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During the ‘90s, I had a debacle with my appendix. I would visit the ER every month with excruciating pain and after examination and tests, they would send me home with the diagnosis of “female problems”. My family doctor spoke to a few surgeons and told them he just knew it was my appendix, would they please take a look around? They all refused. This went on for EIGHT LONG MONTHS. To cut things short, I ended up on vacation at my sister’s home, 120 miles from home when things got really bad. I was sent home by emergency transport where my doc was waiting for me and after surgery, the surgeon told my doc when he opened me, there was quite a mess inside. The infection had leaked after my appendix perforated and scar tissue was already forming and had enclosed my right ovary against my abdominal wall. The ovary would have to come out, and soon.A year later the ovary came out along with my gall bladder. A few years, a divorce and a move to from MI to NY later, I was told by my OB/GYN that I needed a hysterectomy. My uterus had become lumpy and with my family’s history of cancer, he didn’t want to take any chances, so he would take my left ovary also, essentially removing most of the organs that designated me as female. It was a shock but the risk of cancer made it an easy sell.Sometime during the night, I must have gotten the catheter tangled and pulled it because I was having pain that was a 7 on the pain scale. I called the nurse and told her something was wrong, the pain where the cath entered my bladder was so intense it was making me sick. Mind you, it took her 15 minutes to answer my call button because I could hear them all out there having a gossip session. My room was literally across the hall from the unit desk! She clicked her tongue and said she would call the doc. He instructed her to remove the cath and give me something for pain.Now I have several drug allergies, some will even kill me. After she removed the cath, I dozed off a little while waiting for the pain shot, which I was not so sure I would need anymore since the pain was subsiding a little with the cath removal. As she approached my bedside and was picking up the tube for my IV to inject the pain meds, I woke up and asked what it was she was giving me. She asked what it mattered since I was in pain. I explained I was allergic to a lot of meds, raising my left arm to show her the BIG RED BAND that was to alert her to allergies. She told me it was Demerol, a mild analgesic. I yanked my arm away and yelled, did you NOT read my chart before you came in here? I am deadly allergic to Demerol! As in the last time I received it I DIED! I was clinically gone for 2–3 minutes!This so-called…. NURSE then yelled at ME! Saying I should have told her! ←- My “You have got to be kidding me” moment. I said “Do you ask your unconscious patients to TELL you their allergies or are you SUPPOSED TO READ THEIR CHART??? Did you even attempt to ASK me whether I could take this drug? Or did you just want to get this inconvenience out of the way so you could go back to the floor’s central desk hen party?” I was LIVID!I don’t know for sure what woke me that morning to catch the mistake but I have always given that credit to God. I then promptly called my husband and told him “GET ME THE HELL OUT OF THIS PLACE!! NOW!!” I then told him what happened. My doc tried to get me to stay one more day but I refused! I told him that at home, there was no one so incompetent that they would kill me with a drug injection! At my post-surgical check, he told me that the incompetent nurse had been fired and he didn’t believe she would be working as a nurse again until she took a few classes on the dangers of delivering dangerous meds to a patient without checking their ALLERGIES first, AND she tried to blame the doc, who was at home at the time and didn’t have a copy of my chart in his hands. The policy was: The nurse gets orders from the doc, checks the chart for any KNOWN ALLERGIES, then instructs the doc so he can adjust his orders accordingly… in this case, to something I WAS NOT allergic to.I have since changed hospitals, primary physicians, and OB/GYN’S! My new team doesn’t touch me with anything until they double-check my allergy list! That whole system had a problem with reading charts BEFORE trying to treat you. Lazy people can kill you!

No. Not in the least. At least I didn’t feel ready. I scrambled a lot, but that’s kind of how one learns to care for patients. The last two years of medical school are kind of like playing doctor. So you do clerkships where you rotate through many different medical disciplines, and you pretend like you’re one of those doctors. So, for example, if you’re on the internal medicine rotation, you may be asked to go to the emergency room and evaluate a patient for admission, just like if you were a real internist. You will go to the emergency department, do a history and physical exam on the patient, come up with an assessment and a plan. You will actually write notes in the patient’s chart, along with orders. The resident doctors and attending doctors will look over your work and give you criticism on how you can do better. Then they will fix your orders so the patient actually gets properly taken care of. This process goes on for two years, as you learn a little bit of internal medicine, pediatrics, ob/gyn, general surgery, and whatever elective fields you choose to work on.When you first start as an intern, you’re the doctor now, but you’re just one rung higher on the ladder. Now, you have to look over your medical student’s work, while the residents and attendings look over your work. The following year, you’re a resident. You look over the medical student and the intern, and the attending watches over you.So you’re constantly being thrown in water that’s just a little deeper than what you’re used to swimming in.I can vividly remember the first day that I was an attending anesthesiologist, and there was nobody looking over my shoulder. I was so nervous. I had already anesthetized a few thousand people, but there was always someone more experienced than me waiting to take over if I got in too deep. Still, I was neurotic, meticulously making sure I had all the right drug dosages, all the right equipment ready, all the right emergency supplies in case of a bad outcome, or a fire, or an electrical outage, or whatever else could possible go wrong.Everything went fine that day, and after about five years of independent practice, something changed. My confidence grew, because I felt like whatever came through the door, I had seen it before. I still have a healthy fear/respect for what I do, because it’s a difficult and important job. But now, I feel confident that I can handle it, and I look forward to helping patients get through difficult times.

It’s important that you call your physician back and I have him or her give you your medication instructions once again. This time you need to be writing them down. And you need to be asking questions until you understand 100% of what your doctor is telling you to do. And then when you take that medication to your pharmacy to have it filled then have another conversation with the pharmacist to make sure you’re all are on the same page.You really shouldn’t be coming to this venue to be asking these kinds of questions because nobody knows your history, has not seen your chart and isn’t an OB/GYN.