“Little children get this when they have been playing around in feces."
I am not often at a complete loss of words but this shocked me so badly that I had no good sarcastic comeback. Never having had any leanings whatsoever toward scatological proclivities, I doubted this had caused my problem. I also wash my hands after using the restroom.
"I can assure you that I do not play in feces," was about the only thing I could come up with.
"I'm sure you don't," he said, unconvinced.
9/11. I had just moved to a new town, so I was trying out a new doctor. He finishes with a young woman, shows her out of his office, looks around and calls me in. I get up and go in, hand out ready to shake and introduce myself, when he starts talking.
"I hope you're not here for an abortion like that girl who just left!"
Even if it was a joke (somehow I don't think so, but that's just a feeling), I was horrified that he would talk like that. I might not be all that shy or modest or even all that private, but I'd still be pissed as hell to know a doctor spoke of me, and identified me, as a patient to other patients.
I sent in a written complaint, and warned everyone I knew who might be looking for a doctor.
-Sarah Amalie Lerstrom Margolin
10/11. I'd gone to the doctor with terrible flu symptoms. I had a severe sore throat which had made my voice very hoarse, so I told the doctor about this.
"Oh yes I can tell... that's not your usual sexy voice, is it?" he said.
I just stared at him blankly, fully prepared to vomit on his shoes. But he wasn't finished. (continued...)