The Hidden Social Life of a Cardiology Appointment
The Delay and the Lipstick Ritual
The scent of cheap, synthetic vanilla air freshener in the hallway was already making me tense. I was watching the clock-9:44 AM. We needed to be at the cardiologist’s office, twelve miles across the city grid, by 10:34 AM, which meant we should have been pulling out of the driveway exactly nine minutes ago.
But Mom was rooted by the front door, debating the merits of the postal service reorganization with Gary, the mail carrier, who looked visibly trapped, one foot hovering over the curb. And worse, she was insisting on reapplying her lipstick. Not just dabbing it, but carefully, meticulously outlining the bow, using the reflection in the polished brass kickplate of the screen door.
“I want Mrs. Henderson in the waiting room to see I’m still putting in the effort.”
And that was the crack that let the light-or maybe the cold, hard reality-in. This wasn’t a chore for her. It wasn’t merely a necessary step in chronic disease management. This was an outing. This was a social event. For my mother, and perhaps for millions of others navigating the profound, grinding loneliness of aging, the doctor’s appointment had become the accidental, essential substitute for community.
The Mathematics of Time vs. Connection
We criticize the healthcare system for inefficiency, but for the
