6. Sometimes, the nurses are better than the doctors.
“I was 12 weeks pregnant with our first child when I suddenly experienced heavy bleeding and clotting, and I was terrified of miscarrying. We were out of town and went to the local ER. The doc, while examining me, said that my “fetus isn’t considered viable anyway” with a rather nonchalant attitude. That’s not something you tell a panicked pregnant lady, no matter if it’s scientific fact or not. He was a rather young doc and didn’t say it only once to me. He went on about early pregnancy and that my fetus wasn’t viable.
I wasn’t there to be schooled over his callous factoids; I was there because I wanted to know if my baby was still there or not. It turned out my placenta had a tear of the uterine wall, but we would be okay. The little guy was alive and well. The nurse did a fantastic job calming me down and was the only reason I didn’t end up going totally bonkers over that idiot doctor. A few months later, I received a survey from the hospital over how well I received treatment. I ripped that doc a new asshole and made sure to thank the nurse.” –tarantulawarfare
5. When a doctor gives you 40 Vicodin for a sore throat.
“Last year, I went to the doctor for a really bad sore throat, but my regular doctor was on vacation, so I saw somebody else. When he walked into the exam room, he was already in mid-sentence (but talking to me), explaining the difference between a viral and bacterial infection. He then rambled on, and on, and on, and on about nothing for long enough that I was surprised that the clinic could even run efficiently enough to stay open. Then he went, to paraphrase, “Now I know sore throats can be painful, and I don’t want you to be in pain it could keep you up at night, and that’s not good, so I’m going to prescribe you some Vicodin.
It’s going to be more than you need, but hey, you know what, someday you’re going to fall and hurt your ankle, and you’re not going to need to come to see me; you’re just going to need some Vicodin!” So then, without me even mentioning that I was in pain, he prescribed me FORTY extra strength (7.5/750) Vicodin. I almost started laughing when he handed me the prescription. Not that I am complaining about this, but damn. All I could think was, for someone with an MD, you sure are stupid.” –ten000days
“After having breast reduction surgery, I wasn’t even awake before they were making me stand to get in a car to drive home. I was home a couple of hours when I started to notice the redness on one side. I snapped a photo for my plastic surgeon, who said it was nothing—fast forward 5 hours. Fever is now setting in, tenderness and swelling at the surgical site. The fever reaches 102, get a drive to the hospital. They dismiss me and tell me to go back to the surgeon on Monday (it was Friday). Fever Reaches 104, and I feel like I have been hit by a truck.
With my ride gone, I have to call an ambulance. They take me to the hospital, the triage nurses berate me and ask why I didn’t get a drive and why I would dare call an ambulance. Dr. McNoob tries to cut the surgical tape off me and cuts part of my skin off too. I spent the weekend in a hospital bed on morphine, and on Monday morning, I went to my plastic surgeons, where he jammed an unconscionably large needle into the wound and siphoned off almost a quart of stale bloody liquid. (pressure released, I healed, it felt better).” -Anonymous
“When I was about 18, I began to experience pains in the middle of my chest. It would be horribly uncomfortable, but nothing I felt the need to seek treatment for. When I was 21, I had a very intense attack. It was so painful I couldn’t breathe, and I kept throwing up. I was convinced that I had a heart attack. My friend rushed me to the ER, and I couldn’t do anything except cry and gasp for breath, asking for help. The nurses got me registered and hooked up to monitors and then left me in the room alone. I laid on the bed and cried the best I could through broken breaths and truly believed I was going to die.
About 10 minutes later, the pain subsided. About 15 minutes after that, the ER doctor finally strolled in. He ran some tests and diagnosed me with a spasmodic esophagus which essentially not preventable and incurable. I spent the next seven years suffering these debilitating attacks, during which all I could do is curl into a ball, cry, and pray that the pain would subside soon. After a particularly horrific attack during which I was in pain for a solid 8 hours, I finally went to see my family doctor in hopes he could at least prescribe pain medication for such times. It was then that he told me it’s not my esophagus, rather it was gallstone attacks and that I needed to have my gallbladder out.” –Cherpyderp
“My worst was right after I got in a horrible car accident. I went in just for a checkup to see if my ribs were broken. The appointment had several X-rays, cat scans, MRIs, and an ultrasound. While doing these, the nurse decided I needed morphine for the pain and had a tech come to put in my IV. The tech put it in wrong several times. Then when he finally got it in my arm right; the line had a hole in it or something and wasn’t pumping just morphine, but air as well, when I started to feel sick. Plus, still in pain.
I mentioned it, and the tech told me I didn’t know what I was talking about and to be quiet. He was concentrating. When I finally got in to get the MRI, the tech in there told my other tech that my IV was in the wrong spot. So, she ripped it out without so much as a warning. Blood went everywhere, and they all blamed it on me (i could hear them whispering about me). Then when she put it back in, I told her to put it in my hand instead, and when she did, the tech told her she did it wrong and made her do it again. Which hurt like heck.” –EmeraldEyedMonster
1. When a doctor acts highly unprofessional — after brain surgery!
“I had brain surgery eight years ago and a week after had crazy blurry vision, couldn’t read. I went through a lot of work up for inter-cranial pressure, which was marginally high, all these meds to get it down. 8-day hospital stays with a lumbar drain to drain excess cerebrospinal fluid. My neurosurgeon sent me to a neuro-ophthalmologist for further workup. The neuro-ophthalmologist (older male) does a piss poor exam and tells me in front of my mom, “everything is normal. You just need reading glasses” I was 23. “I think the real issue is you exaggerating symptoms because you’re afraid to live on your own and start your life again.”
He said, “You want to be taken care of.” My mom lost it on him, and we left crying. A few days later, I went to an optometrist. Maybe I could get some info. She takes one look at me and says, “how long have you been wearing that scopolamine patch?” I had had it on since surgery like a month ago at that point, for my nausea. My eyes were crazy dilated from the patch, and a day after I removed it, my vision was normal again. We wrote to the chief of ophthalmology, and he called us and formally apologized.” –stinkspiritt