This story takes place a few years back when I was doing a clinical rotation in phlebotomy for my degree in Medical Laboratory Science. I was placed in the Emergency Department of a local hospital, practicing poking patients and drawing their blood. All the staff knew that my snow-white scrubs meant I was a student, but some patients took them to mean I was a physician.

One night, I happened to walk by an exam room where an altercation was taking place between a patient and a very patient Registered Nurse. Altercations were a fairly common occurrence in the ED, but I was still pretty green so it was hard not to stop and listen in.

Nurse: “I’ve been doing this for thirty years, Mr. [Patient]. I can assure you—”

Patient: “I don’t care how long you’ve been doing this. I want a doctor to place my IV!”

Nurse: “Mr. [Patient], if you hold still, I promise I’ll have it in in a flash. You’ll hardly feel a thing.”

Patient: “Are you deaf or just stupid? I want…”

At that point, the man caught sight of me loitering in the hallway.

Patient: “I want her to place my IV!”

Me: *Flabbergasted* “But I can’t thread IVs. I only know how to draw blood.”

Nurse: “Sir, she’s just a student.”

This affront seemed to put the patient into overdrive, and he began slamming his fist on the bed rail and screaming for a doctor. The nurse quietly took me aside and asked me to go fetch one of the physicians on duty. I ran to get the kindest one, as I was afraid of getting snapped at by the other doctors working that night.

[Doctor] patiently listened to my explanation, wordlessly grabbed an IV kit out of the cupboard, and followed me to the patient’s room. We could hear the patient still throwing his tantrum as we walked down the hall. As soon as [Doctor] stepped into the room in his white coat, the patient switched it off like a light and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

Patient: *With a smug smile at his nurse* “Finally!”

Doctor: *With a big friendly smile* “Hello, Mr. [Patient]! I hear you want a doctor to place your IV. Well, I haven’t done this since medical school, so that’s, what, twenty-five years ago now? I might be a little rusty, but I’m happy to give it a shot! Nurse, will you please position the patient’s head? I’m going for the jugular.”

Suddenly, the patient decided he didn’t want a doctor to place his IV after all, and the nurse with thirty years of experience placing IVs would do just fine.

Related:
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 19
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 18
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 17
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 16
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 15

Paczkis [Polish filled doughnuts] are VERY important in Chicago culture. On Paczki Day/Mardi Gras, bakeries are extremely busy. 

Unfortunately, I have to get dental work done that day. However, as I’m leaving work, one of my coworkers tells me to grab a Paczki. Of course! It’s the end of the lunch hour, so there are only powdered sugar-coated ones, but not only are they fresh, they’re filled with Boston creme. 

I think I can spend the drive to the endodontist with sticky fingers… and sticky teeth. 

I’ve never been to this office before, so as I walk in, I’m trying to dust myself off. The powdered sugar got EVERYWHERE — it’s still on the passenger seat in my car — meaning it’s also all over me. Have to look nice otherwise, I guess, right? Even if my teeth are awful? 

Eventually, a tiny lady with a thick accent leads me into the room. She’s the tech and is to prep me. 

Tech: “Okay, please have a seat. You can put your jacket on the bench over there.”

Me: “I’m so sorry if I look like I’m dusty. I just had a Paczki on the way here.”

The tech eyes me strangely for a moment and then bursts out laughing.

Tech: “That’s right! It’s Paczki Day! I have to get one later.”

As the tech is busying herself with prep, I try to make polite conversation. (I’m anxious, breakfast was that Paczki, and I’ve never had this kind of work done before!) 

Me: “How many of these procedures do you do a day?”

Tech: “How many of what you’re getting? I mean, we do just about everything every day. Sweetheart, don’t worry. Yours will be forty minutes. Forty-five, tops.”

Me: “Wait, seriously?”

Tech: “We’re only doing one tooth today, right? You’ll be fine. In fact, think about Paczki!”

She pats my shoulder and winks at me. 

In the middle of the work, I have to stop them so I can swallow. As I’m doing so, I motion to the tech. 

Me: “I’ hryink whoo hink ahou’ hasskeys!”

Endodontist: “…suction?”

Me: “Oh, oh, hasskeys!”

Endodontist: “What?”

Tech: “You want to think about… Paczkis?!”

She loses her cool for a second and laughs, leaving the doctor bewildered and a little upset that he had to stop work. 

As I’m leaving when it’s over and chatting with the tech again (who tells me that once the novocaine wears off, it’ll be very painful), just before she leaves…

Tech: *Triumphantly* “Now I’m going to get a Paczki!”

Me: *Laughing* “Enjoy!”

It was VERY painful when the novocaine wore off, but remembering this helped me to forget it!

I’m a home health nurse and take care of primarily medically homebound children. At one home, I found myself using tactics I’d usually use to deal with unruly children to deal with fully cognizant adults. 

Our company provides us with some supplies that we use daily in the home, like hand sanitizer, hand soap, paper towels, and gloves. I had worked for a while with a family with several young children and had learned that if I didn’t lock it up or keep it in my pocket, little hands would find and walk off with everything they could reach. Kids are kids, and they loved playing doctor with real medical supplies — and my pens and chapstick!

After that family moved, I was called into the office for a new client assignment. They asked if I would be willing to work, even very temporarily, in a house where they had a small theft problem. The nurse working a different shift from mine had been complaining of all the company supplies going missing, as well as several of her personal items. It wasn’t her purse or wallet but frustrating little things like her pens, notebooks, personal hand lotion, etc.

They had spoken to the family, and everyone denied taking anything. The parents were very apologetic and had replaced several missing items, but the thefts continued. The office figured since I was so well trained by the last family, I’d be able to help the other nurse solve her problem and protect my own things, as well.

On my first day at the new client’s home, I showed up with my locked supply bag. I explained to the family that I’d gotten in the habit of protecting my supplies from very determined, sticky-fingered children and just kept up the habit wherever I went. I figured it sounded nicer than, “I know there’s a supply thief in the house.”

I had been working for about two or three hours when a family member came in, looked around the room, and asked where the paper towels were.

Me: *Politely* “I assume you keep your paper towels in your kitchen.”

They paused.

Family Member #1: “No, your paper towels. I just need one.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but my company-issued supplies are for the client only due to our infection control policies.”

They tried again, arguing about only needing one, and then gave up when I kept repeating my answer.

Later in the day, another family member asked to borrow my pen “for just a minute”.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t loan out my personal items due to infection control policy.”

Family Member #2: “I only need it for a minute.”

Me: “I’m not endangering myself, my family, or my patient for so much as one second.”

That stopped them in their tracks.

I started keeping little notes in my pocket notebook. By the end of the day, I had been asked for “just one paper towel” about six times, to “borrow” something of mine “for just a minute” about a dozen times, where the hand sanitizer or my personal hand lotion was four or five times, and on and on. It was easy to see that the family had denied taking anything because they didn’t see taking “just one” or “borrowing for a minute” and then never returning something as taking what didn’t belong to them. 

I told the other nurse and the office about the mystery of the missing supplies. Our supervisor spoke with the family again. I had the pleasure of watching her resort to using props and counting things out like she was speaking to a kindergarten class to try to explain to several grown adults that if everyone takes “just one”, that’s how you end up with none, and that “borrowing” without permission and forgetting to return something is how the nurse “lost” several personal items.

They promised to stop taking and borrowing things meant for the client and belonging to the nurse — a promise that didn’t last a day.

So, the last time I worked there, both the other nurse and I took locked bags and kept everything else in our pockets.

I still laugh sometimes thinking of the confused looks on their faces when told that taking one thing is still taking things that don’t belong to you. It made me miss the sticky-fingered kids who just wanted to play Doc McStuffins with my stuff.

CONTENT WARNING: Blood (Minor Injury)

DISCLAIMER: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

During my first pregnancy, we moved to a new apartment and started renovating the kitchen. To paint the walls properly, we wanted to remove the old skirting boards first. Now, not everyone might know this, but even when the stomach stands out and is impossible to miss as you cannot see your own feet, you don’t really feel that it is there. It is difficult to explain, but your motor skills still tell you that your stomach ends where it used to.

Everyone told me to be careful and rest, but I wanted to help. I couldn’t move very well and didn’t have high stamina at the time, but I found that I could help remove the skirting boards. My nesting instincts took over for a while, and I was very adamant about getting things in order, so that is what I did. While we were home (but not currently working on the kitchen), I sat down on the floor and started to carefully loosen the boards from the walls.

Husband: “Be careful now!”

Me: “Don’t worry.”

Husband: “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Me: “It isn’t that hard.”

Not long after I said that, I got to a part that was rather well stuck, but I could feel that with a small, controlled yank, I could get it loose. I was right. The only problem, as explained before, was that I miscalculated the room I had for my “little yank” before yanking the board right into my stomach.

After the yank, everything went quiet as I looked at the blood coming from where the wood had pierced my stomach.

Me: “Oops.”

Husband: “What happened?!”

He yelled and came running.

Me: “I stabbed myself in the stomach.”

Husband: “WHAT?!”

I laughed then. It honestly wasn’t that bad; it had just grazed the surface, but it looked a lot more dramatic since I was, in fact, bleeding. My husband wanted to take me to the hospital, but I calmed him down. It was nowhere near dangerous to the child, and I could feel that all was well in there.

Safe to say, after that, I could only help out when no one was home to stop me. The baby came out alive and well and is now four years old.

DISCLAIMER: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

Because I’m a klutz, I ended up in an ambulance going to the hospital. (The short version is that I dislocated my shoulder and couldn’t put it back myself.) While we were in the ambulance, the paramedic got my information and then took my vitals. My blood pressure reading came back.

Paramedic: “Huh. Have you ever been told you have high blood pressure?”

Me: “No.”

Paramedic: “Hmm… Well, your blood pressure is reading in the high range of what we consider normal. You probably should talk to your doctor about it.”

I kind of brushed it off because my focus was on my shoulder and telling them that I didn’t need or want drugs. But a couple of days later, I was thinking about it, and I really should have said something like, “Of course, my blood pressure is spiked! My arm is six inches longer than it’s supposed to be, it feels like it weighs an extra 100 pounds, and I’m in an ambulance on the way to the hospital! I’d be surprised if it was low!”

But even my discharge paperwork from the emergency room had a note to the effect of “Your blood pressure was a little high, so you should follow up with your doctor for potential pre-hypertension.” I mean, I get that they want to give people information and everything, but also, let’s put stuff into perspective, people! I might not have been reacting the way a lot of people would, but let’s look at the situation here. 

For the record, when I went to my doctor for a hospital follow-up visit, my blood pressure was normal.