Sometimes doctors can seriously cross the line with what they tell their patients. Whether it be highly inappropriate, extremely ignorant, or a combination of both, the following people were definitely looking for new doctors after these unprofessional statements.
That It Outrageous!
“In late 2004, my grandmother, my favorite person in the whole world, had a stroke. She lived in a different city, a 5 hours drive away from me, but we were there in a heartbeat, and I stayed there for a couple of months to take care of her while she was in the hospital, with the left side of her body paralyzed.
One evening, she was dying of thirst, and she kept eyeing the door in hope that a nurse would drop by so she could ask for some water. After a couple of hours, a nurse finally showed up to turn off the lights for the day. My grandmother told her she was very thirsty and could she please get her some water. The answer she got?
‘Just go to sleep, it’ll pass.’
And then the nurse turned off the light and left.”
Do Your Job!
“I was writhing in severe pain, after presenting multiple evenings in a row with severe stomach pains to the same (military) doctor, who kept sending me away with antacids, which I consumed in copious quantities as I wandered the corridors of the military barracks, sleepless and in pain (later I learned that I had acute ulcerative esophagitis that would have been much less severe, had it been treated earlier).
The doctor stood by my bed looking baffled and frustrated, and asked me, as if I were a major inconvenience to him:
‘What do you want me to do about it?’
I managed to squeeze out, between grunts of pain:
‘I believe the traditional process is diagnosis, followed by treatment.'”
A Wonderful Mother.
“Not to me, but to my mother.
She was 36 when she became pregnant with me, which was considered pretty old for children at the time. She immediately went to a doctor to start prenatal care, and to get some tests done to see if I would have any birth defects. My parents had tried for a long time before finally getting pregnant, and wanted to know if I would have any disorders they should prepare themselves for.
The first time she met with the doctor (who was also female, might I add), this was her response (before any tests were done):
‘Don’t worry. If it has Downs I can sneak you into the hospital under pretense of a regular checkup, and get rid of it for you. No one will know!’
The doctor said all this to my father while my mom was lying down on the table, shocked out of her mind. Needless to say, they never went back to that whacko.
Happy to report I was born with 0 birth defects.”
What A Jerk.
“I went to a fancy dentist essentially for my jaw problems (Temporomandibular Disorder). He said, ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’ Ae said, ‘Well, he’s not going to like what I’m going to say. But most people who have this are women.’ and he looked at me expectedly. I said, ‘Okay.’ And he said, ‘Women.’ And I said, ‘Okay.’ And he said, ‘Women. Young white women.’
And I said, my head spinning with possibilities on the biological difference between male jaws (larger?) and female jaws (smaller? more compact?), ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t get it.’ He said, ‘Really? Women give oral sex, and that is why they have more problems with their jaws.’
I said, ‘Oh, um, what? I’ve had this condition since I was 4 years old. (subtext: give me my damn medication so I can get out of here…and also…wondering if there is data on frequency/prevalence of oral sex in White females vs. other races?)’
You can be highly educated but lack social grace, that’s for sure. Sometimes I see his advertisement on the TV when I’m at the gym and roll my eyes a bit. There’s just no way I would’ve come to that conclusion on my own. Oh, doh! I must have chronic jaw pain from my dating life. Silly, silly me…
What a jerk. :rolleyes:”
It’s So Much Worse When It Involves Kids.
“I was born with spinal cord cancer, but it wasn’t discovered for two years. I began dragging my leg and pulling my head to one side. My mother had just lost a set of twins prematurely, and the strain of grieving for them and worrying about me was unbearable. She took me to one pediatrician after another, and they were all cold and dismissive. They told her that I was ‘whiny’ and ‘needy,’ that I was trying to get attention back on myself after the death of my brother and sister, and that the best thing my mom could do was ignore it so I would stop. They advised her to find a job outside the home so I could understand I wasn’t the most important thing in the world.
Then I became paralyzed and they got me to a Children’s Hospital, where a myelogram revealed terminal cancer. Luckily, I had a brilliant neurosurgeon who performed a series of medical miracles and here I am today. But my mother has never forgotten those pediatricians, 37 years later.
She went on to have my younger brother, who is five years my junior. When he was about the same age I had been at my cancer diagnosis, he developed a lump on his skull, behind one ear. She took him to a pediatrician, and he didn’t even bother feeling the lump. He leaned forward and said, ‘Just because your daughter had cancer doesn’t mean your son does too. Go home and take a Valium.’
My brother, among other things, went on to have tumors in both eardrums. He has partial deafness now. That time, my mother wrote to the AMA. We changed doctors immediately.”
Pain In The Balls.
“Let me begin by telling you, 100% honestly, that this doctor was a urologist named Dr. Atlas. For the mythologically challenged, let me remark that Atlas is the titan who bears the weary weight of the world upon his shoulders. The name is Greek; in popular representations, he carries the giant globe upon his shoulders; he is also related to the apples of the Hesperides.
The fact was that, a decade ago, there came a week when my testicles suddenly, for no discernible reason, began aching, on and off, in a most unpleasant manner.
I was alarmed, as men are wont to be when they experience discomfort in that region. Already I was imagining horrors. So I went to Dr. Atlas, whom my father recommended. I was summoned into the room, garishly white. The doctor came in. Here, the titan who wields the sphere; here the man whose diagnosis I quaked to imagine.
‘So what brings you in today?’
‘Well, the long and short of it is that my balls hurt.’
He asked a few more diagnostic questions, which I answered; then he demanded to see my apples of the Hesperides, and proceeded to dandle those fruit in a manner I cannot profess myself to have enjoyed.
‘There’s nothing really wrong here,’ quoth he. ‘Just some minor orchialgia.’
‘Orchialgia.’ I say it as though I am rolling the word around on my tongue — it isn’t a question. Why? I know ancient Greek. Orchos is ‘testicle.’ Alg? is ‘pain.’
He notices my tone and tosses me a quizzical look.
‘That word means ‘ball pain.’ I believe I told you at the outset of our conversation that I was experiencing ball pain. Is there some special medical definition? Is it an actual condition?’
‘No, it’ll just resolve itself.’
‘But is it … an actual thing? Is there any treatment?’
‘No. You’re fine. We just don’t like people to feel like they’ve come in for no reason. Patients sometimes find a fancy name reassuring. Makes them feel like their concerns were taken seriously.’
‘But all you did was repeat back to me what I told you in a different language.’
‘Well, most patients don’t know Latin.’
Now I am in high nerd dudgeon. ‘It’s Greek. Not Latin, Greek. Shouldn’t you know what language you’re insulting my intelligence in?’ I was young, truculent.
‘Well, have a nice day. You’ll be fine.’ Whoosh, out of the room.
I came to Dr. Atlas because my balls hurt. I told him my balls hurt. He told me my balls hurt. Then I paid him for doing so.
My ‘orchialgia’ went away and did not return.
The whole affair was a pain in the balls.”
Oh Interns.
“I had a period of time where I was exhausted without knowing why. After blood and urine samples, I went to get my heart checked to make sure it was functioning properly.
So this doctor is making an echo of my heart, stops and says, ‘Damn, that doesn’t look good.’ And runs out of the examination room.
I tried to calm myself, but the idea that a doctor was upset at something he saw in my body gave me the idea that he found something horrid and unusual (picture here the chestburster scene from ALIEN).
So the doctor returns with another doctor, who greets me and says, ‘Okay, show me.’ So the young doctor put the echo thingy back on my chest and the older doctor smirks and says, ‘No wonder, that’s the wrong spot. If you look at the heart from that angle the aorta looks extremely distended.’
‘So everything is fine?’ I ask. ‘I was a bit worried.’
‘Why?’ the doctor asked. ‘Nothing wrong with your heart.’
‘I always get a little nervous when someone says that something is wrong and sprints out of the room.’
The doctor rolls his eyes. ‘Interns. Sorry, sir.’ He looks at the intern. ‘Next time, keep your composure.’
He walks out and the intern smiles at me sheepishly. ‘Sorry.'”
Slim Pickings.
“I am a recovering alcoholic who hasn’t drank alcohol in over 25 years. About 15 years ago, I was struggling with terrible neck and arm pain from another bizarre worker’s compensation accident, which herniated a disc in my neck. Pickings are slim here in Naples, Florida for quality doctors, so the neurosurgeon was obviously a drunk as every visit he would say, ‘I wish I could tell you like I do the rest of my patients to just have a good stiff drink every night for that neck pain!’ all pleased and puffed up with this astounding piece of expert medical advice. Or, coming into the room every visit: ‘How is my favorite alcoholic patient today?’ all chirpy. He said these things in front of my husband, who accompanies me to most of my appointments (or a friend or relative) for protection as medical stupidness like this happens to me all the time.”
The Headaches Of No Health Insurance.
“I had just started a new job, and hadn’t been there long enough to have qualified for health insurance. I came down with a severe case of Bronchitis. So I went to the walk-in run through the doctor’s office I went to since my regular doctor could not see me for 2 weeks (no openings).
After waiting a couple of hours , I finally got to go back and get examined. Unfortunately, it was by a physician’s assistant I disliked. I had dealt with her several times before and she was always rude and abrasive, if not downright insulting.
I explained my symptoms, as well as my lack of health insurance. She insisted I have a strep test because my throat was red (I knew I didn’t, the red throat was from all the Bronchitis related coughing). She ignored me and jammed the swab into my throat. After which she wrote me a prescription. I asked her to be sure I could either get a generic or that it was an affordable prescription.
I paid my bill for my visit ($250 because of the strep test and the ‘no insurance paperwork and filing’ fee) and went next door to the clinic pharmacy to get the prescription.
She took the script and went back to fill it. About a minute later she came back, she asked if I was sure I wanted her to fill the script, because without insurance, it would be $200 for 10 days (20 pills). I couldn’t afford that. The pharmacist suggested I ask the doctor for a different medication, even gave me a list of similar medications I could be prescribed that would cost less.
So back to the clinic to ask the receptionist to ask the doctor for a different prescription. A couple of minutes later, the physician’s assistant came out of the back into reception and THREW a paper bag at my face, in front of the entire waiting room, yelled, ‘Because you can’t afford medicine!’ and went back where she came from. It was a bag of samples of the medicine I had been prescribed, though no dosage instructions (thankfully the pharmacist next door gave me the instructions after).”
It’s Not Always A Bad Thing.
“My doctors often say unprofessional stuff – it’s why I keep them on.
For example, my gynecologist often goes on rants about how much she wishes women would stop and think before ‘ruining their lives by having babies.’ She’s so exasperated it’s both sad and hilarious.
One of my specialists once told me he used his rich patient’s insurance to subsidize the poor people who couldn’t pay, so I shouldn’t have to worry about being in a startup because he’d be able to see me ‘no matter what.’
A neurologist once told me she loved seeing me because ‘my migraine patients are like break time because they’re not terminally ill, so I get to see them year after year.’
Same doctor: ‘Remember: alcohol may intensify the effects of this medication (big wink).’
Those are just the things that come to mind. I’m sure there are others.
Doctors are human beings. They’re not robots.”
When Google Is Smarter Than Your Doctor.
“I was addicted to eating ice. It got to the point where I asked my parents for a blender for Christmas so that I wouldn’t have to keep using a hammer to crush my ice cubes.
At some point, my parents finally realized that this was a noxious habit and proceeded to set up an appointment with our family doctor.
I was pretty curious and wanted to ‘self-diagnose’ my problem to see if I was right. I basically just googled, ‘Why am I eating ice?’ and out popped several search links leading to online med pages mutually containing the word pica.
Through several different sources, I came to the conclusion that I did indeed have pica—more specifically, Pagophagia. Basically, I was addicted to eating ice because I lacked iron in my system.
When I got to my doctor, I told him my problem. He laughed. He said that kids go through weird phases (I was 14 at the time) and that until I got out of mine, my parents should probably take away my blender.
Given that a freaking doctor’s visit is around $240, there was no way in hell I was walking away with that answer. Consequently, I brought up the fact that I might have pica due to my iron deficiency.
Instead of flipping through his little book of med terms and what not or even considering anything that I said, he replied, ‘That doesn’t exist.’
Um, what?
‘I’ve never heard of that.’
Okay, well I looked it up online and the symptoms fit pretty well. Can we at least do a blood test?
‘A blood test is highly unnecessary. We can do one to check if you’re lacking iron, but I highly doubt you are.’
Then my mother proceeded to pay another $100 for the blood test.
A few weeks later, we got a call back from the doctor’s office, informing us that the blood test results were in. I have to say, it felt pretty good knowing that I was right.
My doctor prescribed me iron tablets, and needless to say, I go to a different doctor now.”
When It Almost Costs You Your Life…
“Just 2 years ago, medical incompetence/mismanagement almost killed me.
I had a very severe sore throat and fever, which went away, but 3 days later, a gland in my neck swelled to point of being larger than a golf ball. The swelling happened very quickly, and I had a fever.
My regular doctor took several weeks to get me into his office, then sent me to a fancy ear, nose and throat specialist, in a very expensive office building 2 weeks later. The doctor looked at the swollen gland, and without conducting a single test or examination, stated I had cancer. I immediately suspected that was incorrect, and asked if cancer normally gave you a fever of 104, and grew to this size within a couple of days. I also asked him if it could be an infected gland. He insisted I had cancer, and scheduled a biopsy for 5 weeks later. During this time, I grew more and more sick, the swelling got worse, but he refused any treatment, only saying that I needed the biopsy.
I had the biopsy, which showed a severe infection. No cancer. Trouble was, by the time they did the biopsy, the infection was very bad, and I had some necrotized (dead) tissue because the infection went on so long. Not only that, but the biopsy then released the pus all into my neck, and resulted in cellulitis.
The doctor, (who was a surgeon) released me from the hospital with some antibiotics, and told me that I would need a specialized surgeon because… ‘This is very serious and life threatening, and it is sitting right on your carotid artery. The surgery is too risky for me to do, because my insurance costs would go up.’
So, wouldn’t you think something so life threatening would require immediate surgery? Evidently not. He told me he would ‘get back to me’ with a referral, which took another 5 days to get to a head and neck surgeon. All this time, I had pus draining out of the hole made by the biopsy needle, and constant fighting with the insurance company to ‘approve’ the referral to the specialist so I could get treatment. By the time I got to the surgeon, I was so sick and weak, that I was unable to stand. One particularly bad night, when I didn’t think I would survive the night, I actually wrote goodbye letters to my family.
Luckily, the surgeon was wonderful, took one look at it, and immediately knew it was an infection, and stated that he couldn’t believe I was still alive with such a severe infection that lasted so long. He admitted me to the hospital immediately, and did the surgery the same day, removed the infection, and left the wound open to ensure no bacteria would be trapped in there. In the end, I was on antibiotics for over 6 months, had a half dollar size hole in my neck, which took over 2 months to fully close, took steroids for weeks, had to have months of physical therapy to compensate for the loss of muscle, and it took 2 years for my immune system to recover, (and its still not fully back to normal).”
How NOT To Treat A Person With Mental Disorders.
“I’ve had depression since my mid-teens and for every instance of going to my long-time family doctor with bad viruses, unending back pain, extremely painful and heavy periods, or any other ailment, my doctor would dismiss it as ’caused by the depression.’ As a result I was not checked and treated properly for anything.
For years I struggled with getting my doctor to believe me, take me seriously, to listen to me. She did not discuss depression with me; rather, in our 3-5 minutes-long appointments, she would immediately scribble off a prescription for some random, dodgy antidepressant she was getting paid to promote by a partnering pharmaceutical company. There would be no discussion of the drug such as it’s side-effects, nor were there discussions of other methods to cope with depression (e.g. therapy).
A few years ago, the depression was at its worst and I was at the point where I felt so hopeless I wanted to die. Suicidal ideations are terrifying, and realizing that you’re having them – that you’re contemplating ending your life – is even more so.
So I went to my family doctor and told her all of this and pleaded for help. Her response? ‘I’m going to call the police and have you arrested and taken forcibly to the hospital.’
I was shocked and confused. I was willing to get help, so why was I suddenly being treated like a dangerous criminal stripped of all rights by my life-long doctor?
After that incident, I walked into the clinic of another general physician who was the complete opposite of my first doctor. He sat with me, listened, discussed several treatment options, answered my questions, and stringently followed up with me. He encouraged me and fought for me, even spending time when he wasn’t working to learn more about mental illnesses and what he could do to help me and others like me. He even treated the other very legitimate medical issues I was having which had been dismissed by my first doctor and now I’m feeling better and more in control of my physical and mental health. I was lucky in finding this doctor; I credit him with saving my life.”
Specializes In Being Awful.
“I had a specialist tell me, ‘You have too many problems for me to help you,’ and told me to visit a family physician. My new doctor and I found out that all my symptoms were severe side effects to drugs the specialist prescribed.
I complained to the same specialist that I was very dizzy and he told me to, ‘Stand up slowly if you get dizzy.’ My new doctor and I found out that I was dizzy because I was anemic. It was common amongst patients with the chronic illness the specialist specialized in.
He was a horrible specialist, but I didn’t realize it for almost a year because he was the first doctor I’d ever had. Now, I do my research on all my doctors!”
Way Out Of Line.
“I’d gone to the doctor with terrible flu symptoms. I had a severe sore throat which had made my voice very hoarse. I told the doctor about this.
‘Oh yes I can tell… that’s not your usual sexy voice, is it?’ he said.
I just stared at him blankly, fully prepared to vomit on his shoes.
Later in the appointment, he was printing off a renewed prescription for my contraceptive pill.
‘Now how often do you forget to take the pill? I bet it’s a lot.’ He said, with a smirk on his face.
Again, I stared at him blankly, not sure how the question was at all relevant. I’d been taking the pill, with no issues, for the last six years.
I told him I very rarely forget to take it. Because I’m a responsible, grown woman, who is quite within the realms of capability, to remember to take a pill every day.”
I Don’t Want This…
“My husband is bald. There. I said it. (Actually it’s not embarrassing at all as I find his baldness attractive). But, his doctor did not.
He went in for his annual physical for work and the doctor prescribed him Minoxidil (without asking my husband if he wanted it).
Having worked in the pharmacy industry, I looked at my husband’s prescriptions when he came home and asked him if he wanted to regrow his hair. He said no he just took what the doctor wrote him scripts for.(He has a tendency to over-prescribe).
So that doctor just assumed that my husband had a problem with being bald.
Huge insult… especially since I love his bald head.”
No Sympathy.
“I was 15 years old and was having facet joint injections under local anesthetic (repeatedly inserting needles into the spinal joints to inject a steroid) for my back pain. Nobody was allowed to come in with me apart from medical staff and a student doctor.
I swear I felt absolutely EVERYTHING. The tears were running silently down my face but I was trying to keep as still as possible.
‘Stop flinching please,’ instructed the grumpy old consultant. I replied, ‘Sorry but it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt. It’s impossible not to. ‘
‘Well if you had been doing more exercise instead of slouching at a computer you wouldn’t have to be here in the first place,’ he snapped and continued to jab the needle in without offering me a break. The student doctor looked at me sympathetically and took me back to my mum and granny in the waiting room afterwards
I have been diagnosed with a degenerative spine and osteoarthritis which started when I was 13. While sitting for long periods certainly doesn’t help matters, it wasn’t the cause. Needless to say I never went back for a follow-up treatment.”
Oh No He Didn’t.
“When I first started having health problems bad enough I forced myself to go to the doctor. I was rather new in town, so I went to a number of different doctors during their … I suppose I can call it ‘open hours,’ when they see patients without an appointment and are open to people that aren’t technically patients of the specific doctor. I’m not all that comfortable going to doctors to begin with, so I needed a doctor I could force myself to go to without being pushed by others.
Anyways, I’m in the waiting room of one of these doctors. He finishes with a young woman, shows her out of his office, looks around and calls me in. I get up and go in, hand out ready to shake and introduce myself, when he starts talking.
‘I hope you’re not here for an abortion like the girl who just left!’
He says this with a big smile, like ‘let’s laugh together,’ and my introductory smile freezes, my hand falls, I stand there for a couple of seconds, then leave.
Even if it was a joke, I was horrified he’d talk like that. I might not be all that shy or modest or even all that private, but I’d still be pissed as hell to know a doctor spoke of me. I sent in a written complaint, warned everyone I knew who might be looking for a doctor (I lived at a boarding school, a number of other students were glad for the information), and of course never went back.”