There’s something uniquely sinister about the second doctor’s appointment. Something dark, cold, and vaguely antiseptic that sets it apart from the friendly handshake of the first and the resigned acceptance of the third and fourth. The first appointment is often a warm-up, a meet-and-greet with a stethoscope. You show up as a mystery, an unopened file, a symptom in a sweater. Nobody really knows what’s going on—not you, not the doctor—and there’s a certain comfort in that mutual ignorance.
You get some face time with a brand-new medical professional who’s eager to earn your trust. They nod empathetically, scribble furiously, and order a flurry of tests as if they’re playing diagnostic Yahtzee. MRIs, blood panels, allergy pokes, maybe even a stool culture or two if things get weird early. It feels like progress, even if it’s mostly paperwork and poking.
But then comes the second appointment.
This is where the diagnostic honeymoon ends. The rubber meets the road, the curtain drops, and your doctor emerges, not as the charming, over-attentive greeter from your first visit, but as the disheveled reality of modern medicine. Now they’ve read your chart. They know your numbers, your scans, your enzymes. They know about your diet, your secret vaping habit, and the inexplicable thing happening to your lymph nodes.
And suddenly, they’re not smiling as much.
Now the conversation turns clinical. Direct. Blunt. You’re either about to be handed a name for the mysterious symptoms you’ve endured for years or told, flat-out, that even with all the science, they still have no clue what’s wrong. Either way, it’s sobering. Your medical mystery is either solved or exacerbated. And just when you think you’re done, out comes a new round of tests, more scans, another specialist, and a test involving a liquid you’re not allowed to question.
This collection of cartoons dives headfirst into the sterile swamp of the second appointment. They highlight the discomfort, confusion, and existential dread that only comes when the mystery of your condition collides head-on with clinical clarity. Or complete diagnostic surrender. It’s awkward, it’s terrifying, and yes, it’s often hilarious in a tragic, waiting-room kind of way. But hey, at least the second appointment is behind you.
Kind of.
