Why That Blasting Speaker-Phone in the Waiting Room Is Literally Harming My Brain (And Maybe Yours Too)

Look, I really get it. I’m a chef—not one of those dawn-or-midnight alchemists of the kitchen, just a guy who knows his way around a sauté pan—and I live with sarcoidosis and heart failure (yes, that’s the same heart I was told had five years in 2007 and somehow time forgot).

I’m a husband and a pet-parent (the pets think I’m the intern). And I’m a first-time novelist, pacing between doctor’s visits, work and rewriting scenes that should’ve been better the first time. So when I sit in a waiting room and a human being cranks their phone into “concert speaker” mode and blasts their conversation like they’re announcing an evacuation notice, or the shout into their phone as if the are screaming for help on a desert island,I have opinions. Many opinions.

Researchers coined the term “halfalogue” for what you overhear when you listen to just one side of a conversation.  And yes—your brain? It hates missing pieces. In one study, simply overhearing one person on a phone call was more distracting than hearing two people talk because the unknowns tug at your attention.  So when Mr. Shout-into-Phone is yammering away, you hear his high-treble, fish-out-of-water voice, you see folks around you shifting in their seats, you feel the pause between sentences, and your brain leaps in: “What’s happening? Where are they? Who’s she? Are they arguing?” And that unknown sucks energy—even before you realize you’re annoyed.

Then there’s the acoustic point: the speaker-phone voice is shrill, thin, treble-rich and basically no-bass. Your eardrums register it as “unpleasant,” especially if your baseline system is already taxed.

Living with chronic illness means your stress meter is already turned way up, your coping reserves are thinner, your body is juggling more. And yes, your nervous system does register ambient irritants. One credible medical fact: hearing issues and cardiovascular health are connected. Studies show that hearing loss is linked to higher risk of heart disease, stroke and heart failure.  So your body isn’t just sighing when someone broadcasts their 3-minute monologue in the lobby—it’s quietly taking note.

So yes, if you must take a call in a waiting room, don’t turn on your speaker. Keep your voice modest. Use your phone’s earpiece or headphones. Avoid public monologues. Because your fellow humans will appreciate it and your own body will too. Because yes—sound levels do matter when your health baseline is fragile.

And a bonus for my writer-and-chronic-illness compatriots: let’s remember that if your brain is already spinning—“Did I check the meds? Did I set the appointment? Must finish draft? Pet needs vet?”—the last thing you need is ambient distraction pouring extra cognitive load onto your system. Because chronic illness is already a full-time job in negotiations with your body, your doctor, your deadlines. And writing a novel? That’s a second job, with creative pressure and emotional weight. Let’s keep the waiting room a little quieter. The fewer unknown voices slicing in, the fewer brain-resources diverted to “What’s he saying?” and more available for “What do I need?” Let’s conserve mental fuel.

So next time you see someone booming their phone call, give yourself a small secret fist-pump (in your heart-failure-approved zone) because you’re aware. You’re here. You’re doing the thing. And then you’ll head home, write your scene, meditate for five minutes, pat the pet, and rest that system.

I’d love to hear your story: the time someone in a doctor’s-office waiting room made you want to throw your phone at the wall. Or your experience balancing chronic-illness life with your writing schedule. Drop a comment below, subscribe if you like these behind-the-scenes chef/novelist/chronic-illness life musings, and let’s make the waiting room a little less loud—for all of us.