"I just don't know how you could be in so much pain being so young, I'm not going to be able to write you a prescription." My response was, "You're a d*****t; I came in because I was hurt at work, doing heavy construction." I never asked for a prescription in the first place, I had assumed I was vetting an xray to see if I had broken anything.

Me, when I was nine, about to go under anesthesia for the first time ever for oral surgery, and being extremely scared.

Nurse: You need to grow up. I've had kids half your age not be as much a scaredy-cat as you.

My mother was not, by any means, a helicopter parent...but the thrashing she gave that nurse, the other nurse who chuckled at it, and the doctor who came in was insane. And then she took me out of that office (the surgery was not a time-sensitive thing, just to fix a soon to be impacted adult tooth) and for ice cream. I had the surgery done at a different office with a staff that had far better bed-side manners.

Not sure if psychiatrists count, but:

"You need to stop talking to me about your past. I have other patients who had it worse than you, you know."

I'd only been seeing this woman for two months. It had taken me years to work up the courage to seek help, though the fear that my problems weren't real problems or weren't important. We'd barely even touched on the trouble I came in wanting help for, because the doctor decided on week two that I had generalized anxiety disorder, and that was that.