Has a doctor ever refused to treat you?

The Emergency Room Dismissal

Has a doctor ever refused to treat you? I came into the emergency room clutching my abdomen in the same hospital I once worked as chief of surgery.

After two hours, I finally got to see Dr. Harm, who barely glanced up at me inside like I’d interrupted something by being here. Let me guess, he said before I could speak.

You’re 90 years old, ate dinner too late, and now you’re panicking. On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is your imaginary emergency?

When I said 8, he actually laughed. Right. Everyone says eight.

Real pain doesn’t let you walk in here in your pajamas looking so put together. My pajamas were soaked with sweat from the pain.

When did you last have your period? He asked with a smirk.

When I said I was postmenopausal, he nodded like he’d solved everything. There you go. Hormones.

They make women your age think every little cramp is a heart attack or appendicitis. Have you tried yoga? Maybe losing some weight?

He typed something without examining me. I see a lot of hysterical women your age. Retirement gives you too much time to obsess over every little ache.

I tried to explain that I knew my body, but he interrupted. Ma’am, I have actual emergencies to deal with.

Young man next door got stabbed. That’s real medicine.

Your psychosomatic belly ache can be handled by your GP on Monday. He started to leave, but I grabbed the rails of the bed. Please, something’s wrong.

I can feel it. He pried my fingers off one by one.

This is drug-seeking behavior. Are you here for pain pills? Because that’s not happening.

A nurse came in and Harm told her loudly. Just anxiety. Probably wants attention.

Her husband probably doesn’t listen to her anymore, so she comes here for someone to talk to. He didn’t know my husband died 2 years ago in this very hospital.

Don’t waste resources on blood work. Give her some antacids and discharge papers.

The nurse looked uncertain, but he snapped. Did I stutter or do you want to be a doctor now, too?

When I asked for a different doctor, he got nastier. You want to doctor shop? Classic drug seeking.

I’m noting this in your file. He pulled up my chart on the computer.

Oh, look. You’ve been here before. Frequent flyer.

Lonely old women love the attention from young doctors. It’s pathetic, but common. He didn’t scroll down far enough to see my employment history at this hospital.

The pain was getting worse, and I doubled over, which made him roll his eyes dramatically. The performance isn’t necessary. I’ve seen better acting from kindergarteners.

He called another resident over. Watch this classic case of Munchousins in the elderly.

They Google symptoms and then pretend to have them. The resident looked uncomfortable, but stayed quiet.

She probably lives alone. Kids don’t visit, so she creates drama.

I started describing my symptoms in medical terms, hoping it would help. The pain is intermittent, positional, with guarding in the upper quadrant.

He cut me off. Oh, great. You watched Gray’s Anatomy and think you’re a doctor now?

Let me guess. You diagnosed yourself on WebMD?

He turned to the nurse. She’s using medical words she doesn’t understand. Probably reads medical forums all day.

These bored housewives always think they have whatever disease is trending on Facebook. When I stood up to leave and find another hospital, I collapsed from the pain.

Instead of helping, he stood over me and said, “This manipulation won’t work. Get up. You’re taking a bed from someone who actually needs it.”

He didn’t help me up, just watched as I struggled. In my professional opinion, you need a psychiatrist, not an ER, maybe some friends, a hobby, anything besides wasting our time.

He grabbed my arm roughly to pull me up, and I cried out, “Stop the theatrics. I’m documenting this as a psych case. You’ll be lucky if insurance covers this visit when I’m done.”

He started dictating to his phone. patient presence with fabricated symptoms, drug-seeking behavior, and hysteria typical of menopausal women seeking attention.

He looked at me with disgust. Women like you clog up the system. You’re why people with real problems wait hours.

I vomited from the pain and he jumped back. Great. Now you’re making yourself puke for sympathy.

Clean that up yourself. He threw paper towels at me.

I’m not exposing my staff to whatever attention-seeking disease you have. You know what? Get out. Leave.

You’re banned from this ER for abusing services. He was writing discharge papers when I passed out again.

I heard him telling security to remove me when Dr. Vance, the current chief, walked in for his morning rounds. Dr. Callahan, oh my god, what are you doing on the floor?

He rushed over and Harm’s face went white. You know her? Vance’s voice was ice.

This is Dr. Rebecca Callahan. She was chief of surgery here for 10 years. She hired me. She’s on the board. I hope you’ve been treating her well.

Vance then felt my abdomen and immediately started barking orders. Get an O ready now. This is a mesenteric torsion with compromised blood flow.

She needs emergency surgery or she’ll lose her intestines. Harmon’s clipboard clattered to the floor. Has our staff been okay so far, Miss Vance asked me.

I turned to Dr. Harm. My voice came out steady even though pain was shooting through my whole body.

Dr. Harm refused to examine me and called me hysterical. I watched Vance’s face change from worried to angry in about two seconds.

His jaw got tight and his hands balled into fists. He tried to have security remove me from the ER.

The words made everyone in the room freeze. Nurses stopped moving. The security guard who’d been walking over backed away.

Vance’s face went red and then white again. He stood up slowly and turned to look at Harm, who was still holding his clipboard like a shield.

Get an O ready right now. Vance’s voice filled the whole ER.

He pointed at Harm without looking at him. You don’t move from that spot.

Two nurses rushed to get a gurney while Vance grabbed his phone and started barking orders about getting the anesthesiologist down here immediately. The whole ER had gone dead quiet except for Vance’s voice. Even the guy who’d been moaning in the next room stopped making noise.

Harm opened his mouth, but Vance held up one hand to stop him. The nurses lifted me onto the gurney and I bit my lip to keep from screaming at the movement.

My whole belly felt like it was on fire and every bump made it worse. They started wheeling me toward the elevator and I could hear Vance behind us telling Harm he was suspended effective immediately pending a full review.

Harm started yelling about being overwhelmed and understaffed, but Vance cut him off with words I couldn’t make out. The last thing I saw before the elevator doors closed was Harm’s face going from white to bright red like he might explode.