Retire? Not Me! A Physician’s Journey of Reinvention

I’ve tried to retire from medicine. Really. Proofs of my sincerity include a true retirement from performing procedures and the closing of two office practices. I even attended the wonderful retirement party my daughters threw for me. 
I had great plans for my newfound leisure time. I purchased about a thousand colored pencils to map my family ancestry. I wore out many magic erasers in my cleaning efforts. I cajoled my husband, Tony, to help me build not one, but three, gardens in our yard. Upon realizing I had no more weeds or closets to conquer, I began a Dante-like descent into a dark abyss. I felt my sadness was justified. After all, I had immensely enjoyed my early medical life. 
I had a joint cardiology practice with the great Jim Whiteside, MD, in South Central Kentucky for 24 years. Our schedule was always bursting at the seams in the heart of tobacco country. We opened the first cath lab in our hospital, inspired the purchase of a new nuclear scanner, and expanded the stress echo lab. After a 6-year odyssey, we successfully championed primary PCI without surgery on site (along with Ephraim McDowell Regional Medical Center in Danville, Kentucky). As our services expanded, we remodeled to accommodate three cardiologists and two nurse practitioners. Simultaneously, we lobbied our city council and mayor to pass smoke-free legislation, a lightning rod topic in a culture still loyal to a burning weed whose worth had paled in comparison to the cost of its carnage. We were “running wide open” and believed that we were doing important work. 
But then our forward-thinking, appreciative CEO and friend died suddenly, and the open communication and innovation seemingly vanished. Those events inspired my first “retirement.” After this, I became employed for the first time and was blessed once again with a wonderful partner and colleagues. But despite those blessings, the global practice of medicine had begun to change. Physicians were now seen by some as widgets; their worth measured in productivity. A few years in, I needed part-time work to care for my aging parents. My employer needed more, thus inspiring my second “retirement”. 
My parents died within 4 months of each other in 2020. Suddenly, I was untethered from both my professional persona and role as caregiver. It was then that my sadness accelerated toward what seemed like the second circle of Hell, with many more to come. 
To many, my sadness made no sense. Our accountant reassured us that we no longer “needed” to work, and I was (and still am) happily married to my high school sweetheart. Our beautiful daughters were healthy and thriving. Although I mouthed appreciation for my blessings in prayer, I could not prevent myself from sinking further. 
My always supportive husband was worried. Tony had skipped happily into his retirement from teaching. He had hoped I would do that same. “You cannot sit on that couch and mope for the rest of your life,” he said, exasperated. 
I thought about doing just that, until one day I answered a phone call to hear, “Doctor, have you ever been to Montana?” Before I could cut her off, the woman charged into the description of a job opening for a locums cardiologist. I immediately sat up. “No office work?” I questioned. 
“No, this is strictly hospital call, rounds, and reading studies.” I didn’t know such jobs existed.
“What is the salary, and what do you cover?” I asked trying to conceal the fact that Tony would have gladly paid her to get me off the couch. 
If I’m honest, since my training days, hospital work is all I have ever wanted. I’ve always felt trapped by the imaginary timer that is part of every office visit. I found running a code less challenging than having to stand and end an office visit that might leave a patient wanting more. 
On hospital days, there are no scheduled time slots. I can triage patients according to their needs. My deadlines are self-imposed: To have a morning coffee with Tony. To deliver the best care possible. To educate as much as time will allow. To beat the midnight clock, after which billing is a little more difficult. 
I will soon begin my seventh year as an inpatient, acute-care cardiologist. Although I was flattered to be considered for full-time work, I couldn’t do that to Tony (who declined to move from Kentucky). We struck a deal that we’d travel to the same facility, where I work seven to nine jobs a year. 
I am now a less anxious “retiree.” My mood is bolstered by the knowledge that within days to weeks I’ll be back to doing what I love: Seeing patients. Making a difference. Enjoying professional comradery and appreciation.
Tony golfs while I work and he jokes that he is a “real go-getter,” explaining that “I take her to work in the morning and then at night, I go get her!” 
For those considering this line of work, it’s not for the faint of heart. My workday can stretch to over 16 hours. But I work in the best of hospital settings. On morning rounds, we present every single patient on the service. Our ER is staffed 100% of the time with at least four board-certified emergency medicine trained physicians. Everyone I work with shares a patient-first philosophy. 
Because of this, I have quite easily ascended from Dante’s inferno. I am happy again in my professional life. 
I know I’ll eventually have to retire for real, and I hope it will be at a time of my choosing and not enforced by the failings of modern medicine. I believe that these past few years will help ease that transition. And when that time comes, I’ll able to look back and know that I was blessed with a long and mostly satisfying career. 
Until then, my magic erasers, colored pencils and gardening will have to wait.
Melissa Walton-Shirley, MD, is a native Kentuckian who retired from full-time invasive cardiology. She enjoys locums work in Montana and is a champion of physician rights and patient safety. In addition to opinion writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and daughters, and sidelines as a backing vocalist for local rock bands. Her Heartfelt column was the 2022 northeast regional gold and national silver Azbee award winner.