I’d give you the bladder infection but I think that might be a bit intimate for both of us. Sadly my doctor died a few years ago. Of cirrhosis.
“We can travel to any planet, any place, any time. I’ll protect you. I promise.”
Ever since I’ve been a teenager I’ve had chronic tension headaches. Once, when I lived in NYC, I went to the headache clinic of a hospital. After filling out questionnaires and taking some tests, I finally got to see the doctor. His diagnosis: “Apparently you have an addictive personality, and there’s not much we can do with you until you get that fixed.”
An addictive personality??? What am I addicted to, pain?
Wow, what a nightmare 
I also just read some more stories like yours. I don’t understand why the Mayo Clinic and everyone insists it’s so safe if it obviously isn’t. I don’t know what else to do though, I’ve tried just about everything else.
It reminds me of the pshycologist who diagnosed me with depression when I was in high school. Within months of my mother dying. “Gee doc, couldn’t there be some other, simpler reason that I’ve been feeling sad lately? Like, maybe, the fact that my mother just died?”
“Go home and get drunk.”
In fairness, grief is depression, just a form that is circumstantial and temporary rather than neurological or chemical. Sorry for your loss, by the way.
Last year, a mammogram revealed that I had a little tiny nubbin of microcalcification in my boob. I go in for a needle biopsy, results were inconclusive. So I’m referred to a surgeon, who lops out a huge chunk of my very tiny boob. The nubbin turned out to be benign nothingness, so there’s a chunk of my boob missing for no good reason. Fast forward six months and I’m at the surgeon’s office for a followup after a followup mammogram, in which nothing has been detected. I have fibrous boobies, but never had cancer. Repeat: Never had cancer.
At the followup appointment, Doc starts talking to me about Tamoxifen. He tells me that some studies show that, if you’re high risk for BC and you take this drug, it can reduce your chances of ever developing BC by, oh 15-20%. “High risk” for me means I have a 30% chance of developing it in the first place. Low to no risk means you have about a 3-4% chance. I’ll take that 30% risk: I think the odds are better than the odds of me dying in a horrible car accident on the freeway.
I ask the doc about side effects of this drug. “Oh yeah, well, there’s some side effects, and it’s extremely expensive, and you have to stay on it for five years. Are you interested?” I tell him no and go home to Google Tamoxifen.
OMG. I discovered that Tamoxifen can cause uterine cancer, endometrial tumors, and a whole metric fuckton of liver and kidney problems.
So the worst advice I’ve ever been given was to take a drug that could give me cancer in order to avoid getting some other type of cancer. Frankly, I think he was looking for a boat payment; if I took the drug, he might have eventually had to lop out some more girly bits. He just wanted to spay me! I was not about to make myself sick for five years when I’m starting out 100% perfectly healthy with no signs of cancer whatsoever. I don’t even think I’d want to take that crap if I did have cancer. When the treatments seem worse than the disease, I’ll opt for the original disease and take my chances. I’m not about to give myself cancer so I won’t get cancer.
Me, 17 years old.
Doctor: “Do you have a cat?”
Me: “Yes.”
Doctor: “You’re allergic to cats. You need to get rid of your cat.”
Me: “That’s not an option.”
Doctor: “Well you’ll just have to suffer then.”
I had just gotten that cat and ended up having her for 17 years, literally half my life when she passed. She kept me going during the darkest times and if a cat can be your “soul mate” she was mine. Like f’ing hell I’d “get rid of” my cat.
Thank you. I understand that I was, in fact, depressed, but being prescribed antidepressents to “treat” what seems like the most natural reaction in the world to my circumstances always rubbed me the wrong way. Why try medicate away ordinary human emotion?
Ah. You didn’t say you’d been prescribed anti-Ds. I get your irritation now.
Ah. I guess I accidentally left that out of the first post. Sorry for the confusion.
I had a gum graft last year, which was one of the most painful things I have ever experienced. The oral surgeon told me that Advil would be sufficient for pain. It was not, not by a long shot.
When I went to see him a week after having it done, I had some significant bruising on my face from the process. His stellar comment?
Just tell people your husband has been knocking you around a little.
I declined to go back for the one-month check. Asshole.
I’m missing something here. How would restricting your fluid intake possibly be helpful?
I can understand why you’d be upset at the idea of getting rid of your cat, but how is it bad medical advice?
Oh, I dunno, they have these doctors called “allergists” and these crazy allergy doctors can, you know, treat the allergies.
Dogzilla beat me to the bulk of my post, but I’ll also note that the thread isn’t limited to bad medical advice, just bad advice from doctors (hence lorene’s oral surgeon’s “Tell people your husband beats you.”)
First is the doctor who said veganism is the only possibly way to live a healthy life. Um, no thanks.
Second is the doctor who, without even looking at the MRI that prompted another doctor to tell me I had a completely ruptured ACL, said that my knee would “hold up” for sports and that he would not do surgery. Suffice to say, 2 innings into a softball game later, it did not hold up.
This reminded me of another one. It wasn’t a doctor (at least not an MD) but about 5 years ago my sister had a professor for a college course on diet and nutrition who had never heard of veganism and was stunned that anyone would even consider such a thing.
Not me, my wife:
“That skin lesion? Put some lotion on it. I’ll write a prescription.”
She didn’t trust that answer and went to a dermatologist. That lesion was basal cell carcinoma, dumbass.