The subtleties of time

The second hand of the Tissot watch suddenly began oscillating in a jerky nystagmus-like flicking, pausing every five or so seconds and then surging on.The normal precise, mechanical sweep had been abandoned, an indicator of a battery in end-stage failure. Having witnessed this dysfunction previously, I elected to visit the cupboard-sized watch repair shop in a nearby strip plaza. Valery, seated on his work stool, seemed at ease in his spacial confinement. He looked up from his iPhone as I entered and asked how he could be of assistance. I took off the watch, showed him the aberrant movement of the second hand and opined that a battery replacement was likely indicated. He concurred, advised that the cost would be $15 “cash” and in less than 60 seconds the replacement was complete. He confirmed that the battery had been previously replaced on January 21, 2022. Valery writes the replacement date on the inside of the watch casing. The life of a watch battery is apparently time-sensitive.I wrote a story for Doctor Daily in October 2022, titled “It’s about time, it’s always about time.” The story also began with an abrupt cessation of function of a watch—my Victorinox. It, too, prompted a visit to Valery’s cubby, a battery replacement and a lengthy reflection on the subtleties of time. Considering time’s passage and anchored by lithium utility, I realized much had transpired since I travelled with my Tissot in search of mechanical rejuvenation in January ‘22. I’ve now been retired as a GP for 3.5 years, a brief moment relative to 49 practice years. A few days ago, March 17, was the 4th anniversary of the infamous pandemic “lockdown” proclamation. It brought distressing flashbacks which I’d laboured to eliminate from my bank of memory. Perhaps, in time, the quarantines, the isolation, the measures of mitigation, and the total disassembling of our collective lives will fade into oblivion, forever entombed in the abyss of time. I fear for the children who continue to bear the burden of traumatic stress, social dissociation and academic blight.In writing this sequel, I question whether the annual ritual of time change—Daylight Saving (with no s)—recently embraced, casts its influence on more than just our timepieces. Should we be tinkering with the natural rhythm that dictates when darkness falls? Should we be given some kind of equatorial exemption, some veritable latitude in attitude? What I've observed since we sprang forward is that my circadian functioning has wanted badly for its old cadence. 3:08 am, in the bold LED lights of the bedside clock, intrudes itself on my sleep, depriving me of the elements of nocturnal necessity. Now, with time on my hands, an afternoon nap beckons some 12 hours later. Not restorative, but oh so delightful. Exactly two years ago, I became unexpectedly engaged in an investigation to determine the etiology of a PSA-gone-rogue. The velocity of change and a legacy bequeathed by my late father foretold the outcome of a particularly intrusive transperineal prostate biopsy. The process of investigation, consultation and commiseration demands patience as wait-times intercede, further defining the ultimate treatment trajectory. As the “Patient Doctor,” I was thrust into a vast unknown, given my personal professional perspective. Discomforting is too gentle a word for those days and weeks and months. There followed a course of MRI-guided stereotactic, ablative radiation treatments, delivered in five fractions in an otherworldly hybrid gantry. On Aug. 12, 2022, I walked out of the Cancer Centre, inhaled the fresh summer’s air and reset my internal clock. Battery failures notwithstanding, the innovative therapeutic wonders of science and technology now inform my future. I gaze back in time some days, as is my want, an acquired insecurity. More often, however, I look ahead to all the positives time has briefly obscured. I will continue to count the months and years until I have outlived the classic five-year survival prognostications. Retirement is a stranger, an unknown until reality allows you to define it in your own terms. It is not a continuum of the professional persona. For some it is a paradise found, for others, an identity lost. One of the greatest newly acquired assets is time, a commodity previously in limited supply. How many times were we called away for a delivery, a patient emergency, an urgent consult, disrupting a family dinner, a social engagement or a child’s school performance or baseball game? Sometimes, we were a “no show”, end stop. With newfound freedom comes new responsibilities, to oneself and to loved ones. The pursuit of balance is a welcome challenge because, there’s time. Two years ago, I introduced doctors from across Canada to the ‘Virtual Retirement Lounge’, a monthly Zoom gathering with a mandate of “easing the burdens of retirement through collective conversation.” We have had the opportunity of sharing our respective opinions and attitudes related to our individual retirement experiences in a comfortable and collegial setting, reminiscent of the doctor’s lounges of our youth, long past. We have extended the conversations beyond retirement, enlisting the imagination and insights and visions of the members. Retirement is not without its warts. It can be a work in progress, sometimes without direction. But, for the majority of our esteemed collective, retirement brings new life, discovery, new initiatives, satisfaction, respite and time, all commodities in short supply in the other life we left behind. The efficient utilization of allotted time, such as we have in retirement, is directly proportional to the quality of life that follows. We, ourselves, craft the future as we reflect upon the past. And in the “you can’t make this up” department: one recent morning, just after 9:00 am, I was distracted for a brief moment while guiding my Braun electric across the stubble of my anterior neck. I maintain a full, well-trimmed beard and have done so since long before the grey displaced my youthful facies. Among the materials lined up in orderly fashion on the counter top is the “trusty” Victorinox watch, previously alluded to. It’s distinctive maroon bezel catches my eye. The time is 11:19! Looking more closely, the second hand is frozen in place and time. And, in the tiny window that reveals the date, it appears that “20” is stuck in its excursion to “21”. The Victorinox stopped abruptly 41 minutes before midnight as Wednesday was melding into Thursday, and, as winter was reluctantly and officially transitioning into spring. Perhaps the -7 C temperature of the morning and the “snowfall warning” to follow for Friday gave pause, prompting an ambivalent winter to forestall its intended progress in time. Another visit to Valery is needed, the second such visit in less than a week. He will again replace a depleted battery, reset the time and restore function to the watch, at least for the foreseeable future, a future defined in well-established, yet subtle, temporal increments.

The subtleties of time

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Blog Author

HOWARD GOLDSTEIN

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