Retired But Going Strong!

2023 is past. All the good, and fortunately, all the evil, that has been part of the last year is behind us. And for me, it has been a unique first year of retirement.

I have written in the past about the various ways that a retired physician can spend his time. So how did I wind up spending those last 12 months? In ways that I anticipated, and in ways that I couldn’t have imagined.

I am frequently asked, “Do you miss going to work every day?“ My unflinching answer is that while I miss the people and some of the challenges, I have no fond memories of the commute or the daily routine. I know I have performed my job well for over 40 years and I’m glad to be free of the constraints it brought.

I have not dropped out of the professional world completely. A few consulting positions allow me to explore the non-clinical side of pathology. While I have spent less time doing this than I originally anticipated, I am glad I have kept my toes in the water.

Volunteering has been a bit of hit or miss. When I originally enrolled to volunteer at the local high school, I didn’t realize that various security snafus would stretch my application process to close to six months! Finally approved, I was disappointed to discover that the volunteer opportunities have been fairly limited. I did enjoy my one assignment, chaperoning students in the school’s Hebrew language class to an Israeli movie in Chicago.

The Northern Illinois Food Bank in Lake County has been a more fruitful place to volunteer. Whether packaging cereal, energy bars, or russet potatoes for local food pantries, the time spent at the food bank is rewarding and an opportunity to socialize with fellow volunteers, including Kris Ford, the mayor of Riverwoods.

Stealing a line from Monty Python, “For those of you who don’t like sport, there’s sport.” After years of resistance, Pickleball has won me over while tennis seems to be disappearing in my rearview mirror. I’ve found amiable companions for leisurely rounds of golf and mid-length bicycle rides. The bowling bug hasn’t spared me, though I find those spares (and strikes) hard to come by.

Our travel time has been special, both with friends and family in the USA and Mexico, and while discovering family roots and Jewish history while exploring Europe.

Despite my increased “leisure” time, the number of blogs that I wrote this year, compared with years past, has diminished. I suspect this is due to the time I have devoted to writing a pair of plays. I hope at least one of those will see the light of day (or night) at a theater near you.

Unanticipated was my opportunity to serve as “First Gentleman.” Barb’s activism as president of our homeowners’ association led to the successful prevention of the construction of a poorly planned and poorly located logistics center. The work of Barb and other neighborhood leaders has been recognized by the local print and broadcast media. Work on statewide legislation is next on her agenda.

Times with family and friends, times deep inside novels of mystery and suspense, and times binge-watching TV series with Barb have occupied most of the other quiet moments. What little free time remained was used to digest the surprise diagnosis of celiac disease. Goodbye flaky French croissants, hello to a world of gluten-free bread and pasta.

Bit I am not complaining. It has been a wonderful year, in a wonderful life.

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The Play’s The Thing. Where I’ve Been And Where I’m Going.

As my retirement roars past the half-year mark, people have two questions for me; how am I spending my time, and why am I writing fewer blogs? The answers are somewhat intertwined.

I am doing the standard “stuff” for a fairly young retiree. There’s plenty of time for sports. I’ve discovered I enjoy golf more than I thought I would, and that no matter how hard I try, playing both tennis and pickleball leads to poor results in each. At least that is my excuse!

Barb and I have done a spot of traveling and the planning for some upcoming trips to Germany and Australasia has also consumed many hours, planning that I am sure will prove worthwhile.

In addition, I’ve started to volunteer regularly at the Northern Illinois Food Bank, and I really do find that retirement has given me more time to spend with family, especially as an emergency babysitter. All four grandkids are adorable, so I enjoy every minute of that, as well as long leisurely walks with Cooper the Wonder Dog.

I’m doing a little consulting work in pathology, though it is a bit less than I had anticipated. That is the first reason the blog count has dropped–not as many pathology/medicine topics are coming to mind.

The second reason for the falloff in blog volume is more adventuresome–I have started to write a play!

An idea that was in the back of my head has germinated, and my writing time has mostly been spent on getting inside the heads of some characters I have created. For writing instruction, I dived into reading some great American plays, finding the buried humanity in Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf, the total lack of humanity in Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross, and the overwhelming out-datedness of Woody Allen’s Play it Again, Sam.

You ask what I am writing about? You will get no answer from me on that question, for as Barb can tell you, I do not share my works-in-progress willingly. All I can tell you is I have taken the “write what you know” philosophy and thrown it out of the window.

I am taking what is for me the unusual step of working with a collaborator. Doctor Joel Cornfield, who I have known for many years, is an established playwright who is very active in the Chicago theater scene. He has agreed to take me under his wing to see if I can learn to fly. I’ll be sending him my first draft in a week or two.

So retirement rocks! Or as the greatest playwright who ever lived put it “Tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age.”

It never hurts to end a blog with a bit of Shakespeare!

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Missing My Bric-a-Brac Brick!

My old laboratory staff did many nice things for me when I retired. One of the most thoughtful presents from those gifted laboratorians was a commemorative brick to be placed outside Guaranteed Rate Field, a brick with my name on it. For those of you not from The City of Broad shoulders, GFR is the current name of the home stadium of my beloved Chicago White Sox.

Though the Cubs get all the national media attention, the Sox are here too, and I have been a Sox fan since 1961. Since then we have won exactly as many World Series Titles (one) as our better-publicized crosstown rivals. Even though memories of that one title have blurred through the mists of the many disappointing seasons since the 2005 victory parade, I was still excited to have my name on a brick in the commemorative plaza.

Yesterday was a beautiful day, the Sox were playing a rare midweek day game, and my friend Ira and I had bought tickets weeks ago (midweek baseball, a retirement benefit.) So with Ira driving and me navigating, we fought Chicago’s insane construction traffic and made our way to the South Side.

We got to the ballpark a good 45 minutes before game time and found the spot where commemorative bricks were laid; a plaza just outside of the stadium. Ira and I scurried over the many bricks, looking for mine, but quickly realized we would never find it without a road map.

I flagged down a Customer Relations person, who directed me to an online app that would help me locate my personal brick. This proved to be one more stumbling block in my quest. For the app to tell me in which section of the plaza I could find my brick, it required that I enter not my name, but the name of the person who had ordered the brick.

When the lab told me about the gift, and presented me with a replica (see pic above), I didn’t think to say, “Hey, this is great! Who paid for it?” So I was stumped. I didn’t know who to enter into the locator app.

I spent the next ten minutes keying in the names of everyone from the lab–my pathology associates, the techs, the lab assistants, and the administrative team. With each name, the app replied that it had no record of a brick purchased by that person. Getting frustrated, and with the first pitch rapidly approaching, I gave the lab a call.

After a warm phone welcome, my question was passed around to a person or two. I got my answer when Marcella told me she was the person who placed the order.

“Hmm,” I said. “I know I tried your name in the app, but it still won’t find my brick.”

“Maybe that’s because when I bought it they said it could take a few months for it to be installed,” Marcella told me. “I am still waiting for an email to let me know it was laid.”

No brick yet! What a disappointment. And, oh yeah, the White Sox lost. But on a bright sunny day, you can’t beat fun at the old ballpark!

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Learning to Procrastinate. I Could Have Written this Yesterday.

People have lots of recommendations for how to handle my newly-entered retirement phase. I found the best way to start retirement was to initially ignore all recommendations and go to Florida (Atlantic and Gulf coasts) for ten days. Barb and I took care of that, visited with lots of friends–and easily resisted all urges to buy a home down there.

The retirement recommendations have varied from “you’ve gotta plan exactly how you are going to spend your retirement time well before you retire” (I obviously disagree and didn’t do that) to “don’t make ANY decisions for the first six months” (yikes–that’s like living in purgatory or at least limbo.)

The one suggestion that makes sense to me and which I will think I will take to heart is to always leave at least one thing for the next day. When I was working, days with nothing on my to-do list felt heaven-sent, but for a retiree, I guess they can feel like a black hole sucking away the need to get showered, get shaved, get dressed.

Putting things off for a day or two won’t come easy to me. I have always been the type of person who tries to do everything on schedule, even if it is a schedule that matters to no one except me. My school years, often juggling classes, social activities, and part-time jobs, were very regimented. That’s how I managed my tenures at Holy Family Hospital and the Uropartners Lab too–a time for everything, and that time was usually RIGHT NOW. Never put off for tomorrow, yada yada yada.

So now I am going to learn to take it easy–if there are three things I want to do around the house today, I can learn to leave the least crucial task (I hope nothing will be THAT crucial) for tomorrow. Just like this blog. I was going to write it yesterday but I let it slide. No pain and no remorse.

I think I am going to like this retirement life!

May You Succeed In This Endeavor — A Message To My Successor

There is a tradition of American Presidents leaving a message on the Oval Office desk welcoming their successors to the highest office in the land. The convention is so strong that even Donald Trump left a gracious message for Joe Biden. While the transference of the Directorship of our laboratory isn’t quite as significant as assuming the Presidency, I still want to leave a message for Dr. Ken Beck, who will fill my place in the Square Office as I shut off my microscope for the last time.

Ken,

First and above all, I thank you for your dedicated, loyal service during the fifteen years we have worked together in this Little Lab by the Tollway. You have brought your professional expertise and some business insights as well. Your Information Technology knowledge has been invaluable to the laboratory and the organization as a whole. And I am still amazed by the quantum mechanics on your whiteboard.

You and Bev have five children. Over time, you will come to think of the laboratory as your sixth. As with your other children, it is important that you give the lab, and the people who work here, a sense of direction and a code of ethics to follow. I advocate a loose love–lead but don’t micromanage, delegate where you can to a dedicated staff who have proven they will come through when and where you need them.

You admire technology. Use it to move the lab into this decade where necessary; don’t use it for the sake of being the most up-to-date. I sense that you understand that.

Change is inevitable. Medicine changes and the business of medicine changes even faster. At times this can be overwhelming–or at least highly stressful. I hope that any changes that come bring opportunities as well as challenges. Make sure your voice is heard and that you and the lab make the most of those opportunities.

My phone will always be on for you — except when I am rambling over a tennis court, slicing a golf shot, learning the tricks of pickleball, cheering at a White Sox game, enjoying a Broadway show, or romping with the grandkids. Ok, I will be keeping busy, but I will always find time for you, Dr. Brown, and the lab staff.

May your years as Director be as long and as fulfilling as mine have been.

Best of luck and Happy New Year,

Les

The above are the opinions of the author and not UroPartners, LLC.

Do You Want to Know The Final Walk-Off Songs?

You all know what a walk-on song is, right? It’s the music that blares over the loudspeakers at a ballgame when the next player comes up to bat. It’s usually loud and raucous. The song’s job is to get the hometown fans up and rocking and get the batter in the mood to do major damage to the opposition pitcher. Examples of songs that hit it out of the park include Thunderstruck by AC/DC, Jump Around by House of Pain, and Welcome to the Jungle by Axl Rose, Slash, and the rest of the boys in Guns N’Roses.

But as I fade into the sunset at the end of this week I need just the opposite, songs that will help me walk out the door, songs that will help me say goodbye. I won’t be swinging for the fences, just saying a last goodbye before the club retires my number.

Today, Wednesday, I have two more days to go. What is the song that is running through my head? It’s the triumphant, uptempo Eagles song, Already Gone. And although I have still two days to go, in my head I’m singing that “I’m already gone, and I’m feelin’ strong. I will sing this vict’ry song. Woo hoo hoo, my my, woo hoo hoo!”

That’s strike one.

Tomorrow, Thursday, almost at the end. I know I’ll be thinking One Day More, just like the rousing, climactic, act-ending song from Les Miserables. Unlike the characters in the musical, I’m not on the precipice of a revolution or embarking on a new love affair, but my Act 1 (or is it Act 2 or Act 3?) is certainly ending as I start a new chapter in life…one more dawn, one more day, one day more!

And that will be strike two.

And finally, on Friday, my last day, you can play the Harold Arlen/Johny Mercer classic tune, One for My Baby for me. It’s a sad 3 a.m. song about putting an end to things, about saying fairwell. It was a signature song for Frank Sinatra but it isn’t the Chairman’s version I want you to play. I want to hear it from the Divine Miss M, Bette Midler. Bette called herself “the last fool Mr. Carson would have to suffer gladly,” when she serenaded Johny Carson as his final guest on The Tonight Show. The song brought Carson to tears. If it was a good enough goodbye for Midler and Carson it is good enough for me.

And that will be strike three, and I’ll be outta there!

(But all is not lost, the blog will go on!)

The above is the opinion of the author and not Uropartners LLC.

Filling My ARC

A few days ago the morning news mentioned that there were 74 days left until Christmas. Doing some simple math, I determined that meant there were 80 days left until my retirement.

The nearness of Retirement Day to Christmas Day got me thinking–if I had an Advent Retirement Calendar (ARC), what would it look like? What would be behind each of the 80 doors that I would open before I turn off my Olympus BX43 microscope for the last time?

I am sure the first few doors would open up to my education. Doors for an undergraduate curriculum balancing STEM courses I survived (physics, quadratic equations, quantum mechanics) with literature courses I loved (Russian Lit, Female Writers of the 20th Century, The British Novel.)

Flip open some doors for the four years of medical school. The first year when all I learned in those tough undergrad science courses put me at the top of the class; the next three years when I discovered that patient care wasn’t for me, but that I might find my way as a pathologist.

Night school gets its own door as I left Barb with two young kids, two nights a week, so I could study for my MBA. I came away with a diploma, an award, and some finance and management concepts to help guide me. Barb survived as well.

So many doors to open for my 22 years at a community hospital, climbing the ladder until the floor underneath disappeared and the whole thing toppled. A door for my mentor from whom I learned what to do and how to not behave while doing it. A door for my associate there, whose T-shirt read “Though Shalt Not Hassle.” A door or two for the “academic” pathology group that first embraced me and then discarded me while assuring me it was nothing personal.

Many more doors for my next step, the lab that I built from nothing more than a notion in some urologist’s minds, modeling it after all I had known before. Doors for the business consultants and the early believers who got the engine running, and more doors for all who climbed aboard the train as we chugged along to excellence. The riders on that locomotive knew my real door, the door to my office, was always open.

Doors for all the inspections I endured at my lab, and all the inspections I inflicted on other labs. Hopefully, things were learned by all parties along the way.

Doors for my lab companions who passed away during our shared careers and have never left my mind: Earl, Ramji, and Al at my first stop, Cindy and Paul at my second. You have all been missed.

Doors for the cherished automobiles I powered down the tollway — perhaps a quarter of a million miles since 2005.

And of course doors for my family and friends who were always with me and supportive, through busy days and sleepless nights.

I trust I have filled up my ARC. And I trust whatever lies ahead will be just as amazing.

I Want to Join a Posse. Got Room for Me on Yellowstone?

With a confirmed date for retiring from my pathology practice firmly set in crumbling concrete the questions as to what I will do with my time in my post-doc life have become more frequent.

My previous post on the topic dealt with the obvious; become a speaker, a pharmacy rep, an IT specialist, or a medical writer. Those all sounded like possibilities when I wrote that blog a few years ago. But recently someone dubbed me (and Cooper the loyal pooch) a posse and now I know–that is what I want to be!

I am not going to tell you about the incident that led to my being anointed with the moniker, but as soon as I heard about it, I knew that occupation fit. I just love the way it is going to look on my future business card. “Les Raff Medical Consultant/Posse Guy.”

Now I know “posse” has a few definitions. It may mean someone’s “crew,” or a bunch of rappers getting together to cut or track or two. But that’s not the kind of posse I want to be.

Nope, I am going for the classic definition: a body of persons summoned by a sheriff to assist in preserving the public peace usually in an emergency. I want to go back to the Wild West…or at least to the Yellowstone Ranch.

I can see it now. The Yellowstone brand on my chest, over my heart. The theme music streams through my head. Dutton gets out the word that rustlers are headed towards our town. I kiss my ranch-wife goodbye, pack my pistols in their holsters, saddle up Peacekeeper my trusty stallion, and head towards my destiny.

Sadly, my fantasy ends right there. I just don’t know what happens next. I have never sat through The Good the Bad and the Ugly, or The Magnificent Seven, and am only on season one of Yellowstone. I’m not sure what crimes rustlers actually commit. And to be honest and transparent, I can barely ride a pony — and if I ever had to use a firearm I would undoubtedly shoot my own face off. But damn, I think I look good in a cowboy hat.

So I may not chase the dream. It is most likely that my retirement life will be very full and rewarding but a little less thrilling than being a posse. But I am warning you–don’t go rustling on my front lawn or the Raff Posse is gonna get you!

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