He really ticked me off when he called me sweetheart. He wasn’t an old boyfriend, and I wasn’t in a fight with my husband.

I was talking to a consultant.

A freaking consultant.

I’m not sure what thought entered his mind to think he could call a physician “sweetheart,” so he apparently was a small-minded misogynist. So I called him on it. And he didn’t expect me to.

I had a patient with a NINE-millimeter stone stuck in her UPJ. She was in pain and had little resource for follow up. Regardless, it was a NINE-millimeter stone. Her creatinine was kind of borderline, and I knew that if I sent that lady home, she might not tolerate the pain, and she might not get the follow-up she needed. She needed to be admitted. We usually admit the big stones.

The urologist I work with at the other facility just says, “Lisa, I trust you; just admit them, and I will see them in the morning. You don’t even need to call me unless you need me.” He has a specific order set, and he is always super nice to me.

The other day he brought me some Cheetos while I was working.

First of all, it took an hour to get in touch with this guy. An hour. The phone was busy. Finally, I got a hold of him, and he didn’t even let me tell him about the patient. Not a word about the patient.

“Listen here, sweetheart,” he condescended.

“Uh – hold up,” I said. “First of all, don’t call me sweetheart.”

“I’ll call you anything I want to call you,” he retorted.

In all fairness, he’s pretty intolerable to all the docs. I told him, “You know, I don’t have a problem with any physician here but you.”

“What problem is that?”

“Well, everyone else actually wants to take care of patients.”

To us women physicians, this type of exchange is nothing really new. Luckily, it is becoming less frequent, except for those dinosaurs left over from the 19th century who have somehow survived with cryogenics or maybe have gotten into Marty McFly’s time machine. But we still feel it every day.

We still feel that Boys’ Club mentality. Leave the female gyno problems in the rack for the women; procedures and trauma are for those with the Y chromosomes.

We walk into a room, and the patient says, “Oh, the nurse just walked in; I have to go.” How many of you men have ever had that happen to you?

Just the other day, I had a patient tell me she was surprised when I walked in. “I was expecting an old white haired man, not a young woman!” I did like the young part! (Especially since I just turned 40.) But it is a battle we fight every day.

I’m not really complaining, necessarily. It’s just a fact I’m pointing out. It’s an extra hurdle we have with each patient encounter. We must prove ourselves every day, not only to our patients, but to our colleagues.

I feel as though a male physician is automatically trusted. You are already in the “club.” We have to prove we are worthy from the get go. Maybe it’s just my perception, but someone hears my high-pitched voice on the phone, and I sometimes wonder.

There have been so many women who have gone before me to show me the way, pave the way, take the heat, and break down the walls, allowing me to begin my career. And I am so thankful and lucky.

In America, it all started with Elizabeth Blackwell, who was the first woman to earn a medical degree in the States. She was fortunate, as I was, to have a father who encouraged her to be an educated woman. She actually had several male physician mentors who allowed her to study with them, unheard of in the 1800s.

Lately, on the AAWEP (American Association of Women Emergency Physicians) listserv, we’ve been talking about the importance of mentors and champions. Many of my fellow physicians have similar experiences, many worse than mine. I’m so grateful to them for sharing their stories and their advice. But they did say one important thing. As important as it is to have women mentors, we also need our male counterparts to be our champions as well.

When you hear of or see a fellow physician being treated as I was treated, instead of laughing it off and going to play golf with the jerk, take some action if you can. Talk to her; be her champion. Support her. Find out what you can do to help. If you are in a position to correct that issue, correct it, instead of laughing about it and chalking it up to “that time of the month.”

We women have enough to deal with. I’m still not sure if we can “have it all.” Something has to give. It does for the men, but there’s not the same stigma. It’s OK if the dad doesn’t stay home with the sick kid, but if the working mom leaves her sick kid, HOLY COW! She is this horrible mother who mustn’t love her child – even though dad is with the child and she is working to pay for the kid’s tuition and doctor bills and put food on the table.

On a personal note, I’m worried about this. My husband and I are about to adopt four beautiful children from Ukraine. I am the working spouse, and my husband will be the stay-at-home dad. I won’t be able to be everywhere at all times. I will miss some things. I’m scared to death of it. I’m scared that they will feel abandoned by me, even though my husband will always be there. Will they understand this sort of new world order we have?

I always thought it was funny when my fellow residents and, now colleagues, would talk about their wives doing this and that for them. “My wife is cooking/washing my clothes/baking cookies for all the nurses personalized with all their names.” At the time, my husband was working. I always thought, “Man, I need a wife.”

Now, I’m very fortunate. My husband was very supportive when I went back to school. “Hey, I think it’s great. I’m looking forward to early retirement.” And that’s exactly what’s happened. He stays home, keeps the house and me straight, and soon will be keeping our four kids on track. I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without him.

So we women emergency physicians aren’t anybody’s sweethearts (except to our real sweethearts). I am certainly not a consultant’s. We wear so many hats, not only in the ED, but at home as well. I think that alone should garner some respect.

That being said, no one should be calling any physicians sweetheart, people. I mean, really. It has no place in the hospital. The only people I expect it from are my husband and the sweet 90-year-old Southern lady I’m treating for CHF. She gets to call me that. That, I don’t mind.

Dr. Bundy is an emergency physician with the Baptist Health System in Montgomery, Ala., and a former photojournalist, who not only sings in the car, but talks to herself, is addicted to diet drinks and shoes, and thinks emergency medicine is the greatest specialty.