Five Things That Make You a Nightmare Patient (In the Best Way)
A love letter to being “too much” and being your own advocate at your GP
Lately I’ve been thinking about how we can become better advocates for our health.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading Sarah Hoover’s memoir, The Motherload, and nearly dropped it when she described childbirth as re-traumatising—like being sexually assaulted.
Maybe it’s because I stumbled upon the SheMD podcast and got rage-hives listening to how long it takes women to get an endometriosis diagnosis (spoiler: about 7 years).
Maybe it’s because I keep thinking about my mum, and how she brushed off her symptoms until breast cancer forced her to pay attention.
Or maybe it’s just because I’m tired of women being treated like unreliable narrators in their own bodies.
Whatever the reason, this one’s for the girlies who are done being told “it’s probably just stress.” Here’s how to advocate for your health without crumbling, spiralling, or saying “sorry” every two seconds.
1. Trust Your Symptoms—You're Not Imagining It (You’re Just a Woman, Apparently)
There is a thing called “women’s intuition,” and no, it’s not a witchy marketing term. It’s called paying attention to your body because you’ve been living in it your entire life.
If something feels weird—if your energy is off, your stomach hates you, your period is behaving like it’s auditioning for a horror movie—please don’t gaslight yourself. This isn’t the time for ✨main character denial✨.
And before you say “I’m probably just being dramatic,” let me gently remind you: no one has ever died from booking a GP appointment. But they have died from ignoring symptoms (my Mom being an example).
Especially when it comes to period pain. If you need heavy painkillers just to go to work once a month, that’s not “just being a woman.” That’s possibly endometriosis. Or adenomyosis. Or fibroids. Or any number of things that deserve more than a heat pad and a resignation letter.
In short: if your body is sending you emails, don’t archive them. Read. Respond. Escalate to management if needed.
2. If Your Doctor Dismisses You, Cool. Time for Doctor #2 (or 3, or 5)
You’re allowed to get a second opinion. You’re also allowed to get a third. Or a fifth. This isn’t dating—you don’t have to commit after one lukewarm conversation.
GPs are great, but they’re generalists. They’re trained to know a bit about everything, which is both amazing and deeply limiting. One time, I ticked “night sweats” on a form and it turned into the weirdest medical relay race of my life:
GP thought it was an infection
Endocrinologist blamed blood sugar
Infectious disease doc suggested HIV (iconic - also, please get regular testing!)
Gynecologist said it was probably my pill
No one was technically wrong for thinking these things - night sweats can mean any combination of issues. But none of them were totally right either. Because medicine, in real life, is like trying to solve a murder mystery while blindfolded, and you’re the only one who knows you don’t even like knives. (PS: It turned out to be my birth control pill wreaking havoc. The moment I switched pills, the sweats ceased.)
This reminds me of a story about my dad, who’s a retired ER doctor. Years ago, he ran into a woman he vaguely recognised while visiting the vet. She was a vet tech, and she stopped him to say thank you. Turns out, years before, she’d been to countless doctors with vague symptoms, only to be dismissed every time. My dad was the only one who thought, “Hang on, let’s check her abdomen.” He ordered a scan. She had cervical cancer. They caught it early—because someone decided she was worth investigating.
She wasn’t “overreacting.” She was surviving. And if a doctor makes you feel silly for asking questions or seeking another opinion, just channel Ariana and say: “Thank u, next.”
3. If You’re Uncomfortable During a Medical Exam, You’re Not Being Difficult. You’re Being Conscious.
Can we talk about pap smears? Specifically how weird it is that in 2025, we’re still using metal instruments from the Victorian era to pry open our vaginas like a rusty suitcase? If you can believe it, the good old torture instrument - ahem, speculum - was invented around 1850. Has it evolved since? Incredibly, no. Some “updates” have included:
Disposable plastic versions (lighter, less cold, but often creakier and flimsier)
LED-lit speculums (tiny flashlight upgrade!)
A few startup-y attempts at redesign (e.g. Yona Care or Ceek), but these are still niche and not widely adopted in clinical settings.
It’s giving “we landed a rover on Mars but can’t invent a non-traumatic speculum” energy. I’m just saying… if cis men had to get annual prostate exams involving a rusty chrome crank, we’d have a sleek, pain-free, Dyson-engineered alternative by now. So yeah, if you’re feeling uncomfortable, you’re not wrong. We’re using vintage tools to pry open vaginas.
Going to the gyno isn’t just awkward. It can be downright triggering. If you’ve ever felt disassociated, panicked, or just plain not okay while lying half-naked in a fluorescent-lit exam room with a stranger poking around your cervix, you are not alone—and you are not weak. (Also, can we please fix the damn lighting in these offices?)
If your whole nervous system is saying “nope” when you’re in the stirrups, that is not weakness. That is wisdom. You’re allowed to speak up. You’re allowed to say, “Can we pause?” or “I need a smaller speculum,” or “Honestly, I’d rather be anywhere else right now.”
If you’ve read The Body Keeps the Score, you know trauma isn’t just some abstract idea—it literally lives in your tissues. You don’t need to justify why your body is reacting. You just need to advocate for your own comfort.
And if you’ve never wanted to scream “why is my cervix being punished for simply existing,” you’re either extremely well-adjusted or have a brilliant OB-GYN. Either way, the rest of us deserve better, too.
4. Arm Yourself with Research and Question Almost Everything
Look, I’m not saying you need to enrol in med school. But being informed? That’s your power move.
I have a friend whose boyfriend was prescribed testosterone gel for fatigue. What the doctor failed to mention? That testosterone gel can destroy your sperm count. As in, full delete, forever. He didn’t find this out until his partner (my friend) did a quick Google and went down a rabbit hole that probably saved their future kid’s life.
The doctor wasn’t evil. He’s just not psychic. He was solving for “low testosterone,” not “wants children one day.” Because unless you say otherwise, doctors won’t always factor in your long-term goals. Only you can do that.
Maybe you go to your GP feeling tired all the time, and they tell you it’s a sluggish thyroid. You leave with a prescription for Levothyroxine — and it works. Great! But here’s what they might not mention: once you start, you might be on it for life. Your thyroid basically clocks out and heads to Ibiza with a suitcase full of beach kaftans.
Now, maybe you’re a holistic girlie. Maybe you would’ve wanted to try nutrition, stress reduction, or other thyroid-supportive tweaks before committing to a daily med forever. And while some people can come off Levothyroxine, for many, it’s a long-term relationship. Whoops.
One of my favourite personal moments in medical overreaction/mistake? I went to my GP because I had very, very dark stools after a week of stomach issues. She immediately sent me to A&E. One hiccup: I had an international flight to catch that day.
Now, I did appreciate that she took me seriously — but it also felt a little... dramatic.
So I did what any panicked millennial with a medically retired ER dad would do: I called him. At 4 AM his time.
“Did you take Pepto Bismol?” he asked, groggily.
“Shit tons,” I replied.
“Yeah… that'll turn your stool black. You’re probably fine.”
So I skipped the ER, got on the flight, and lived to tell the tale.
Moral of the story? Only you know your body, your context, and the random assortment of pink chalky potions you may have chugged at 2 AM. Trust your gut — but also tell your GP everything. (Especially the over-the-counter stuff.)
So yeah. Google it. ChatGPT it. Ask your nurse friend. Skim the NHS website. Print the leaflet you usually throw in the bin. You don’t need to become a know-it-all, but you do need to become someone who asks “What are the side effects?” and “How will this affect my future?”
If your doctor is annoyed by your curiosity, that’s not your problem. It’s your cue to become even more curious.
5. Medical Anxiety Isn’t a Personality Trait—It’s a Treatable Condition
Some people avoid doctors because they’re legit busy. But a lot of people avoid doctors because they’re terrified.
If that’s you, hi. I see you. I have been you. But also: we can’t let that anxiety drive the car.
Avoiding blood tests, scans, or checkups doesn’t make the threat go away. It just delays the moment you might get the info you need to stay safe—or literally stay alive.
If your brain spirals into “what if it’s something awful” every time you book an appointment, that’s not just fear. That’s an invitation to get help for the fear.
CBT. EMDR. Hypnosis. Trauma-informed therapy. There are so many tools out there, and they exist for a reason. Because modern medicine is weird and intimate and sometimes wildly triggering. You're not fragile for struggling with it. But you are powerful for deciding to address it.
The good news? Once you start tackling medical anxiety, everything else gets easier. You start showing up for yourself in all the ways that matter.
Final Thoughts: Being ‘Too Much’ Might Just Save Your Life
The goal isn’t to be the chillest, quietest patient in the waiting room. It’s to be the clearest, boldest advocate in the room — even when your voice shakes.
You don’t need to be agreeable to be taken seriously. You don’t need to smile through pain, nod through confusion, or shrink yourself to make the system more comfortable.
You do need to speak up. You do need to say, “This isn’t right.”
You do need to ask, “What else could it be?”
You do need to say, “I’m not okay — and I’m not leaving until someone listens.”
Because your health is not a favour. It’s not a luxury or a reward for good behaviour.
It’s your baseline. Your non-negotiable. Your birthright.
So yes — be that girl. The one with the symptom tracker, the second opinion, the bullet-point list of questions and the “actually, I Googled it…” energy.
She’s not dramatic.
She’s prepared.
She’s powerful.
And she’s not here to be polite — she’s here to stay alive.
