A story about white coat syndrome . . .
I don't usually have it, but there was this one time at band camp . . .

No, not at band camp, it was when I was on a business trip and I heated up water for tea in the microwave and then, when I dropped in the tea bag, the water exploded in my face. Literally. Like a geyser.
So I start running cold water on the scald on my face while I fumble for the phone to call the front desk for ice. They were all very nice, very concerned, brought ice, called a cab, and I made my way to the ER.
When I checked in, my blood pressure was a nice and normal 120 over 80. But after 6 hours of being ignored as I sat in a chair across from the public restroom with water seeping under the door and onto my shoes, my blood pressure had shot up to 150 over 90, or some such reading. And Nurse Ratched, who
finally came to dress the scald and sign me out, had a passive-aggressive field day acting oh-so-concerned about my high blood pressure.
I wanted to scream. But I managed to strangle that down and tell her that if she'd had the brains to check the goshdarned chart, she'd've seen it was sitting for 6 hours in a world of hurt in the stupidpoopy hospital that had caused it to go so high, and keep your incompetent hands off me and give me those dang papers to sign right-freaking-now so I can get the heck out of here and away from the imbeciles staffing this clearly second-rate hospital. Only I probably didn't use "goshdarned" and "stupidpoopy" and "dang" and "freaking" and "heck."
So yeah. I suppose the takeaway message is that white coat syndrome comes in different shapes and sizes. Or maybe it's that the white coats (and caps) shouldn't ignore an otherwise nice lady with a scalded face. Or maybe it's that I'm not as nice of a lady as I think I am.
