The retirement horizon creeps up

 

My lease is up later this year, after 5 1/2 years. It doesn’t seem that long. Some days it feels like I just moved in.

As a result, I had an email exchange recently with the building’s manager and we hashed out an agreement on a new 10-year contract. In the process, I realized that sort of time frame might (and, again, I say might) take me into retirement.

Hemera Technologies/©Thinkstock

That’s a pretty striking thought. Medicine, over time, is a career that becomes an indispensable aspect of who we are as people. I clearly remember applying and being accepted to medical school, starting medical school, then residency, then fellowship. I recall my first day as an attending and even the first patient I saw on my own.

And now I’m starting to think about retiring and the career endgame.

Granted, it’s still 10 years away, and knowing me I’ll probably want to work another 5 years or so beyond that if I can. I like what I do and would probably go stir crazy without this job. Besides, given the current anti-doctor financial climate, I may not be able to retire in 10 years, even if I want to.

But still, it’s an odd realization to think that, after all those applications, and classes, and tests, and rotations, and all the other things you went through ... that your career is closer to wrapping up than it is to the beginning.

How did that happen?

 

Looking through my computer, I’ve seen maybe 25,000-30,000 people over time. That seems like a lot, more than a large NBA arena. Imagine that arena packed with fans, and I’m there to be everyone’s neurologist. I see them one by one, and, almost 20 years later, here I am. I’d like to think that I was able to do something to help the majority of them. I certainly try.

And I’ll continue to try. Even after the halfway point I still get up each morning wanting to help people. The same sentiments I expressed in a personal statement so long ago are still there, and hopefully always will be. When they’re gone, it’s time to leave. Hopefully, they’ll be with me until I’m ready to sign off.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

 

My lease is up later this year, after 5 1/2 years. It doesn’t seem that long. Some days it feels like I just moved in.

As a result, I had an email exchange recently with the building’s manager and we hashed out an agreement on a new 10-year contract. In the process, I realized that sort of time frame might (and, again, I say might) take me into retirement.

Hemera Technologies/©Thinkstock

That’s a pretty striking thought. Medicine, over time, is a career that becomes an indispensable aspect of who we are as people. I clearly remember applying and being accepted to medical school, starting medical school, then residency, then fellowship. I recall my first day as an attending and even the first patient I saw on my own.

And now I’m starting to think about retiring and the career endgame.

Granted, it’s still 10 years away, and knowing me I’ll probably want to work another 5 years or so beyond that if I can. I like what I do and would probably go stir crazy without this job. Besides, given the current anti-doctor financial climate, I may not be able to retire in 10 years, even if I want to.

But still, it’s an odd realization to think that, after all those applications, and classes, and tests, and rotations, and all the other things you went through ... that your career is closer to wrapping up than it is to the beginning.

How did that happen?

 

Looking through my computer, I’ve seen maybe 25,000-30,000 people over time. That seems like a lot, more than a large NBA arena. Imagine that arena packed with fans, and I’m there to be everyone’s neurologist. I see them one by one, and, almost 20 years later, here I am. I’d like to think that I was able to do something to help the majority of them. I certainly try.

And I’ll continue to try. Even after the halfway point I still get up each morning wanting to help people. The same sentiments I expressed in a personal statement so long ago are still there, and hopefully always will be. When they’re gone, it’s time to leave. Hopefully, they’ll be with me until I’m ready to sign off.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

 

My lease is up later this year, after 5 1/2 years. It doesn’t seem that long. Some days it feels like I just moved in.

As a result, I had an email exchange recently with the building’s manager and we hashed out an agreement on a new 10-year contract. In the process, I realized that sort of time frame might (and, again, I say might) take me into retirement.

Hemera Technologies/©Thinkstock

That’s a pretty striking thought. Medicine, over time, is a career that becomes an indispensable aspect of who we are as people. I clearly remember applying and being accepted to medical school, starting medical school, then residency, then fellowship. I recall my first day as an attending and even the first patient I saw on my own.

And now I’m starting to think about retiring and the career endgame.

Granted, it’s still 10 years away, and knowing me I’ll probably want to work another 5 years or so beyond that if I can. I like what I do and would probably go stir crazy without this job. Besides, given the current anti-doctor financial climate, I may not be able to retire in 10 years, even if I want to.

But still, it’s an odd realization to think that, after all those applications, and classes, and tests, and rotations, and all the other things you went through ... that your career is closer to wrapping up than it is to the beginning.

How did that happen?

 

Looking through my computer, I’ve seen maybe 25,000-30,000 people over time. That seems like a lot, more than a large NBA arena. Imagine that arena packed with fans, and I’m there to be everyone’s neurologist. I see them one by one, and, almost 20 years later, here I am. I’d like to think that I was able to do something to help the majority of them. I certainly try.

And I’ll continue to try. Even after the halfway point I still get up each morning wanting to help people. The same sentiments I expressed in a personal statement so long ago are still there, and hopefully always will be. When they’re gone, it’s time to leave. Hopefully, they’ll be with me until I’m ready to sign off.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.