She's ranting a patient try to took control over the professional worker and directing them for a specific treatment for her child, which the mother has little to no idea about, and made tantrum and full aggressive when they were not following her suggestion.
Yes, I got that part. What isn't clear is if the child was actually treated for anything before the mother was told (not exactly in those words) to GTFO.
Please understand that my own experiences in hospitals have been anger-inducing for the most part, not panic-inducing.
I understand the contras here, all of hospital professional worker are calm because these are things that they see everyday, while family of patient are panicking because this is a huge thing that befalling someone they value so much, or even the most in their life, and this is not things that happened to you every week, or month, or years, while this is something that the worker saw almost everyday.
That's common for many sorts of professionals. Naturally people panic more in medical settings, since they don't know if the problem is life-threatening or if it will require a stay, or unfamiliar meds or something that the family can't afford (it's a myth that health care is free in Canada).
I've had my share of dealing with panicky people, but they were mostly nursing students with term papers that had to be handed in the next day. They were usually the really weird one, about Rosemary Rizzo Parse. Those papers were ungodly finicky in how they had to be formatted. I think that was about the only assignment I ever had to type where there were five levels of headings (and these students had one particular instructor who measured the margins of their papers with a friggin' ruler, so somehow I had to convince my computer and printer to pretty please adjust themselves 2 millimetres
that way, since the time was past when I could just do these on an electric typewriter and have an easier time of manipulating everything.
Anyway, the first couple of these papers were a bit nerve-wracking. Fast-forward another 2-3 years, and every time I heard the panicked voice on the other end of the phone: "I've got this
really weird paper I need to do, I mean it's
weird..."
Whereupon I would ask if it was the "Rosemary Rizzo Parse paper" and they'd say in relief, "Yeah, that's it!" and I'd tell them not to worry, since I'd already done a dozen of them, "and they don't scare me anymore."
Whereupon my client would sigh in relief, make an appointment, and let me deal with those godawful annoying 5 levels of headings and bizarre syntax.
The other time I encountered panicky people was at the polling station where I was working as a constable (change from Deputy Returning Officer that time). The City was holding a plebiscite about whether or not the bylaw regarding Sunday shopping should be repealed (not kidding; as late as the mid-80s, it was illegal for most stores to be open for shopping on Sundays).
It was controversial as this is a bible belt region, and the councilor most opposed to repealing this bylaw was a church-going man. But what he didn't realize was that someone would notice that the travel agency he owned half of did business on Sundays.
Oops! Well, that torpedoed his campaign to keep Sundays a no-shopping day. The results were that the bylaw was indeed repealed and we've had Sunday shopping ever since (except if Remembrance Day falls on Sunday; the custom is that most stores close in the morning, or at least until just after 11 am.).
As for the panicky voters, what happened was that some idiot announced on the local radio station that people could vote "anywhere" - any polling station; it didn't have to be in their usual polling district.
Gee, thanks, radio announcer. All day, the various polling stations were dealing with people who came to the wrong place, trying to get their addresses, and figuring out where they were actually supposed to be.
It was really annoying in the polling station I was working in. It wasn't expected that there would be a huge turnout, so our station had only one DRO, one poll clerk, and me - with a map to help people figure out if they were in the right polling station, and the dictionary definition of the word "repeal" on it. Seems a lot of people didn't know that word, and City Hall decided that they would not allow us to explain it verbally, in case we accidentally influenced how someone would vote.
So when people asked me, I had to show them the piece of paper, and then they got annoyed that I didn't just tell them. I explained that I wasn't allowed, and the paper would have to do... or they could phone City Hall and maybe get an answer there.
The day was not made any better when the DRO kept gesturing people to come forward, don't bother stopping at my table, she wanted to get them in and out... and she'd have the poll clerk start writing down their addresses...
Oops. They weren't on the voter's list for our district. They had to go somewhere else. But the poll clerk had already taken down their address, the ballot was all but handed to them...
GHAH!
So they'd come over and we would figure out which station they really should have gone to, and I did ask the DRO not to hurry people along, and
let me do my job so it wouldn't mess up the paperwork and annoy people when they discovered they were at the wrong place.
Anyway, at about 5 minutes to closing time (8 pm), a family of 3 came in. They were in a hurry, and literally panicking. Once again, the DRO did her "Over here, folks!" and I figured, in one ear, out the other, didn't stop in the middle...
And then they were
really upset. They said they'd been all over town, trying to figure out where they were supposed to vote. The last place had sent them to our station, and it was now about 3 minutes to 8, and they really wanted to vote...
So I brought the map over and asked them their address. The DRO butted in, saying that they were in the wrong place, don't bother with the map.
I told her that this is what I was supposed to have been doing all day - verifying that people were in the right place. So I asked their address again, and realized that they were out past the wildlife sanctuary, where I used to work in the interpretive centre. That was really close to the line dividing city from county, and if these people lived in the county, they would not be eligible to vote, period.
So I put the map down and asked them to show me which side of the road they lived on. I was pretty sure they were within the city limits, but wanted them to verify it.
Sure enough, they were inside the city... just. So I said, "It's okay, you can vote here. And don't worry about the time. The rule is that if any voters are inside the polling station at closing time, they still get to vote."
I don't recall ever seeing three more grateful people at any of the polling stations I've worked at (the DRO was visibly fuming at that point; she kept arguing, and I told her very emphatically, "They live inside the city limits
and they are allowed to vote."). They said, "Oh, THANK you! We've been to three polling stations in the last half hour and everyone else said we couldn't vote there, this was our last hope."
I told them I understood how confusing things were in that part of town, with addresses. True story: When I was working at Kerry Wood Nature Centre, it was not unusual for tourists from Europe and the U.S. to find us. But the local taxi driver I had to use one day when I was running late? He had no clue. Finally I told him, "Just turn where I tell you, there aren't any traffic lights."
When we got there, he grumbled that he didn't think there even was anyone out in this area, as he thought it was outside the city.
So I totally understood when one of the three voters told me how frustrating it was to have an address that people had a hard time finding: "We can't even get a
pizza delivered out there!"