Cyst-emic Failures

| PA, USA | Employees, Health & Body

(My fairly well-known gynecologist office that employs multiple doctors had been great for me… until this all happened last spring. My husband and I went in for a check-up (on his birthday nonetheless) to find that I am having a first trimester miscarriage. Ensue a month of failure. Doctor #1 is male.)

Doctor #1: “So sorry about your loss. You have two options; we can remove it or you can pass it naturally.”

Me: “What can I expect passing it naturally?”

Doctor #1: “Some mild to heavy cramping up to a week; we want you to come back in if nothing happens after a week.”

Me: *having experienced heavy cramping before and tired of having probes stuck inside of me* “I’ll just pass it naturally.”

Doctor #1: “All right. Now, about this cyst on your right ovary—”

Me & Husband: “What cyst?!”

Doctor #1: *looks taken back* “You saw [Doctor #2] last month, yes?”

Me: “Yes, but she didn’t say anything about a cyst!”

(So we schedule for the cyst removal surgery with Doctor #1 at the end of the month. Figuring if I’m only going to experience heavy cramping, then I can still work, I resume my job the next day.)

Me: “Hey, I’m a bit of a complainer, so don’t mind me if I start rambling over here.”

Coworker: “Totally understandable. You’re fine.”

(Ten minutes later.)

Me: *starts to get some intense cramping* “Ugh, should’ve knocked on wood!”

(Over the next twenty minutes, I experience THE most horrific pain I have ever felt in my life. It was so bad I was in tears and had my husband take me to the ER, where I promptly got sick. They had me lie in a bed over the next six hours on pain meds that at least made the pain more bearable. The pain, by the way, began to come in contraction-like waves exactly five minutes apart. Late the next day, I pass the miscarriage, and then make a follow-up appointment with the office. I’m experiencing some tenderness and am feeling rather emotional over everything. Yet another probe goes into me and they suggest I have a procedure to “clean out” everything, which worsens my emotional state.)

Nurse: “The doctor has to approve you for the procedure, but she’s in.”

(So I cancel my much needed therapy appointment and drive to the office. I’m charged a co-pay, but am not in the mindset to ask why I am paying, since my insurance covers co-pays. I sit mutely and wait a bit until I’m called back.)

Nurse: “All right, if you can stand on the scale.”

Me: “Why? I’m here to see the doctor to get approved for the procedure. I literally just came from the other office.”

Nurse: “Oh, well, so the placenta didn’t come out?”

Me: “I… guess not?”

Nurse: “But the baby was delivered fine.”

Me: *thinking that’s an odd choice of words* “I… uh, delivered last night?”

Nurse: *looks at me as if I’ve grown a third head* “Well, who’s watching over the baby?”

Me: *shocked* “I had a miscarriage!”

Nurse: “OH!” *mumbles* “The doctor will see you shortly.” *beelines it out of the room*

(I’m rather upset that they wouldn’t have this whole business in my own paperwork when none other but Doctor #2 comes in.)

Doctor #2: “Oh, hello. Sorry about your loss. And about the cyst. They told me you didn’t know. I must’ve forgotten to write it in.” *looks at her clipboard* “You’re fine. Sorry about your loss again.” *leaves*

(I am flabbergasted at not only paying for mishandled paperwork but also for the doctor to say two words that she could have said over the phone. The procedure goes smoothly. Fast forward to the end of the month, where I’m checked in for the cyst removal surgery. The surgeon assistant comes up with some paperwork for me to sign and begins to read off what will be done.)

Surgeon Assistant: “We’ll be removing the cyst on the right ovary and check the left for a possible cyst—”

Me & Husband: “WHAT?”

Surgeon Assistant: *awkwardly* “Oh, he didn’t tell you… Uh, yes, there might be one on the left ovary. How about you speak with him before you sign?”

Husband: “YES, thank you.”

(After he leaves, my husband begins cursing out the entire medical office and their blunders while I’m trying to wonder how in the world they can have such grievous miscommunication. Cue waiting for a very long time, to the point where the surgeon assistants walk past our little room several times, occasionally checking to see if Doctor #1 has spoken with us yet. Eventually Doctor #1 comes in, says that while they didn’t see anything from the probes, he just wants to make sure. Tired of this whole ordeal, I sign and into surgery we go, which thankfully is a success with one cyst removal. A week later, I’m in the gynecologist office for the follow-up appointment and the icing on the cake.)

Doctor #1: *leans forward, looking excited* “So do you want to see the cyst?”

Me: “NO.”

Doctor #1: *looks very disappointed*

(SERIOUSLY?! Needless to say, I haven’t been back.)

Treating You Like The Child You Don’t Want

| Melbourne, VIC, Australia | Employees, Health & Body, Ignoring & Inattentive

(Six months prior to this, I’d been in a long-term, live-in relationship with a stable job and I was seeing a wonderful psychiatrist for my ADHD. I’m now single, living with my parents in another city, and seeing a new psychiatrist. I’m also a 24-year-old woman who decided years ago that I never want children. This happens at the end of our third session.)

Me: “I also wanted to tell you that I’ve been looking into permanent birth control for a while. So I may need to ask you to tell some surgeons that I’m mentally sound enough to make this call.”

Psychiatrist: “Um… No.”

Me: “Why not? You know that my only issue is ADHD, and that hasn’t stopped me from being independent.”

Psychiatrist: “No, see, when a woman has a partner and a home, THEN they start wanting babies.” *makes rocking motion with her arms* “You will see.”

Me: “I’ve HAD those things, and more, and none of it has made me want kids.”

Psychiatrist: *knowing smile* “You would regret it. I’m going to write to your primary doctor recommending that he not refer you to anyone about this. It’s for the best.”

(I left in a rage. Rather than go through all the hassle of finding a new psychiatrist, I decided to go back one more time and try to set her straight. I never got the chance though, as partway through the appointment she invited my father in and started talking to him about how he should be looking after me, as if I were incompetent or something. My ADHD doesn’t make me any less of an adult, lady, and neither does my lack of desire for children! I never went back.)

Cause For Multiple Pregnant Pause

| Finland | Employees, Health & Body, Ignoring & Inattentive

(I’m at a doctor’s office. She is writing me a prescription for antibiotics.)

Doctor: “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Me: “No, I’m not.”

Doctor: “Are you sure? You can’t be pregnant or get pregnant while taking this medication.”

Me: “Yes, very sure.”

Doctor: “Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

Me: “No, I don’t need one. I know I’m not pregnant.”

Doctor: “You should take one just in case, before I give you the medication.”

Me: “No, seriously, I can NOT be pregnant. I haven’t had sex in three years.”

Doctor: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes… I think I would remember.”

Doctor: “Well, if you’re sure… but make sure you don’t get pregnant.”

(A few months later, I go to another doctor. I have almost the same exact conversation with him. The third time, I’m yet seeing another doctor, who prescribes another kind of antibiotic.)

Doctor: “These antibiotics can be extremely harmful for your unborn child.”

Me: “I’m not pregnant.”

Doctor: “Are you sure?”

(I see where this is going, and before my brain really catches up, my mouth opens:)

Me: “I only have sex with women. I’m sure.”

Doctor: “Well… that’s a good contraceptive.

Scar Still Causing You Issues

| OK, USA | Employees, Health & Body, Ignoring & Inattentive

(I have an I.V. scar on the inside of my arm from surgery when I was twelve. I am now thirty-two. The scar is barely visible and it should be clear to anyone who has ever had a shot or blood draw or knows basic anatomy that it is not a fresh needle mark. I routinely donate plasma at a center in my town. While the money is nice, I donate because of what I went through as a child and because my blood type is not compatible with most others but my plasma type is fairly universal. On this day I have just come from work and I am dressed quite nicely, though my hair is colored a vibrant shade of blue, which is new. I have just been called to the back for my physical exam and iron test.)

Nurse: “Hold out your arms, please.”

(I do.)

Nurse: *while poking my scar* “What is THAT?”

Me: “It’s an old I.V. scar from when I was a kid. It’s noted in my paperwork.”

Nurse: “Hang on.”

(She gets up and walks away, and I can see her talking to another nurse. She then gathers some papers and returns.)

Nurse: “Okay, we can’t let you donate with visible track marks. You’re going to be red-flagged in our system. Here is some paperwork about what that means, and the process you need to go through to be able to donate again. You will always be red-flagged, so the next time you come in with track marks or if you come in tweaking or showing any other sign of your drug use, you will receive a lifetime ban from donating plasma anywhere in the country.”

(She is very loud, especially each time she says “track marks.” Since the back of her cubby opens to the waiting room, people are now staring.)

Me: “Ma’am, this is not a track mark. It’s a SCAR. I’ve had it all the other times I’ve donated, and it is noted in my file.”

Nurse: *crossing her arms* “You can leave, or I can call security. Your choice.”

(I suddenly recognize the woman.)

Me: “Is your daughter [Name]?”

Nurse: *going pale* “How do you know that?”

Me: “You don’t recognize me. Must be the blue hair, which I assume is also why you jumped to the conclusion that I’m a drug user. I was your daughter’s eighth-grade English teacher before I moved exclusively to subbing while I get my doctorate.” *I hand the papers back to her, her face is now quite pink* “You can keep these. I won’t be back.”

His Heart Isn’t In The Right Place

| Queensbury, NY, USA | Employees, Health & Body, Ignoring & Inattentive

(I am seeing my primary doctor for my biannual wellness visit. I had gone into the appointment very concerned because my heart arrhythmia had flared up in the past few weeks. At the end of the appointment:)

Me: “I’d like a referral for a cardiologist, for a consult and a Holter monitor [basically an EKG that you wear for 24-48 hours]. My PVCs have been increasing, and I’m becoming alarmed.”

Doctor: *clearly unconcerned* “I don’t think this is an issue. I don’t hear any skipped beats.” *listens to my chest for maybe three or four seconds, not an exaggeration*

Me: “I respect that, but I want a referral to a cardiologist.”

Doctor: *seemingly annoyed* “All right, I’ll put in that referral for you.”

(He did, and I had the Holter monitor and consult done. At the consult I learnt that literally 23% of my heartbeats were premature, resulting in no blood pumping effectively during those periods. I never went back to that doctor.)

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