It's happened twice. It is starting to irritate me. Hopefully, there won't be a third. I am not sure which irritates me more, the delay in care, or the assumption of guilt because I am a man. I will give you two scenarios. In the first instance, my wife was chasing her worthless cat to corrale it for the evening. Being somewhat genetically clutsy, she lunged for the cat and ignored the bamboo arrangement in our Chinese aniversary vase. She managed to cut up her cheek and bleed pretty good. I was unsure whether it had perferated into the jaw, and she was going into shock and panic. I have handled emergency situations for years as an occupation. When people freak out in an emergency I get calm and handle the problem. The time to adrenaline dump is after. So, I got her a towel, told her to hold it tight and to keep pressure on it. I took her to the living room, elevated her feet, and covered her with a blanket, because I knew she was in shock. From there, I dialed emergency services, got the door open and ready for a stretcher, made sure all the lights were on, kept her as calm as I could and kept an eye out for the ambulence. They arrived. It was my scene, I was in control of the problem. I tried to explain the sitaution to the EMT, a woman. She blows me off, and talks to my wife, who in as much pain as she is, does her best to explain it. Still incredulous, she won't act until she sees the bamboo with the blood on it and the blood trail. Then, and only then, does she start caring for my injured wife. Needless to say I was pissed off. Flash forward two years later. I am off of work (day off) and in the bedroom nursing a migraine. My wife is in the other room and the kids are playing outside. The back door burst open, my son is screaming, he has a huge bloody gash in his forehead. My wife, freaks out and she is screaming. I run out of the bedroom to be greeted by this scene. He's screaming, praying, declaring he is dying, she is yelling, "What do we do? What do we do?" I run to the kitchen, grab a dish towel, and toss it to her and tell her to keep pressure on the wound, because there is a lot of blood, and like last time, I don't know the extent of the damage. I get on the phone, dial 911, explain the situation, and am transferred to the ambulence service to whom I explain the situation. They are en route. I get dressed and ready to go/assist or whatever needs to be done. I get the door open and ready. I ask him what happened, he says he doesn't know if he fell, or his sister pushed him, but he hit his head on concrete. A head wound, and with a fall, not good. I ask his sister what happened, she tells me they were playing and he fell. He says he can't remember what happened. Okay, he probably knocked himself out briefly, also not good. I go out and wave down the ambulence to make sure they don't get lost. And again, who is the bad guy? You guessed it, me again. No one wanted to let me control my scene again, because I must be the evil bad man who hurt someone in the family or some such crap. Even more annoying, a local Sheriff's Officer wanders into my house quietly behind me while I am doing my best to make sure my son gets proper care. I get interviewed like a perp, he finds nothing, and leaves. Finally, my son gets care. He goes to the hospital and gets superglued for his gash, and a CAT scan. After two nights of observing him closely at home, he is fine. So, the thing that pisses me off imensely in these two scenarios: 1. I am treated like a criminal for doing the right thing. 2. Care is delayed to my family members while I am being treated like a criminal. Why? Because I am guy.