I overhear a doctor reassuring a patient that their scan for skin cancer came back negative.

Patient: “So it’s not skin cancer?”

Doctor: “I can assure you, it’s just some skin pigmentation. There is zero melanoma.”

Patient: “Oh, good! I’m too old to get… millennial-oma. I’m Gen-X!”

I’m in line to pick up my meds. There’s a sign at the pharmacy counter:

Sign: “Husbands! Picking up your wife’s medications? Please have her date of birth ready to go. Don’t know it? Give her a call! If you don’t know it, we’re not telling you!”

When the old guy in front of me is getting served:

Customer: “That sign’s a bit sexist, isn’t it?”

Pharmacist: “I’ll tell you what I’ve been telling customers for years: when I get a wife who’s forgotten her husband’s date of birth, I’ll change it.”

I work at a pharmacy counter. A woman slides a prescription across to me.

Customer: “How long is the wait?”

Me: “About twenty minutes.”

Customer: “I was told ten.”

Me: “It’s twenty today, I’m afraid.”

Customer: “Because I was told ten.”

Me: “By whom, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Customer: “The last time I was here.”

I looked at her.

Me: “When were you last here?”

Customer: “March.”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s October.”

Customer: “The wait time changed?”

Me: “It can vary, yes.”

Customer: “Nobody told me that.”

Me: “It can vary, each day, let alone over six months.”

Customer: “Still, some consistency would be appreciated.”

Me: “How about for you, and just for you, we can guarantee that whenever you come in, we will have your script done in an hour?”

Customer: “But that’s longer!”

Me: “But it would be consistent.”

Customer: “…”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Twenty minutes is fine, thanks.”

A patient walks in. I don’t like her; she uses fatuities like “Thank you, dear,” and “That’s wonderful, honey,” to cover the fact that she lacks either the hearing or the brainpower to comprehend what is said to her.

Patient: “Good morning. I wanted to make sure I was early.”

Me: “Good morning, Mrs. [Patient]. You’re here because of pain in your upper right. Please have a seat out here in the waiting room. Someone will bring you in shortly.”

I now leave the front desk to update the staff on the new arrival. (Yes, in person. We are an old-fashioned office.) As I return, the patient is attempting to head back down the hall.

Patient: “Will somebody help me? I have sciatica. It’s hard for me to walk. I need help!”

Me: “Do you need to use the restroom?”

Patient: *Becoming increasingly frazzled.* “I have sciatica! It’s hard for me to walk!! Will somebody help me?!”

Me: “May I ask where you’re going?”

Patient: “You told me to head back there!”

Me: “…In point of fact, I asked you to have a seat in the waiting room. May I assist you in doing so?”

Patient: “I can’t believe it. Here—” *Handing me her bags.* “—hold these. Why do they always do this to me EVERY time!”

Well, ma’am, if you keep having the same problem at every medical office, the only thing in common with all those visits is you…

Swedish healthcare professionals write notes about their patients in a medical journal, and the patients can read the journal online. That means that they can double-check if they forgot things, but you also have to be careful about how and what you write. The journal is also supposed to be legible to the average person.

I am a middle manager at a healthcare clinic; among my duties are inspecting journals to ensure they follow the guidelines. A patient calls to talk about their journal:

Patient: “Hi, so, I found some… peculiarities in my journal?”

Me: “That happens. What is the problem?”

Patient: “Oh, it’s probably nothing, but I read my journal to remind myself of my treatment plan. Now I can read ‘total encephalectomy’ in the ‘subsequent treatment’ field, apart from the antibiotics, physical therapy, and planned follow-up. I don’t understand what that “encephalectomy” thing entails?”

For you who don’t speak Doctor, “-ectomy” means “to surgically remove”, “encephalon-” means “brain”. The doctor recommends to surgically remove the brain of the patient.

Me: “That’s… well, probably just a small error. Do you want to ask the doctor yourself?”

Patient: “Oh, heavens, I can’t bother him about stuff I don’t understand! I’m probably too stupid…”

Me: “You’re not. We are here to help, especially if you don’t understand what we write. But you know what, I’ll ask him to… specify what he means. Today.”

Patient: “Oh, no rush! You have so much to do, and I’m not that important.”

I hang up (after goodbyes), find the journal, print the page, and briskly walk to the doctor and knock on his door.

Doctor: “Hi, boss! What’s up?”

Me: “Hi. Have you, perchance, recommended that we remove the brain of a patient?”

Doctor: *Blink blink.* “What? No?”

Me: *Hands print-out, with a marked section.* “The patient read the journal. I know my Latin; they thankfully don’t. They want a clarification.”

He reads it and pales.

Doctor: “Oh no… f*** f*** f***…”

Me: “Can you, please, explain yourself?”

Doctor: *Embarrassed and sweaty.* “Yeah, so… Sometimes when I get writer’s block, I write whatever enters my mind to clear it. Usually, some kind of joke, and then I delete it. I thought I did, but…”

Me: “But?”

Doctor: “Well, the program crashed then and there. There must have been some kind of bad save, and I forgot to double-check. I had to run into a cardiac arrest right after.”

Me: “Understandable priority. What will you do now?”

Doctor: “Correct the journal, call the patient to explain that it is nothing to worry about, and never, never ever ever write a joke in the journal again.”

Me: “Sounds good.” 

I still filed a report, as per protocol, but nothing came of it since it was deemed a mistake. His journals are now impeccable.