The retirement gig

The questions, at first subtly and respectfully delivered, transitioned into frank interrogations. They appeared to come out of nowhere, without basis. Rumour had it that I was contemplating retirement, the origins, perhaps a dark web-like conspiracy theory, a statement misconstrued, a personal anecdote taken out of context. Denial was the first level of response, careful not to protest too much lest I reinforce the unfounded allegations. And that was five years ago. The thought of retiring, although some days most appealing, had been but a far-off conclusion to a five-decades-long solo journey. The queries were deflected with increasing ease although I sensed a growing reluctance to accept the inevitable. In the urban setting of the Greater Toronto Area at the time, there was strength in numbers with increasing prevalence of FHT’s and FHO’s, Walk-ins and a variety of blended practice models, more than enough resources should the need arise for a replacement part. I never did offer warranty protection. Most of my primary care colleagues and friends with similar mileage continued to put in the same hours with an unchanging work ethic, but increasing complaints about the daily rigours of practice. Somehow, the enthusiasm of old had been replaced by cynicism, frustration and impatience, and that was on a good day. Journal club events became conclaves for commiseration, the tabletop topics focused more on paperwork burden, regulatory constraints, health ministry edicts and controls, resource accessibility, consultant availability, patient demands and expectations, and, did I already mention paperwork? Some would call it “Burnout”, a term with myriad definitions, all in the eyes of the beholder, and all relatable and verifiable. The daily reinforcement of changes in attitude, and latitude, had its ultimate effect. I began to explore the potential virtues of retirement. I registered and eventually attended an OMA retirement seminar, attended a CME session on retirement, and I explored the guidelines, policies and implications of retirement as laid out by the CMPA and, of course, the CPSO. Even in retirement and the vast beyond, the CPSO continues to “serve and protect the public interest.” The general consensus was to allow “18 to 24 months” for retirement planning, something I found hard to believe at the time. Given that I considered this but an exploratory operation, the timeline was not considered unreasonable. In addition, I consulted with a record storage company and learned the details regarding the complexities and nuances of safe record storage and retrieval. They are the custodians of your life’s work, whether paper charts, recipe cards or electronic records. Having done my due diligence, I elected to back-burner the decision. I gave it another year during which time the concept was essentially out of mind. That did not stop patients from wondering out loud when I “planned” to retire. I told them that I had already “planned” to retire, a year earlier. This confused some and emboldened others to strike a search committee. It was common knowledge that the odometer was growing weary with experience and perhaps it was time to look at the new models. I became increasingly more comfortable with the decision. The definitive date was discussed with the two most important women in my life, my wife and my secretary in June 2019. One year hence, June 30, 2020, was carved in stone, or so I thought, until an unanticipated catastrophic event upended the game plan. I took a mulligan and teed the ball up again for September 30, 2020. It took 17 days to pack up 50 years of history. Retirement began with the click of a dead-bolt. Closing in on one year retired, I’m convinced that the past year’s experience has defied any resemblance to the prognostications and sagacity of my consultant collective. I carefully follow the “Comments” thoughtfully submitted by colleagues when my blogs are posted in this newsletter, especially when the subject references retirement. Many offerings are those of fellow retirees. Some bring years of experience to the table, while others are veritable newbies. Others still sit in their home offices virtually conducting a practice that bears little resemblance to what they have done for countless years at the bedside or in the examining room. This is a clinical culture shock to some, a progressive sign of the changing times for others. There is acceptance and rejection, yet at day’s end, one must answer the calling. My days are now spent keeping informed, fit and connected. The simplicity of life has been dictated by conditions that have universally upended our world, both personally and globally. While webinar, Zoom, Facetime, Lifelong Learning, Netflix and eBook activities assist in whiling away the hours, they all have a statute of limitations. Our time, since October, has been shared in a 2:1 ratio between cottage and city. In recent weeks, the “re-opening” has provided the luxury of direct visits with family and friends. This has filled a gaping void, given us hope and reason to plan our future, a concept long ago abandoned. In advance of returns to the city mouse persona, I try to arrange walks with friends. One of the regulars is my old friend, Mark, “The Piano Man,” someone I blogged about in the past. He exited the practice a few years before me and has provided wise counsel. His days are filled with reading, swimming, practising piano, having practiced medicine long enough, playing piano at an LTC facility and having a regular coffee clutch with an eclectic group of friends every week. He fits our walks into his busy schedule. On a recent Thornhill trail trek, we broached the subject of retirement and wondered aloud and somewhat breathlessly, how everyone else was spending life in the hereafter practice. Would retired docs have any interest in sharing their wealth of experience in this new sub-specialty of their lives? We decided to pursue this line of thinking, come up with a model, a prospective platform on which to develop a forum for conversation for those having already arrived at the fork in the road. How do you spend your retirement time? Have you taught the old doc new tricks? Do you retain a clinical presence? Sessional, part-time, volunteering? Do you maintain hospital affiliations, partake of rounds, department meetings? What have you done that you couldn’t have done in FT practice? Where have you travelled or dreamt of travelling? Would you share stories from your vault of clinical experience? What pearls could you bring to the table of retired colleagues from your journey? What advice would you offer, if asked of course, to younger docs who have yet to see the light? What factors contributed to your decision to retire? Regrets, have you had at least a few? These are only some of the questions to contemplate. You may have others to propose. At the end of the day, it’s the answers that count. You are a valued and renewable resource. I await your comments and will revisit this subject in a later blog, the specifics of which are now in your collective and most capable hands. As for now, I’m at the cottage, sitting on the deck overlooking the lake below. The water is choppy, the humidity oppressive but offset by a stiff wind from the West and, I am totally at peace in my retirement.

The retirement gig

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Blog Author

HOWARD GOLDSTEIN

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