIBERATELY FALSIFYING my medical records, but instead, I left and transferred to another practice.)

They Don’t “Do” Paying
Belgium, Call Center, Insurance, Non-Dialogue, Stupid | Healthy | May 28, 2019
(I used to work for a medical insurance company. I answered phone calls and emails from customers who had questions about their insurance policy or reimbursements. In this case, the customer had a coverage of 80%, meaning that he had to pay for 20% of the amount himself. The following is an exchange over email.)

Customer: “I saw that 80% of my invoice was paid, but what do I have to do about the remaining balance?”

Me: “The coverage for this type of expense is 80%. This means that we have paid for 80% of your expenses to the hospital directly. The other 20% should be paid by you, yourself.”

Customer: “I don’t understand. What do I have to do?”

Me: “Since the coverage is not at 100%, this means that we cannot pay for 100%. We have paid our share to the hospital. The remaining balance of [amount] should be paid to the hospital by you, yourself. If you have already paid this to the hospital, everything is fine and no further action is required. If you want, you can give me a phone call or provide me with your phone number, so I can give you a call, so I can explain this to you by phone.”

Customer: “I really don’t understand. What do you want me to do?”

(He has given me no phone number and no other option than to send another email.)

Me: “The amount of [amount] has to be paid to the hospital by you, yourself. If you have already paid [amount] to the hospital, you should do nothing. If you have not yet paid [amount] to the hospital, you need to pay [amount] to the hospital. If you are unsure whether you have paid or not, please contact the hospital’s billing department.”

Customer: “I am [Customer]’s manager and I have been over these emails with him. We both do not understand what he needs to do.”

(Again, I was given no phone number. At that point, I decided to break the rules and put the email back in the general mailbox instead of my personal one to let someone else deal with it. The worst part is that these people work for the United Nations.)

Underarm Comments Are Below The Belt
Doctor/Physician, Jerk, Medical Office, UK | Healthy | May 27, 2019
(My mum suffers from Hidradenitis Suppurativa, a chronic skin condition which sees her being plagued with recurring abscesses and boils in her sweat gland areas, particularly her underarms. This conversation occurs at her local GP surgery whilst she is suffering a particularly bad bout of abscesses.)

Mum: “I have really painful abscesses on my underarm, and I’m struggling to get dressed and move my arms as a result.”

Doctor: “Okay, let’s have a look.”

(My mum struggles to remove her coat, but finally succeeds and proceeds to show the doctor her underarm. The doctor recoils in horror.)

Doctor: “Well, you could have at least shaved before coming in.”

(My mum was horrified and embarrassed. She had had these abscesses for weeks. I’d love to know how the doctor would have suggested shaving the area whilst her underarms were in that state from the abscesses. He was fired a few months later; apparently, he’d had a number of complaints from various female patients about the comments he had made to them.)

The Next One Won’t Even Make It Out Of The House
Australia, Editors' Choice, Emergency Services, Family & Kids, Friends, Patients | Healthy | May 27, 2019
(My friend is in labour and it becomes clear she is going to have her baby in the back of the ambulance. She is freaking out.)

Paramedic: *trying to comfort her* “This is nothing. Last year, a woman had a baby in the hospital car park.”

Friend: *wailing* “That was me!”