After retiring from medicine, keeping up (for the fun of it)

Let me start by saying that I don’t plan to, nor do I wish to, ever pick up a scalpel again. Depending on your line of work, you may never wish to pick up your respective medical implement either, whether it’s a stethoscope, a reflex hammer or simply a pen.

But not long ago, someone pointed out to me an advertisement for a training position—the discipline doesn’t matter. The listing extolled the many clinical experiences the prospective fellow would participate in, finally adding, as well as other vicarious rotations. A serendipitous typo as it turns out because it rattled around in the literary area of my brain (little help here, neurobiologists) until it fired up the sequence of synapses and neurotransmitters that generated the idea for this column.

Vicarious rotations—why the heck not?

The freedom to learn what you want

Not ACTUAL rotations, mind you. Although I could see myself as a Sheldon Cooper-esque robot, with a FaceTiming iPad attached, trundling my way down hospital corridors with pestering questions. No, I’m thinking about the kind you can experience from the safety and blessed anonymity of your device of choice and at a time of your choosing, no less.

Agreed, you might not be able to put the knowledge gleaned to any practical use, there being few instances where you or I would be called upon to perform an emergency aortic arch debranching procedure or a robotic adrenalectomy. But physicians tend to be insatiable learners, and there’s more to learn than there ever has been before. And you only have to learn what appeals to you.

Yes, it’s all purely vicarious—but that’s the best part.

My first OMED conference following retirement was revelatory. No longer chained to talks within my narrow discipline, I spent the days sampling from the a la carte menu, traipsing from ballroom to ballroom on long-dormant academic pathways like pediatrics, OB-GYN, palliative care and PM&R.

I attended a fascinating session on prolotherapy—something completely new to me—where they even let me ask questions! I still had a reasonable handle on the anatomy and the terminology, but I was humbled by the sophisticated advances described, and impressed by the presenting physicians, many of whom were in grade school when I was finishing my training.

At home, I still avidly watch surgical videos, but with conflicting emotions: I kind of miss doing that vs. I’m glad I don’t have to do that anymore.

I don’t need my medical license, but I still keep it. Perhaps you do as well. The expense is pretty painless and the overhanging CME requirements are a good learning “prompt.” I can mock MOC to my heart’s content, my need for certification gone with the wind. Specialty-specific credits? Fuhgeddaboudit.

Learning from the next generation

Medicine seems much richer now that I can poke my head out of the subspecialist’s foxhole and look around—liberating in its own way, an unanticipated perk of calling it quits. The experience also refreshed my respect for my colleagues in other specialties, especially for family medicine and other primary care doctors who may not need to know everything, but still somehow manage to know something about everything.

In a previous column I wrote about valuing the things our mentors gave us. Retirement gives medicine a chance to return the favor—the opportunity to be constructively schooled by those we may have once taught. It’s also a nice remedy for that tired “Back in my day” thinking that can creep into conversation if you’re not careful. It’s not our day anymore and that’s how it should be.

It can be humbling. A cerebral and surrealist comedy group called Firesign Theater once recorded an album titled “Everything You Know is Wrong.” OK, so maybe it’s not that bad. But much of what we were taught has changed or evolved. My beloved bicarb, for instance, has been banished from resuscitation protocols the way Pluto was kicked out of the Planet Club. In practice, we had to work overtime just to keep up. Now that the pressure is off, learning for the simple pleasure of learning is something we all ought to explore.

In 1971, singer Curtis Mayfield (of “Super Fly” fame) advised us to “Keep on Keeping On.” In retirement, keeping up may be a great way of doing just that.

Related reading:

20 reasons to love and hate retirement

Approaching retirement: Asking, ‘Am I OK to keep working?’