This isn’t going to be pretty. It’s raw, it’s relevant, and it’s not something to be dismissed.

I’ve witnessed ageism in the workplace for years. Not always in obvious ways, but in quieter, more corrosive ones. Decisions made without input. Opportunities quietly withheld. Urgency that fades as experience increases.

I’ve seen people on the cusp of their 50s labeled “too expensive,” quietly let go, or encouraged to exit, only to watch their roles reappear with new titles and younger staff hired at significantly reduced salaries to do the same work. It’s rarely discussed openly. Instead, it’s framed as restructuring, right-sizing, or bringing in fresh perspective. But the message is clear to anyone paying attention. Experience becomes a liability when it costs more.

What I didn’t expect was to encounter that same pattern in a doctor’s office.

On December 16, I had an MRI of my knee. The findings were serious. I did not learn that because my orthopedic doctor called me. I learned it by reading the report myself on my radiology patient portal. Days passed. Then weeks. No explanation. No guidance. No call.

What made this experience especially unsettling was the seriousness of the medical situation and the absence of communication around it.

The MRI showed advanced damage. This was not a minor finding or a casual “we’ll keep an eye on it” situation. Yet no one contacted me to explain the results or discuss next steps. I had to interpret the report myself and repeatedly reach out just to understand what was happening in my own body.

As my pain escalated dramatically, the silence became more troubling. I was left to manage worsening symptoms without guidance, without context, and without a clear plan. When I ultimately sought care elsewhere, I was told that I need total knee replacement surgery. That level of intervention underscored how serious the condition had already become.

That gap between the severity of the diagnosis and the lack of response is where ageism often lives in medicine. Not in overt cruelty, but in diminished urgency.

In the workplace, ageism often sounds like assumptions.
They can tolerate more.
They don’t need the same explanation.
There’s no need to rush.

In healthcare, those same assumptions can have real consequences.

I was also left questioning whether a conservative gel injection, intended to help, instead triggered or accelerated the inflammatory cascade that led to debilitating pain. A second physician acknowledged that this was a reasonable concern. But by then, the damage had been done.

This isn’t about villainizing one doctor. It’s about recognizing a broader pattern that many older adults, particularly women, will recognize immediately. A pattern where communication thins, follow-up slows, and patients are left to advocate for themselves at precisely the moment they are most vulnerable.

Ageism doesn’t always look like disrespect.
Sometimes it looks like silence.

And whether it happens in a conference room or an exam room, silence has consequences.

I am moving forward now with a surgeon who listens, explains, and treats my condition with the seriousness it deserves. I am grateful for that. But I am also paying attention.

Because dignity, transparency, and timely communication should not diminish with age. And no one, in the workplace or in healthcare, should have to fight to be seen, heard, or taken seriously.