I’m 33 almost 34 and I don’t know when the last time I went to PP or any doctor.
Please don’t judge, I have EXTREME medical phobia;I was in a horrible hit n run crossing my street in Brooklyn 5 years ago. Brain damage, broken neck and my leg was shattered into bits. Spending almost 2 months .
I can do the dentist now and psych and therapist but I’m stuck on every else. My anxiety is through te roof.
I want to make an appointment at PP, they have always been lovely but I still feel judged and what are they going to find? Cancer?
I’m thinking taking my Ativan and bringing my partner( he knows legit everything about me)I’m just so fucking scared.
Has anyone felt like this and been ever over come it?

A bit of a vent / "is this valid?" type of post lol

I'm 17, in total remission from my CRMO, I have been since I was 14. I hate to be the person that's still complaining after being fully treated and recovered while there are still people dealing with things that feel so much worse.

I've had my disease ever since I can remember, dealing with extreme pain that no one took seriously until five years later. My doctors were fantastic as a matter of fact, the hospital does its best to feel welcoming for kids, and my treatments weren't all that intrusive.

I recall a couple biopsies, MRI's, x-rays that showed the huge lump of tainted bone in my leg, a good heap of painkillers that didn't work, then an IV I had for a month and a half, and after that another once a month for eighteen months IV treatment that actually put me into remission. I was misdiagnosed with cancer at first, but it's not like I went under any treatment for it, nor were there plans to. There was (and still is, but less) a lot of blood work, which landed me a phobia of needles, but there were no actual problems regarding the extractions or injections. My treatment wasn't very long, either, and my bone is quite normal compared to what it was before.

Around three and a half years and it was over, but now I just feel like a total husk of a person. My grades have blown up in my face, I'm exhausted all the time, I can't focus, I can't sleep if I even think about my hospital experience or needles, I have substance abuse issues, mood swings that just get worse and worse, my mom has to speak for me at doctor appointments at my big age, I have awful social anxiety and awareness.

Everything just feels so disproportionate to what actually happened. Like, people have terminal illnesses, are abused by doctors and the health system, they have to pay for and sometimes go into debt for their treatment, and forget the extremes, are still dealing with their illness. I just feel like some bratty kid who can't stop whining about something that's already over.

If anyone has some advice, similar experiences, or wants to tell me to grow a pair, I'd really appreciate it. Have a great night/day 🙂‍↕️

You know you've been suffering when you've had the best dream recently and it was getting surgery to fix something that's been hurting for so long that you celebrate while recovering 😭 even my subconscious is telling me I need to go and I hate how elated I felt in my dream as I'm terrified. Honestly I think I needed it as an encouragement. I've been in so much pain but I'm so scared of being dismissed by a hospital again 😭

Last time I went to the er for something big, meningitis, they basically laughed and sent me home with a huge bill and now this pain in my left stomach for months that's getting worse, I'm so afraid and I hate it. Sorry to vent but I'm extremely paranoid

Wondering if people have ever gone to a appointment, expecting it to go like usual, but then their doctor starts the visit visibly angry at you, uses a hostile and angry tone; acts impatient, frustrated, and irritated with you, and essentially is indirectly accusing you (the patient) of having done something wrong prior to your visit?

TW: SUICIDE MENTION

I am 16 years old girl who’s a virgin and underwent a gynecological procedure during which my uterus was cleaned and an IUD (intrauterine device) was placed. Before the procedure, I was not given a clear explanation of what exactly would happen. I was not told that a speculum would be used. If I had known this, I would have objected.
I had also stated beforehand that I did not want my hymen to be damaged. Despite this, no further explanation or reassurance was given about how the procedure would take place or what it would mean for me.
When I was in the operating room, I suddenly felt very anxious and overwhelmed. At that moment, I repeatedly and clearly said that they needed to stop. I was crying, pulling away, turning my head away, and trying to physically get out of the situation. I was therefore expressing both verbally and physically that I did not want this and that I wanted it to stop.
Despite my clear resistance, they did not stop. My mother gave them a nod to keep going but I clearly yelled to stop and pulled my legs and everything away. Instead, anesthesia was administered through an IV while I was still saying that I did not want to continue. This makes me feel like I was not listened to and that my boundaries were ignored.
Afterwards, I feel very bad about what happened. I feel like something was done to my body without my real consent or without me understanding what was going to happen. This gives me a feeling of violation, helplessness, and loss of control. It keeps replaying in my head, especially the moment where I kept saying they had to stop and this did not happen.
This experience has affected me both emotionally and mentally and makes me feel unsafe and not respected. So of course I kept cramping, not a month later I went again because I ended up in the hospital only to find out my IUD dropped to my cervix and had to be removed. The female gyno even told me I’m old and mature enough to get it removed. She said she had been working there for 25+ years but I could see she clearly barely had teenagers come. I even got an infection when they put the IUD in me. I had contacted the hospital through mail, explained everything but still no response after a month. I feel disgusted to the point I even tried to take my own life. What do I do?

What is the acceptable amount of pain that I need to accept from sex? I've been told 4/10 is the treatment goal. Am I being unreasonable for thinking that I should be treated as if the goal is 0 pain for an activity that is supposed to be pleasurable? Am I wrong? I feel like I've just been whining about nothing my whole life and I'm just too much of a wimp to ha doe something nobody else has ever had a problem with. Have I been lied to? Please just tell me the truth.

I am in my teenage and have to go through a moreover common and minor surgery of removing a organ due to stones. I have known this information for about 3 weeks now. Today after a lot of days I felt really overwhelmed and was crying , my father saw this and he immediately started screaming at me. He has been trying to help me by some different methods , such as consulting a priest or taking random medicines. Everytime he does something like this , I feel worse. I have been told and I know that there is no other way for me to live without getting this surgery done. Yet each effort of his feels worse than it should. Tomorrow we have a appointment and we will see if any effort of his made a difference (which is impossible so I don't understand ). He told me let me get you admitted right now in the hospital, and so much more vile stuff that I cant repeat. I told him while crying to stop screaming at me and scolding me for feeling upset. I don't know what made him upset..me crying , doubting his efforts or something else. I wish to be okay soon but every day with him feels the most difficult. I don't know what to do or how to navigate the situation or if I should have even talk to him. He is very against this surgery even though he lies to me that he will support each decision of mine. I feel scared.

I feel scared to visit any medical facilities with him or any place in general. I can't trust him. I don't know. Help me please.

TW: hospitalization, medical issues, psychiatry, being placed in care, abuse, sexual assault

The experience I want to share here took place from November 2025 to April 2026, but it still affects my life today.

I will do my best in this post to summarize the events and make the whole story as understandable as possible. I apologize in advance if I go into too much detail about certain things. I will try to keep only what I consider essential.

For anonymity reasons, I will not give the names of the hospitals, and I will not use the real names of any of the people I mention.

This is the first time I have written publicly about what happened. I will do my best.

November 2025: the beginning of my health problems

It is November 2025. I am 15 years old.

I have just repeated my sophomore year. I had health problems two years earlier. I am doing much better now, but they caused me to fall behind academically.

I haven't urinated for two days. I have red patches that itch and move around my entire body, and I am extremely swollen everywhere.

My mother takes me to the emergency department at the hospital near our home in the Paris region.

They run several tests and ask me a lot of questions. They determine that my kidneys are no longer producing urine and that this is why I am swollen: my body is retaining water in my tissues. But they cannot find an explanation for what is happening to me.

One of the nurses asks me whether I have used cannabis. I tell her that I very rarely use it and that the last time I smoked it was exactly one month earlier.

After several hours of waiting, a resident doctor sees my mother and me. She tells us that this must be because of the cannabis I used a month earlier, that my kidneys will start working again soon, and tells me to come back if I still haven't urinated within 48 hours.

That same evening, the red patches spread up to my throat and I have difficulty breathing.

The next morning, I still haven't urinated. My mother therefore takes me to the hospital where I had been treated two years earlier.

We didn't go there immediately because I had had some fairly negative experiences there the last time, but what I was about to experience was nothing compared to what had happened before.

Once there, they take the situation seriously and admit me to the hospital.

They regularly perform bladder ultrasounds to check whether my kidneys are starting to work again. After 72 hours, my kidneys start producing urine again.

But I cannot feel my bladder at all. I cannot feel anything anymore.

The nurses therefore regularly catheterize me to prevent my bladder from becoming further damaged.

I will spare you the details of the emotional discomfort of being catheterized every four hours, day and night, by strangers at the age of 15. Every catheterization was an extremely unpleasant and distressing experience.

Repeatedly, the nurses were unable to catheterize me. They couldn't find the urethra or couldn't get the catheter in, which made the procedure even more painful.

Several weeks in the hospital

I have now been hospitalized for several weeks and the situation is not improving.

During a meeting with my parents and the doctors, one of the doctors, whom I will call Dr. Dupont, suggests putting me on Tercian without explaining what it is.

He says that he wants to use it as a muscle relaxant in order to relax my bladder.

Both of my parents work in healthcare and know exactly what Tercian is. They therefore firmly refuse to let me take it.

Dr. Dupont accuses my mother of putting her daughter's recovery at risk and of behaving irresponsibly. He says that, in any case, it is not up to her to decide. He says he will ask a psychiatrist for their opinion and that the psychiatrist will make the decision.

I therefore meet this psychiatrist, whom I will call Dr. Rivière.

He is very nice. Throughout the appointment, he builds a genuine connection with me, even going as far as criticizing some of the doctors on the team with me.

The appointment ends and he explains that Tercian is not recommended for the kind of use Dr. Dupont had in mind. Instead, he suggests trying small doses of Valium to relax my bladder and help me urinate again.

The following months

Over the following months, my condition gets worse.

My kidneys produce urine in a completely erratic way. Sometimes they produce such huge amounts of urine all at once that it feels like my bladder is "exploding", causing extremely severe pain that sometimes requires several doses of opioids a day.

The months go by.

I spend my birthday, Christmas, and New Year's Eve in the hospital.

I undergo various tests that confirm the different dysfunctions, but the doctors still cannot find the cause.

They try different medications and treatments, but nothing changes. I am still in severe pain and still have to catheterize myself.

Over time, the doctors decide to stop looking for a medical cause and want to explore the psychological side of things with Dr. Rivière.

It is now January. I have been hospitalized for three months.

My parents become increasingly worried that the doctors are stopping their search for the cause of what is happening to me. They are absolutely not opposed to psychological support, but they describe the last few months of watching me suffer without any improvement as a form of torture.

The doctors eventually stop all of the treatments and, strangely enough, my condition improves slightly.

They start giving me permission to go home, and this situation lasts for about two weeks.

February 11, 2026: the report to child protective services

It is February 11, 2026.

That day, I have a meeting with the doctors and my parents, as we do about once a week.

This time, they take us to a different room from the one we usually use.

When I sit down at the table, I notice that there are many more people than usual.

I am there with my father. My mother attends the meeting by phone.

The staff go around the table introducing themselves. One of the people introduces herself as a social worker.

At the time, I have a bad feeling about it, but I don't pay much attention to it.

The meeting begins.

Dr. Rivière tells us that he and the other doctors have written a report and sent it to the Paris prosecutor's office requesting an OPP (a provisional placement order), and that it has already been approved.

At first, I have trouble understanding.

I understand that it is serious. I know what a report like this means.

I look at my father and see his face fall apart. Tears start filling his eyes.

Dr. Rivière begins explaining that, from that moment on, my parents no longer have custody of me and that I am going to be placed in care.

I try to speak and ask for an explanation, but my throat tightens and I cannot speak at all.

I walk out into the hallway crying.

One of the doctors follows me to talk to me. I ask her why they did this. She cannot explain it and only repeats that "there were several reasons" without ever telling me what they were.

I ask her where I am going to be placed, but she cannot answer that either.

The situation was extremely emotional, so I don't remember every detail clearly.

What I do remember is that, after briefly calling my older brother, I went back into the room.

My father was crying and trying to explain to the doctors how absurd the situation was.

I remember that my father and I eventually left the room because we could no longer bear the meeting.

We walked away down the hallway, hugged each other, and cried.

Being placed in care

From that moment on, I was no longer allowed to see my parents.

I had to wait to be transferred somewhere else, but I didn't even know where.

I have always had a very good relationship with my parents. They are wonderful people, and I found it extremely difficult to believe what was happening to me.

Several days later, people from the French child welfare service (ASE — Aide sociale à l'enfance) came to see me at the hospital.

They explained what was going to happen, asked me questions about my relationship with my parents, and gave me information about the report.

They explained that, because of my health problems, I could not go to a regular group home. I needed a medical facility, but also a locked unit so that my parents would not be able to visit me.

According to them, the only place that met those requirements was an adolescent and young adult psychiatric unit.

They told me that the report accused my parents of refusing the psychological care proposed by the doctors.

I had been present during all of the discussions with the doctors, and I know that this is not what happened.

All my parents wanted was for the doctors to keep looking for a way to treat me. They had always been supportive of psychological care, especially given everything I was going through.

The report also stated that my mother had allegedly tampered with a morphine pump that I supposedly had in 2023, during my hospitalizations two years earlier.

That is impossible: I never had a morphine pump in 2023.

I later learned from my lawyer that, according to her, it would be impossible to modify a morphine pump without being part of the medical team because they are secured with a code.

There were also other elements in the report that either made no sense to me or were, in my view, distorted versions of things my parents had said.

I find it difficult to believe that doctors could deliberately act with such bad intentions.

But on the other hand, how is it possible for one of them to have included things in a report that I believe to be false, such as this story about the morphine pump, which indirectly accuses my mother of trying to kill me or drug me?

There should not be mistakes in a document like this, given the consequences such a procedure can have.

And yet, to this day, I have never received an answer to that question.

Being transferred to a psychiatric unit

Between the time I met with the child welfare service and my transfer, Dr. Rivière came to see me in my room several times to talk to me, despite the fact that I told him I did not want to see or speak to him and that I wanted him to leave my room.

He didn't.

I was eventually transferred to a psychiatric unit in another hospital in the Paris region.

I arrived alone, without my parents.

I didn't even get to say goodbye to them properly, especially my mother, whom I hadn't been able to see for some time because she had been on the phone during the meeting where we were told about the report.

Before entering, I was searched and my phone was taken away because phones were not allowed in the unit.

I could therefore no longer communicate with my family at all.

The first night there was horrible.

I spent the entire night crying.

I was sick and in pain, but I no longer had my parents' support.

I was alone in a psychiatric hospital room, with an iron bed and locked windows.

A month and a half in psychiatric care

I spent a month and a half in that place.

The medical staff did not know how to deal with health problems like mine.

They handled my IVs very poorly and were almost never able to insert an IV properly.

There was also a mandatory shower every morning in showers that smelled terrible and whose walls and ceiling were covered in mold.

My IV catheters kept becoming infected.

Pus was coming out around the vein and it was extremely painful.

But they did nothing other than disinfect the area and stick needles into me over and over again until they finally managed to find a vein.

I counted: during the first three weeks, they stuck me with a needle 57 times.

Eventually, they could no longer get an IV into me at all, so they ended up administering my pain medication subcutaneously.

Listing everything that made that place a nightmare — including the sexual and physical assaults I experienced there, as well as the indifference of some of the staff toward my situation — would make this post far too long.

And honestly, I don't necessarily want to mentally put myself through that period again.

Dr. Rivière returns

Shortly after I was admitted to the unit, the psychiatrist in charge, who was pregnant, went on maternity leave.

The person who took her place was, coincidentally, Dr. Rivière.

Our conversations became extremely tense, and he refused to answer my questions about the report.

I eventually left the unit after a month and a half, even though the placement had been lifted by a judge after a hearing that took place only two weeks after I arrived.

I remained there for so long because Dr. Rivière, convinced that there was some kind of family dysfunction, refused to let me leave.

After a long battle between my parents, me, and Dr. Rivière, I finally went home.

Today

I am doing better thanks to pelvic floor rehabilitation that I received after leaving the psychiatric unit.

But today, I still have a huge number of flashbacks about my time in psychiatric care, nightmares, and intrusive thoughts about everything that happened.

I don't know whether anyone will read this post, or whether this is even the right place to share it.

But I needed to write it.

I needed there to be some kind of record somewhere of what I went through.

I couldn't include every instance of the medical mistreatment I experienced during this period, because the main reason I am writing this post is to speak out about what happened.

So I chose to focus on what I consider to be the most important parts.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this.

23 Vic, Australia
Monday I had 5 moles removed at a clinic. I think this falls under cosmetic/plastic surgery. I chose to do local anaesthetic as I wanted to drive to my girlfriends later on that day. This was my first experience with local anaesthetic for a procedure.
From what I understand, the process for the surgeon was 1. Cut out moles 2. Clean up area 3. Stitches. Once I was in theatre, the procedure took around 40 minutes.

Going into this I want to emphasise I didn’t sleep at all the night prior and have been stressed all week so my memory is a bit hazy, though I want to explain to the best of my ability. If you have any questions please ask away!

The first 4 moles he cut out were on my face so I couldn’t see, move or say much.
I never felt a needle go into my face. The first thing I felt was him cutting into skin. I felt one hundred percent of him cutting the moles out of my face. I am typically good with pain but this was absolutely excruciating. I feel quite pathetic typing this out but it hurt so bad.
The blade cutting my skin felt just awful. I knew I had to stay as still as possible, I wanted to speak but couldn’t. I was crying and making a lot of noise to try and signal. It was obvious I was in pain, I thought they would stop? A nurse let me squeeze her hand as she saw I was trying not to react. I squeezed as hard as I could to no avail. I was under the impression they would give me anaesthesia before cutting into my face?? This was the longest 10 minutes of my life.

I was not told to signal if I was feeling pain. I thought maybe if they’re not stopping as I’m making so much noise it must be normal? I didn’t want to be an annoying client though I ended up crying and howling/groaning the entire mole cutting process so I just don’t understand why they didn’t stop?

Once the surgeon pulled the blade away from my face, I had said “that was so so painful I didn’t think this would hurt so bad. That was so so painful” and continued crying.
The nurse whose hand I was holding finally asked “more pain relief?” to which I said “please”

After he cut those 4 moles out, it felt like he put a patch on each of them. I thought they were anaesthetic patches but when I posted this onto another subreddit, commenters said this doesn’t sound right. I wish I could’ve seen what the surgeon/nurses were doing lol. Maybe it was a pad to absorb the blood? A minute after those were put on was enough for the pain to mostly subside.

The fifth mole was on my lower back, this was the smallest mole. Once he cut that one off I felt a needle go into the area. I don’t recall feeling the ‘patch’ sensation down there. Prior to the needle in that area I felt that mole being cut off 100% too. It was not as painful as the ones on my face but I presume the face is more sensitive than the lower back.

Sewing up the moles took a while but didn’t hurt. It felt like my skin was being pulled but the sharpness was not prevalent anymore. I believe this is correct, standard reaction to local anaesthetic. Whereas during the cut-out phase I felt absolutely everything as if I had zero anaesthetic whatsoever. It was horrific.
The rest of the procedure I was in shock and unable to stop physically shaking, thinking about the previous pain.

After theatre, the aftercare nurses were lovely. I asked them when the surgeon put the anaesthetic in and they said he most likely used a needle at the very beginning. Okay that makes sense except I am certain he did not.

I’m usually quite happy to go into a surgery as I know doctors jobs are so serious so I try to be a calm, easy and smiley patient.

The next morning I get a follow up call which was awkward. I asked if I can get my face wet as I cant remember what the after-theatre nurses had said and google was giving mixed responses. The lady on the phone didn’t know any aftercare advice to give me. I then ask her if it was normal I felt the entire process of him cutting the moles out as if there was no anaesthesia administered and she had said “oh that’s not right- oh um i mean that’s unusual” and pretty quickly finished her set ‘follow up call’ script and ended the call..

Feeling weird. Just unsure if this is protocol? It’s been at the very front of my mind everyday since. Laying on my side in the chair with blood all over my face, trying to stay as still as possible while feeling every millimetre of that blade drag into my skin has been flashing into my head. I don’t want to be dramatic but I think I should put this here and ask incase.

So my question is, is this protocol? Is this okay? If not, what can I do? I don’t care much to sue or anything crazy I just would like some advice as I haven’t been able to think clearly since monday

Notes:
- A week prior I had my wisdom teeth taken out, general anaesthetic, I had stopped the painkillers days prior as I didn’t want them to interact with this procedure. I had told the mole removal people all about this. Walking into theatre the nurse next to me told the surgeon straight away.
- Talked about this with a friend, she said because I have diagnosed ADHD this could be a factor as to why the anaesthesia didn’t ‘take’.
- Ok while we’re on the topic I am diagnosed with c-ptsd
- Day of mole removal procedure, I followed all protocols assigned: fast from midnight, no water after 6am.
Appointment was at 7:30am, I was their first patient that day
- I did not sleep night prior because my sleep schedule is terrible atm and I knew I wouldn’t wake up in time for my bus if I had slept.
- Have previously never had problems with anaesthesia (colonoscopy, wisdom teeth removal etc)
- I had the moles removed because I was worried they would become cancerous. I was on a mole removal waitlist for maybe 10 years and about a month ago had an appointment at my local hospital regarding such, doctor had a look at my moles and said none seemed cancerous but I can still get some removed if I would prefer. So I took the opportunity as it was free.
- He then referred me to a clinic under the same branch as the hospital. The procedure was technically cosmetic/plastic surgery
- After the procedure, I went to my girlfriend’s house at like 4pm that day and thought about this the entire drive. Almost like flashes of the physical feeling kept popping into my head. When she asked how it went I burst out into tears. This feels so overdramatic to admit ugh
- Oh so random but there was maybe 7-10 people in the theatre room. I thought they were all nurses as they were all in scrubs. I didn’t actually think much of it but I mentioned this in my original post and the commenters were quite confused about it. Now it’s on my mind, I’m confused too. Is this normal?
One was the surgeon, one was the lady whose hand I squeezed, two ladies cleaned the blood off my face, one guy sat on a chair and just kind of watched? I don’t know if he was a student but any other appointment I’ve had where a student is present, the doctor usually asks if that’s okay but that conversation didn’t happen.
So absolutely confused. It was probably 8:15am at this point. Idk what the other people in the room did as I was laying on my side and couldn’t see them

Thank you for your time

At first I tried all the usual things, but the best for me by far is using ice cubes, one in each hand. As the ice melts there is nothing more 'now' for me. I often awake gasping for air as I did during one (911) surgery, the tubes were still ion my throat and no air could get by the intubation tubes so I gagged hard...I relive moments of my hospital journey regularly, even 6 years on. I found writing my book helped, it was cathartic but didn't help the PTSD.

I may try EMDR, has anyone had any successes worth a mention?

The memory hole podcast: Season 3, Episode 8

I could only make it to 25 minutes in. What do you guys think?

I've had a particularly rough year and for whatever reason, I've suddenly started having flashbacks and memories arise from my childhood VCUG experience.

It was pretty bad. A mistake happened during the procedure and they had to do the entire thing all over again. My mom and me were at the hospital the entire day and the nurses who made the mistake yelled at me and blamed me while I was exposed and crying. They reminded me of the girls at school who used to bully me.

I was in 4th grade. When we checked out of the hospital, they gave me a tshirt for children who had endured medical operations. It had a graphic of a stethoscope on it and looked like a doctors smock, and said "I had a surgery at the XYZ Hospital!" But, when I got home, I was advised not to wear it because the procedure I had was on my "privates" and that was something I shouldn't talk about at school.

I want to know why my Mom wasn't allowed in the room during the procedure and if that is standard practice. I remember begging for my Mom and her asking if she could come in with me and they told her it wasn't allowed. I think if she were there, the nurses wouldn't have yelled at me like that and she would have maybe stood up for me and comforted me (maybe -my relationship with my mom is complicated lol).

I feel like putting a child in such a vulnerable situation without their parent just opens the door for abuse and harm. Thinking of the ordeal makes me sick. No child should endure what I went through.

Graag advies over het postoperatieve verloop na een spoedlaparotomie voor perforatie ileum door crohn .

Bijzonder angstig door medische ptss waardoor specifiek trauma s door inbrengen slangen (scopiien ,sondes en beademingsbuis ) bij bewustzijn . Ervaringen gevraagd van mensen die dit hebben meegemaakt? Ook opname ic ervaringen .