The Deadliest Lie a Patient Ever Told Me
- Orlando Rivera
- Nov 14
- 3 min read
(What Ends Part 2 of the 5 Lies Series)
Every medic and every nurse has that one call that sticks to their ribs.
Not because of what we found, but because of what the patient said.
And it wasn’t dramatic.It wasn’t shouted.It wasn’t whispered in a way that made the hairs on your neck stand up.
It was simple.
It was calm.
It was the lie that kills more people than overdose, trauma, or chest pain combined.
And the lie was this:
“It’s not that bad.”
The Lie That Slips Past Everyone
You hear it a thousand times.
Chest pain?
“It’s not that bad.”
Short of breath?
“It’s not that bad.”
Blood pressure in the stratosphere?
Still: “It’s not that bad.”
And the problem is… the human brain wants to believe it.
Even yours.
Especially yours, when you’re juggling five other patients, a hallway full of stretchers, and a radio that won’t shut up.
That lie is smooth.
It’s comforting.
It’s familiar.
It lets everyone relax for one fatal second.
The Patient Who Taught Me Never to Trust It
He was in his 50s. Quiet. Polite. A “don’t make a fuss” type.
He walked into the ER with a steady gait, one hand on his chest and the other holding his wallet like he was checking in to a hotel, not fighting for his life.
We asked him about his pain.
He said the words.
“It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse.”
No diaphoresis.
No collapse.
No clutching his chest like in the TV shows.
Just a man minimizing his own dying.
EKG printer started screaming before anyone else did.
When the STEMI hit full stride, he didn’t look surprised.
Almost embarrassed.
Like his body was inconveniencing us.
And before we got him to the cath lab, before he lost his pulse, he said it again.
“I didn’t want to bother anybody.”
That’s what “It’s not that bad” REALLY means.
Not denial.
Not toughness.
A lifetime of being taught to stay quiet when you’re hurting.
Why This Lie Is So Damn Deadly
Because it sounds reasonable.
Because it doesn’t activate alarms.
Because it doesn’t set off instincts.
“It’s not that bad” is the perfect trap because it tricks everyone involved:
The patient believes minimizing the pain keeps them safe, in control, or “not dramatic.”
The provider subconsciously prioritizes louder emergencies and more dramatic presentations.
The system rewards stoicism and punishes vulnerability.
And the heart attack, the bleed, the sepsis, the stroke, all keep moving.
Quietly.
Steadily.
Efficiently.
Until there’s nothing left to save.
The Hard, Uncomfortable Truth
Patients don’t die because they lie to us.
They die because we believe the wrong lies.
The comforting ones.
The quiet ones.
The ones that let us move faster, breathe easier, or shift our focus for two minutes that we never get back.
Every provider learns the big emergencies.
Only experience teaches you the subtle ones.
If someone says, “It’s not that bad,” look closer.
Ask again.
Don’t accept the lie just because it’s convenient.
Because sometimes the patients who say the least are the ones who need you the most.
Part 3 Coming Next Week
We’re not done.
There’s a third category of lies patients tell, not to protect their pride, not to protect their privacy
but to protect you.
Those are the ones that tear you apart long after the call.
Stay tuned.
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