I have a chronic illness, and so I received quite a few sterling gems in the months between onset and accurate diagnosis. I had one GP let's call him Dr Douche. I promise, it's the kindest way I could describe him. "The jacket means I know things." He came up with wilder and wilder theories as to why I was sick, and kept getting sicker. It should be said beforehand that few of these theories were embodied. He was sure it was something in my ladybrains that was preventing proper function of the rest of me. Dr Douche said so much weird, wild, and just-plain-unbelievable crap over the course of my diagnosis that someday I may create a novel that incorporates it all. But this here has to be the blue ribbon winner. I was describing a symptom to him: every time I got up in the morning, when I first stood, my heart would pound, my heart rate would accelerate, and I'd feel dizzy. After a few probing questions (only in the morning? no, but it's worst in the morning) "Maybe," he said sensitively, "you're afraid." "Of standing?" I asked, just to be sure. "You think I'm afraid of standing up." Maybe he meant there was some kind of existential fear, like, we're all afraid, it's a big old universe out there, and he wanted some comfort and reassurance. Nope. The man genuinely thought I had such a profound fear of verticality, that I was having a near-panic in response to being upright. POTS, folks. It was POTS. Literally THE most common sign/symptom/syndrome of autonomic dysfunction. The most common one. He could've confirmed right there in the office with a poor man's tilt table test, if he knew to Mayo Clinic had to confirm with expensive instruments because he'd never heard of a disease that affects 1/100 teenagers and between 13 million people in the United States! Would've done better with this Doctor. Who was named Dr Douche? - The patient - The attending GP - Mayo Clinic staff - not enough information
The attending GP

(Question)
I love going to the spa. Honestly, who doesn't. These days, unfortunately, my spa trips are few and far between. I blame the damn kids for that one! So, as you can imagine, I was pretty damn excited when the in-laws presented me with an Urban Spa voucher for the Urban Indulgence package: one hour hot stone Lomi Lomi massage followed by a Heavenly Spa Facial - two hours on indulgent bliss, for Christmas. I had never had a hot stone massage before so was very much looking forward to this, if nothing else out of curiosity about what is involved. Whenever you see pictures advertising a hot stone massage, the beautiful model always has a bunch of largish stones on her back so I wasn't sure whether it was more an acupressure experience where they left the stones strategically placed on the back to work their magic or whether it was an actual massage. Turns out that it is an actual massage. I requested a firm massage as my back has really been giving me issues. Carrying 15kgs of Crazy Kid or 9kgs of Kiki (or 26kgs of double babies) really isn't too good for the back so it had been causing me problems for a couple of months. My therapist (the lovely Kristy) gave me an expertly firm massage and used a small, smooth hot stone, along with her hands, to perform the massage. It was quite a unique experience as one minute I could sense that she was using her hands to do the massage then then next I'd get a sweep of hotness as the stone was run over me. It really was a delightful sensory experience. As my back was a problem area, Kristy spent 30 minutes just on that then the other 30 minutes was spent on the rest of my body. I could feel myself drifting in and out of consciousness throughout the massage. One really special thing about this massage was that the massage table was heated. Such a small touch, but one that was greatly appreciated (although it was a great contributor to my lack of consciousness!). Why did the therapist work mainly on the author's back? - not enough information - because that is what happened to the beautiful model - because that is the only area to do a massage - She had been carrying her children
(Answer)
She had been carrying her children

I was once distinctly unsettled by a utility man who called to read the gas meter. We were living in an old house at the time and I was home alone with the youngest child (who was around six months old), balanced on my hip as I opened the door. The visitor looked genuine, dressed in the expected uniform. He was around 6.3 and probably not the most tidily presented utility man I'd met, but I believed him to be genuine and willingly invited him in out of the foul weather. It was pouring down outside, a freezing cold winter's day. As I closed the door I remembered that I should have asked to see his company I.D. , so as I opened the meter cupboard and switched on the light, I politely said, 'Oops, I should have asked to see your I.D. if you don't mind?. He stood there in front of the door and made no move to produce his card or do anything in fact. He just glared down at me in the most menacing way and said in a very sinister voice 'Isn't it a little bit late for that now? What are you going to do if I tell you I don't have it?'. There was an embarrassed silence. He continued to stare down at me without making a move for what seemed like minutes but was probably seconds. He didn't produce his I.D., instead he almost grudgingly read the meter as I looked on and then he swiftly left without saying goodbye. I closed the door and locked it, and then took a while to get my pulse rate back to normal and to realise I'd just learned a very big lesson. Such a creepy individual, I didn't make that mistake again. Who was 6 foot, 3 inches? - The utility worker. - not enough information - The youngest child. - The man in the home.
The utility worker.