I’ve mentioned before, in bits and pieces, that I’ve kind of isolated myself over the last five years of the pandemic. And that is saying something since I was a strong introvert before. But I stopped a bunch of regular things, and of course, I’m working from home, not in an office. I do have lots of meetings a day in Teams, and with my retirement looming in the next 592 days, I am cognizant that those will end and a lot of my planned activities are solo endeavours. The big trips around North America, kayaking, writing, astronomy, etc. I do plan to join some retiree groups that do cards or lunches a few times a week, to see if I can find a small tribe. There’s a group of former government policy wonks now retirees who meet for breakfast once a week or once a month (not sure), so maybe I can get in on some of their chats.

But something odd happened recently. It’s weird to write this as a white male; it happens to lots of people all the time. But when I go to the doctor’s office, I don’t frequently feel heard.

Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t discourteous. But I often struggle to articulate which of the ten things that are bothering me are the most important to discuss. If I’m in about blood pressure, but I’m having trouble with cuts healing, are they related? Does it have anything to do with my ear hurting? I have a list, and I’m there for one thing, but what I often feel that I really need for the first appointment is to be properly triaged.

But that isn’t a great option when they get paid to handle one or two things and move on.

Yet when I went for my last physical, I felt heard. I felt totally seen. He knew I was there primarily for a medical form that the government needs me to fill out for my pension stuff, not really a proper full-on physical, aka I had a trigger, not just “hey, I need this”. He was late starting, almost 30 minutes, and I was getting annoyed. Not because I was waiting but because I figured that they would shorten my physical time and ask me to come back. Again.

Nope. He came in, and we worked through all the immediate stuff. Then talked about the mental health stuff that I was willing to defer to a later visit, but he wanted to do it now. So we did, and I got my happy pills. Plus, on the other stuff I asked about, I got some good advice. My entire list was covered and then some. And then we did the physical. Not rushed, asking me lots of questions and listening to my answers. Fantastic experience.

And when I left, I found it hard to put into words what was different. And I realized that, as an obese man frequently dealing with doctors who tell me everything is weight-related, not once had he commented about weight or nutrition. He looked at every issue, heard me, gave me what he could, offered advice, and support. And he listened. I felt validated. Heard. Seen.

In most aspects of the world, as a large white man who isn’t afraid to stand up for himself, I don’t normally have that problem. If I want to be seen or heard, I can push to do so. Like most people, I have issues with customer service or support, but not for the same reasons that many do. I have seen 20yos snickering at me in my shorts and compression socks, looking at how big I am or uncool. Whatever. It doesn’t resonate with me much. I notice; I don’t fret.

Yet in medical situations, I have frequently found it unsettling.

Retirees sometimes talk about being invisible, more so women than men, but men too. I worry sometimes about my blogging, that I get few comments. Until I noticed last week that there were a bunch of comments on Facebook/Meta that, for some reason, the website failed to tell me about. I found them by accident, going back six months or so. I see comments on my blog, but I wasn’t seeing the ones on social media. Weird.

Anyway, I am aware of the potential for both invisibility and isolation in retirement. I’m hoping to engage on astronomy more, as I mentioned earlier, my DND group (also mentioned previously) and a couple of other areas still to come in the A to Z of 2026. Preventative steps to shock-proof my retirement, perhaps. Stay tuned.

Let me know if you have less-than-obvious tips on avoiding both isolation and invisibility.