People Share Their Doctor Horror Stories
Doctors are expected to be reliable, knowledgeable professionals who take every patient concern seriously. However, when they fail to meet these basic standards, it leaves patients questioning why they entered the medical field in the first place.
This collection features individuals sharing their personal experiences with medical professionals who were ignorant, disrespectful, or just plain wrong. These stories highlight the frustrating reality of dealing with doctors who fail to provide the care and respect their patients deserve.
A...Rooster Attack?
Growing up on a farm, I was once spurred in the wrist by an aggressive rooster. These birds have sharp talons used for fighting, and because they walk in waste, the risk of infection is high. I soon became incredibly ill with what was later discovered to be blood poisoning, leading my mother to take me to urgent care for help.
Instead of taking the injury seriously, the doctor found the situation hilarious and began laughing uncontrollably. My mother, furious at his disrespect toward a very sick child, stepped into the hall and threatened to bring the rooster to his office so it could attack him, too. He quickly became sheepish and finally provided the serious medical attention needed to save my life.
Doctor Versus Doctor
A local doctor in my small town refused to believe I had asthma despite a lifelong diagnosis, forcing me to visit monthly for medication refills. Even after experts at Loma Linda Medical University confirmed my condition, he dismissed their findings as a mistake. One spring, I arrived at his office struggling to breathe, and although he refused to see me, his nurse practitioner realized the severity of the situation.
The nurse risked her job to tell me to go directly to the emergency room, where I was immediately intercepted by staff and given life-saving treatments. Two ER doctors then summoned my regular physician and berated him within my sight, informing him that I would have died had he succeeded in sending me home. My family never saw him again, and he eventually retired while we sought care from more competent professionals.
Uncharted Territory
At ten years old, I was a healthy, active girl who loved my colorful unicorn tank top and playing outside. That changed during a routine check-up when my doctor pulled out a weight chart, pointed to a distant mark, and told me I was "waaaaaay" over where I should be. She instructed me to eat less sugar and exercise more, despite the fact that I was already a very healthy and energetic child.
That single interaction destroyed my self-image, leading me to trade my favorite clothes for baggy sweaters and spiraling into cycles of binge eating and starving. Now a teenager, I still struggle with body hatred and imperfection every time I look in the mirror. While I believe she is a skilled doctor, I find it incredibly hurtful and shortsighted that she chose to shame a perfectly healthy child over a chart.
The Fickle Finger
After jamming my finger in a basketball game, I realized I couldn't straighten it on my own. My primary care doctor took X-rays and, seeing no broken bones, dismissed my concerns by claiming it would simply "straighten out" in a few weeks. Despite his resistance and insistence that a specialist would be a waste of time, I pushed for a referral to ensure my hand healed correctly.
The hand specialist immediately diagnosed me with "mallet finger," a common ruptured tendon that never heals on its own without intervention. Had I followed my primary doctor's advice, my finger would have been permanently disfigured; instead, a simple splint allowed the tendon to reattach perfectly. I'm grateful I trusted my gut rather than a doctor who was ignorant of such a standard injury.
Bracing For Bad News
I once visited my doctor for stomach pain results, only to be told immediately that I had cancer. The doctor launched into a grim survival plan, discussing oncologists and advising me to "tie up loose ends." I sat in shock until he addressed me as "Brian Watley," a name that didn't belong to me. When I corrected him, he realized he was reading the wrong file entirely.
It turned out I simply had a food allergy, but the doctor offered no apology for the life-altering mistake. Delivering a terminal diagnosis without verifying the patient's identity was an unforgivable lapse in professionalism. I found a new primary care physician shortly after, and he has successfully managed my health for the last twenty years.
Say What?
After undergoing jaw surgery, I was recovering in a hospital bed with my mouth wired shut. In the middle of the night, my IV became blocked, causing my arm to swell painfully and requiring immediate attention. I pressed the call button for help, but the nurse on the other end of the intercom only repeatedly demanded to know what I wanted, growing increasingly frustrated when I couldn't verbally respond.
The situation was finally resolved when the patient behind the curtain next to me yelled out that my jaw was wired shut and I was unable to speak. Only then did a staff member actually come to my room to assist me. I was left fuming that the nurse hadn't bothered to read my chart or consider my condition before getting annoyed with my silence.
Borderline Malpractice
At 20 years old, I visited my family doctor after months of suffering from extreme thirst, nausea, and rapid weight loss. He ran blood work but dismissed my symptoms as a likely stomach bug, offering no immediate concerns. A week later, I received a brief email containing my lab results and a tiny note at the bottom stating I had Diabetes Mellitus, but there were no follow-up instructions, phone calls, or referrals provided.
Assuming the diagnosis wasn't urgent since the doctor remained silent and ignored my voicemails, I waited two weeks until my condition became life-threatening. I ended up in the emergency room with diabetic ketoacidosis, where doctors informed me I was hours away from falling into a coma. My mother's insistence on taking me to the ER was the only reason I survived the physician's negligent lack of communication.
Just In Time
My mom was in the ICU battling a fungal lung infection along with MRSA and C-Diff, requiring supplemental oxygen and constant monitoring. While we were talking in her room, she briefly closed her eyes to rest. At that exact moment, her doctor walked in and bluntly asked me if I wanted to "unplug her life support system"—which she wasn't even on—and let her die right then and there.
Stunned by his incompetence, I decided to ask my mom directly if she wanted to be "snuffed out" or hang out for a while. Her eyes snapped open, and she immediately unleashed a string of insults at the doctor until he shrugged and walked out of the room. My mom was absolutely livid at his suggestion, while I couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of such an idiotic mistake.
Just Listen
In my mid-20s, I began gaining significant weight despite strictly following a 1,200-calorie diet. When I returned to my doctor exhausted and hungry, he accused me of lying about my food intake, claiming I should have lost 30 pounds instead of gaining them. I left the appointment in tears, feeling like a failure because he chose to believe I was being dishonest rather than investigating why my body wasn't responding normally.
A few months later, I switched to a new doctor who quickly diagnosed me with a small tumor on my pituitary gland. Once the tumor was removed, I was able to return to a normal caloric intake, and the excess weight disappeared within months. It remains appalling to me that my first physician would rather insult a patient's integrity than consider an underlying medical cause for such unexpected weight gain.
Just Looking For Attention
At five years old, I began suffering from severe migraines that caused vomiting and light sensitivity. Concerned about a potential brain tumor, my parents took me to a doctor for an evaluation. Instead of a medical diagnosis, the doctor claimed my headaches were caused by being an only child and insisted they would disappear if I had a sibling.
This nonsensical 1970s advice implied I was either faking for attention or simply neurotic due to my lack of siblings. Although I eventually gained a brother and a sister, the migraines persisted throughout my childhood and into my late 40s. The doctor's theory was entirely baseless, leaving me to suffer for years without proper medical management.
More Concerned About His Record
After a robotic partial nephrectomy to remove a cancerous tumor from my kidney, my surgeon and his resident visited my hospital room. Instead of focusing on my recovery, he began boasting about his track record, noting that he had performed over 400 of these surgeries and mine was only the second to turn out "like this." It was clear he was more preoccupied with his personal statistics than the actual implications for my health.
The "this" he referred to was a pathology report indicating positive margins, meaning cancer cells had been left behind in the surrounding tissue. I was deeply disturbed that his primary concern seemed to be his professional reputation rather than my prognosis or a plan for further treatment. Consequently, I decided to leave his care and found a renal oncologist at a renowned cancer clinic to manage my case properly.
Whatever Happened To Manners?
After twelve days on a ventilator and a medical coma, I was left bedridden with a raspy voice and severe shortness of breath. A new nurse on the morning shift began acting like a nightmare, refusing to provide basic care unless I followed her strict demands. Every time I asked for ice chips or assistance, she would snarl at me to say "please" and would withhold help until I complied, despite the physical strain it took for me to speak.
Her behavior made me afraid to ask for help with essential tasks, such as being moved to a chair with a lift. After I texted my boyfriend about the situation, he contacted her supervisor to report the mistreatment. The supervisor eventually apologized for the nurse's behavior and ensured she was transferred to another patient, sparing me from her hostility for the remainder of the day.
Don't Think It Works That Way
After moving into an 1893 Denver home, my professional background as an environmental consultant led me to test for lead paint, which I confirmed was present. During a routine check-up, I requested lead blood tests for my kids to ensure they hadn't been exposed before we began renovations. To my shock, the pediatrician refused, arrogantly claiming that "there is no lead in Colorado."
As someone whose job involves identifying environmental hazards, I was stunned by such a blatant and dangerous factual error. His refusal to perform a simple health screening based on a false premise made me question his basic competence. I switched pediatricians shortly after, unwilling to trust my children's health to someone so dismissive and misinformed.
Thanks, Doc
Eight years after a gastric sleeve surgery, I sought help from a gastroenterologist for severe acid reflux that was damaging my esophagus. During the follow-up, a physician's assistant informed me that my condition was dire and insisted that the only solution was to have the gastric sleeve reversed. She continued to patronize me, repeatedly stating that while she knew I wouldn't like the news, the reversal was my only option.
I tried to explain that a gastric sleeve is physically impossible to reverse because eighty percent of the stomach is surgically removed from the body. Despite my explanation that it would be like trying to reverse an appendectomy, she kept talking over me and doubling down on her demand. I left the office in disbelief at her lack of basic medical knowledge regarding the procedure and never returned.
Not Much Of A Choice
Following a severe accident that broke six vertebrae, I was treated by a top neurosurgeon who also worked with the LA Lakers. Despite his credentials, he dismissively told me my options were surgery "or whatever," refusing to provide a professional recommendation. When I pressed for details, he casually explained that without surgery, the swelling around my spinal cord would eventually paralyze me from the chest down.
I was stunned by his flippant attitude toward such a life-altering choice, especially as a single mother with a child to raise. Despite his lack of guidance, I chose the surgery to avoid becoming a permanent burden to others. While I can no longer participate in high-impact sports, I am still able to walk, though I remain baffled by the doctor's ignorant and indifferent approach to my care.
Get Her Committed?!
When my daughter began menstruating, she became pale, exhausted, and bruised easily—all classic signs of anemia. I took her to the doctor at the Air Force base where my husband was stationed, expecting professional medical care. Instead, without performing a single blood test, the doctor dismissively labeled her a "troubled teen" and pressured me to have her committed to a mental institution.
Dumbfounded, I took her to a second doctor and paid out of pocket for a real examination. He immediately recognized it as a severe case of anemia and warned that she would have been in great danger without treatment. Blood tests confirmed his diagnosis, and after a simple prescription of iron, she was back to her healthy self.
Nice When They Listen
After being prescribed a neuroleptic, I began experiencing extreme weakness, exhaustion, and confusion. I was already aware that this specific medication could cause a dangerous sodium imbalance, so I raised my concerns during a follow-up appointment. The neurologist completely blew me off, forcing me to seek help from a different doctor who immediately tested my levels and discovered I was nearly in need of an IV to correct the deficiency.
The second doctor took me off the medication and monitored me closely for several days until my levels stabilized. I remember rambling to the first doctor about being so confused that I couldn't even tell if my confusion was medical, which seems like a textbook definition of the symptom. It was a relief to find a physician who actually listened before my condition became a full-blown emergency.
It Really Is That Bad
After waking up from surgery to remove my gallbladder and right adrenal gland, I was in excruciating pain. I lay there with my eyes closed, crying from the intense discomfort while trying to recover from the anesthesia. When the staff asked what was wrong, I explained that I was hurting, but they dismissively claimed my pain couldn't be that severe simply because my eyes were shut.
I had to explain to the nurse that having my eyes closed didn't negate my physical suffering. I told her that while I was groggy and desperately wanted to sleep after the procedure, the pain was too intense to allow it. It was incredibly frustrating to have my post-surgical distress questioned based on such an arbitrary and logical observation.
Ever Heard Of Gluten?
During a hospital stay, I found myself in the absurd position of having to explain basic nutrition to the medical staff. Despite having a wheat sensitivity clearly listed in my chart and wearing an allergy bracelet, I had to repeatedly inform multiple nurses that bread, muffins, and cookies actually contain wheat and were unsafe for me to eat.
One nurse in particular seemed completely baffled by the term "grains" and couldn't grasp which foods fell under that category. While I understand that nursing is an incredibly high-stress job, the sheer frequency of these interactions was astonishing. It was deeply concerning to realize that even with prominent warnings, I had to be my own primary line of defense against being served allergens by my own caregivers.
Not How Cholesterol Works
During an annual check-up, my blood work showed high total cholesterol—a lifelong trait balanced by naturally high "good" cholesterol. Despite my healthy ratio, the doctor began lecturing me on my diet. When I explained that I was a vegetarian who only consumed egg whites or substitutes to avoid cholesterol, he confidently claimed that egg whites actually contain more cholesterol than whole eggs.
I laughed at the blatant misinformation, as the yolks are where the cholesterol is concentrated. Realizing I couldn't trust a physician who lacked such basic nutritional knowledge, I refused his prescription for cholesterol medication, stood up, and immediately went to find a new doctor.
Easy Prognosis
I started seeing a doctor recommended by a friend, but she initially dismissed my concerns even as I was vomiting three times a week, claiming it "wasn't that bad." It wasn't until I was getting sick nearly every day that she finally ordered an ultrasound. The results were undeniable: my gallbladder was packed with "too many stones to count," necessitating immediate surgery that finally stopped the vomiting.
As frustrating as the delay was, her bedside manner was even worse. She bluntly told me I was "overweight, depressed, and out of shape," but offered absolutely no medical guidance or solutions to help me. That insulting, unhelpful lecture was the last time I ever stepped foot in her office.
If You Don't Know, You Don't Know
One November night, my husband was rushed to the ER with excruciating back and leg pain. Within 24 hours, his condition spiraled into respiratory distress, leaving him intubated in the ICU; over the next two weeks, he lost all reflexes in his legs. Despite an onslaught of tests and specialists, his condition only worsened, and no definitive cause for his paralysis was ever identified.
When he was finally stable enough to leave the ICU, I asked his doctor for an explanation. His dismissive response was, "Sometimes things just happen." I found this answer unacceptable; in medicine, there is always a cause and effect, and I would have much preferred a humble admission of uncertainty over such lazy arrogance. After a second doctor later echoed that same sentiment, I realized I had lost respect for a profession that often prioritizes its ego over honest communication.
Not A Protein Pro
After having all four wisdom teeth removed at once, my oral surgeon asked how I was maintaining my protein intake since I couldn't chew. I explained that I had been whipping up egg whites into meringues to make them easier to consume. To my disbelief, the surgeon confidently informed me that "there's no protein in egg whites."
Given that egg whites are almost entirely pure protein, I was stunned by such a blatant medical inaccuracy from a surgical professional. It was such a fundamental misunderstanding of basic nutrition that I immediately lost all respect for his expertise. From that moment on, I completely wrote off any further advice he had to offer.
Troubling Splinter
After a woodworking accident left a large poplar splinter deeply embedded in my thumb, I tried to remove it myself without success. When the pain worsened after a few days, I visited my primary physician, who simply repeated the same needle-and-tweezer motions I had already tried. He eventually claimed he "got it," pointing to a near-invisible fleck as proof, despite my insistence that I could still feel a solid mass under the skin.
The doctor dismissed my concerns, stating he was "at least 50% certain" he had succeeded and advised me to wait. A few days later, the splinter finally shifted, and I pulled a 9mm-long piece of solid wood out of my thumb myself. When I later received a $530 bill for the "removal of a foreign object," I called the office to refuse payment for a service they never actually performed. I've since found a new doctor and haven't looked back.
Barely Even Bothering
Last year, I sought medical help for severe hip and back pain, along with "foot drop" that caused me to fall repeatedly. Despite the impact on my safety, my doctor dismissively told me my only options were medication or using a cane. Because of my age, she saw no reason to be proactive or help me maintain an active lifestyle, completely ignoring the fact that I walk three miles a day to manage my blood sugar and mental health.
Her ageist attitude was both insulting and negligent, as she prioritized a "slowing down" narrative over my actual physical needs. I remain incredibly frustrated that a healthcare professional would choose to write off my mobility rather than help me stay healthy and independent.
Not A Great Start
After transitioning from pediatric care to a new adult cardiologist, the very first question he asked me was, "Are you new from around here?" Living in Nebraska, where the Asian population is relatively small, I knew exactly what he was implying. Despite the fact that I have no accent and have lived in the state since I was adopted at age four, he felt the need to question my "belonging" before even discussing my heart health.
I honestly couldn't tell if it was a poorly executed attempt at small talk or just pure arrogance, but it was an incredibly alienating way to begin a professional relationship. Starting a medical consultation by highlighting a patient's perceived "otherness" is a far cry from building trust or rapport.
Yeah, Maybe Not
After being diagnosed with Behçet's disease—a rare autoimmune vasculitis—I researched every English-language study available, noting that treatments used in the U.S. are often off-label or secondary options compared to those in Asia and the Middle East. During a routine med-check, I told a physician’s assistant that my latest prescription wasn't providing relief. She responded with incredible condescension, claiming, "You obviously don't have Behçet's if that didn't do anything!"
It was nonsensical to suggest that a diagnosis confirmed by multiple specialists should be thrown out simply because a third-tier, off-label drug failed to work. I reported the interaction to my primary doctor, which resulted in a formal letter of apology from the department head and a new referral. I’m much more satisfied with my current care team, who actually understand the complexities of rare diseases.
Oh, Behave
During a same-day appointment for a minor illness, I had to bring my six-month-old son with me. While we waited in the exam room, I let him play with the provided toys on the floor. When the doctor entered, he immediately insisted we put the toys away to avoid a tripping hazard, and then perversely demanded I put away the book I used to distract him.
With no entertainment left, my son naturally became fussy and began making unhappy noises. The doctor then asked, "He isn't very well-behaved, is he?" I was stunned that a medical professional expected an infant to sit silently in a room after having every source of stimulation removed. After the appointment, I filled out a comment card in the lobby, hoping the administration would address the doctor's unrealistic expectations and poor attitude toward children.
Taking The Long Road
When my second child was born, a nurse dismissively told me that supplemental newborn screenings "never come back positive," yet the results eventually came back inconclusive. Two weeks later, my doctor's office urgently ordered us to a city hospital within the hour because they had finally found a specialist familiar with the detected condition. Despite the frantic rush, it turned out the necessary medication could have been sent to us without an initial in-person visit.
Following extensive genetic testing on the entire family, we discovered that our older child was also positive for the condition. This child had been suffering from unexplained vomiting several times a week for three years, yet the doctor's only response to the late diagnosis was, "We would have caught it eventually." Even the hospital neurologist had failed to test for the disorder until our sons' cases brought it to light.
How Many Dentists Will It Take?
After suffering through an infected tooth that eventually required a root canal, I encountered a series of incompetent dentists. The first dentist incorrectly claimed the severe aching only required plaque removal, while a second suggested the pain was a lingering result of a local anesthesia-free filling performed three months prior on the same jaw.
It wasn't until I saw a third dentist that I received an accurate diagnosis of an infection and the necessary antibiotics. In total, this lack of professional insight forced me to endure four months of excruciating dental pain before the root canal was finally performed.
Is That How It Works?
After suffering a severe injury involving a shattered and dislocated radial bone and a broken humerus, I underwent multiple surgeries, including the placement of an external fixator and a titanium elbow. Despite months of recovery, I am still struggling with stiffness and radial hand palsy. When I expressed concern about my recovery, the physician's assistant dismissively told me that I would be able to return to work because, as a nurse, I only needed my "thumb and first finger to work."
As a former nurse, I was outraged by this profound ignorance regarding the physical demands of the profession. The suggestion that nursing requires only two functioning fingers is insulting and demonstrates a complete lack of understanding of the manual dexterity and strength needed to provide patient care.
Stuck In The Middle With You
During an initial appointment with a new primary care doctor for a minor issue, the physician asked if I had children. When I mentioned that my husband and I were considering adoption, he unsolicitedly advised against it, claiming that parents can never form the same bond with an adopted child as they do with biological offspring. A nurse in the room immediately intervened, fiercely challenging his baseless assumptions and sparking a heated debate right in front of me.
The doctor doubled down on his stance, arguing that "honest" parents would admit to favoring their biological children. I remained in complete agreement with the nurse, who continued to put him in his place for voicing such biased opinions. Despite his discouraging remarks, my husband and I eventually had two biological children and adopted a third; I can confidently say we love all three equally, and I am incredibly grateful I ignored his ignorant advice.
Right Over Their Head
When my daughter was four, I mentioned during her check-up that she was still wetting the bed. The doctor shamed me, claiming the bed-wetting was caused by my use of pull-ups and insisting I stop using them immediately. Following this advice made me feel like a failure as a mother and led to a year of misery; several times a week, I was forced to wake up, strip the bed, and comfort my daughter, all while already exhausted from caring for a newborn.
A year later, I consulted a different doctor who asked the simple, obvious question: "Why aren't you just using pull-ups?" The realization that I had endured a year of sleep deprivation and frustration for no reason was infuriating. We immediately went back to using pull-ups, everyone finally slept through the night, and my daughter naturally outgrew the need for them by age eight.
Good With Eyes, Nothing Else
During an eye exam to investigate why my left eye wasn't focusing correctly, my optometrist asked about my medical history. When I mentioned I have narcolepsy, he admitted he didn't know what the condition entailed. I explained that my brain cannot regulate sleep cycles, causing me to enter REM almost immediately, which results in fragmented, non-restorative sleep and constant exhaustion.
To my disbelief, his face lit up and he told me I was "lucky" because REM is the "best" kind of sleep. Despite my explaining that missing out on deep, restorative sleep stages is exactly why narcoleptics are perpetually tired, he doubled down on his claim that I was fortunate. While his ignorance regarding sleep disorders was infuriating, I chose to stay with the practice simply to avoid the multi-year process of re-explaining my congenital cataracts to a new doctor.
Who Reads The Labels Anyway?
An orthopedic surgeon prescribed me Percocet and Aspirin despite my current use of citalopram. Combining Percocet with an SSRI like citalopram is ill-advised due to potential adverse psychiatric effects and the risk of serotonin syndrome. Furthermore, citalopram possesses mild antiplatelet properties; pairing it with a potent blood thinner like aspirin creates a synergistic effect that significantly increases the risk of internal bleeding and vascular rupture.
These contraindications are clearly highlighted in the safety literature for both medications. Given the dangerous nature of these interactions, I refused both prescriptions to avoid a life-threatening complication.
What Did That Even Accomplish?
My husband was rushed to the ER suffering from severe stomach pain, light-headedness, and chronic nausea. The attending doctor immediately prepped him for surgery and removed his gallbladder. However, the next morning, my husband was still experiencing the exact same symptoms. When the recovery physician reviewed the charts, he was stunned to find that all the preoperative tests had shown the gallbladder was perfectly healthy, leaving him with no explanation as to why the first doctor had chosen to remove it.
Before his discharge, further testing revealed that the actual cause of his symptoms was undiagnosed diabetes. Now that his blood sugar is under control, all of those issues have vanished. My husband underwent an entirely unnecessary organ removal simply because the first doctor failed to read the diagnostic tests already in the chart.
Weird Line Of Questioning
I have been seeking medical help for severe, debilitating joint issues. I experience excruciating pain that radiates from my right arm to my shoulder blade and fingertips, often leaving me unable to grasp small objects or even lift my phone. Additionally, my hips frequently pop and dislocate, while my right knee prone to locking up mid-stride, causing me to trip and fall.
When I describe these lifelong symptoms to doctors, they invariably ask why my parents never sought treatment for me as a child. When I honestly explain that I grew up in a neglectful household and that my current physical issues likely stem from that lack of care, I am met with dismissal 99% of the time. Rather than addressing my medical needs, these practitioners often retort with "that doesn't happen" or "your parents love you," prioritize their own assumptions about family dynamics over my documented history and physical suffering.
Look On The Bright Side
I suffer from severe neurological diseases and recently began experiencing significant difficulty opening my mouth. When I asked my neurologist if this was a symptom of my condition, he confirmed that my jaw mobility was severely compromised. However, instead of offering a medical intervention or diagnostic plan, his only comment was, "At least you'll lose weight." Despite the fact that I was not overweight, he made no further recommendations.
One week later, as the condition progressed, it was discovered that the locked jaw was actually a life-threatening reaction to a medication I was taking. The doctor’s decision to prioritize a flippant remark about my weight over a clinical investigation delayed a critical, time-sensitive diagnosis.
Pushing Through Pain
While battling cancer and fibromyalgia simultaneously, I developed kidney stones, creating an agonizing level of physical suffering. Despite this, the only pain management I was offered was Toradol. I have repeatedly witnessed a systemic refusal to provide adequate pain relief; three separate oncologists denied me pain medication after my chemotherapy regimen changed.
The new medication caused painful joint issues and sores across my arms, yet my distress was ignored. I even woke up from cancer surgeries screaming and shaking because the anesthesia and post-operative pain protocols were insufficient. Treating every patient as a potential addict rather than a person in crisis is a profound failure of care that has defined much of my experience.
Not The Brightest Doc
While a group of doctors debated whether I still required a hysterectomy since my symptoms had temporarily subsided, I explained the clear timeline of my condition. The symptoms had originally surfaced during three months of extreme stress and trauma while living abroad, and had only diminished after I returned home to several months of recovery and healing.
The head doctor dismissively told me, "Your mental state has no relation to the pathology of your uterus." This blatant disregard for the connection between systemic stress and reproductive health is something almost any woman who has experienced the physical effects of hormonal cycles or stress-induced flare-ups would find laughable.
