I Can’t Believe it.

I can’t believe I actually made it all this way–to the threshold of retirement of my medical career.

Really. 

Looking back at my early twenties, with so many other capable candidates, I felt incredibly lucky to be accepted to medical school; fortunate to survive 5 years of training;  and then, truly blessed to be essentially handed an honorable, respected career that would pay me well, support all of my aspirations, and give me stature and a sense of purpose in every community I worked in. 

A precarious upbringing.

It still seems to be too good to be true.  I was a first generation Canadian, the product of post-war German emigrants looking for a better life, who managed to start their Canadian lives and then a family with the modest incomes of a truck driver and a nurse’s aid.  By the time I was starting school, my parents went their separate ways, and my sister and I would become dependent on just my mother, a precarious existence with constant moves to new neighborhoods to accommodate job changes. For our mother, the paycheck-to-paycheck existence while working grinding shiftwork and supporting two young children ended only when she had a modest inheritance, although that came through only just before she became medically disabled with Parkinson’s disease. 

Having survived the near-constant uncertainty of my upbringing, I came to taking very few things for granted as an adult; for better or for worse, it seemed to serve me best when I tended to take a pessimistic view on most things, even when things were going well, be it jobs I had, medical school, my sports interests, even my relationships. 

Uncertainty has an upside.

Even as I launched into my career, I always felt that some kind of failure was all but inevitable eventually, and my ride could all come crashing down on me in a second—a medical misadventure, a lawsuit, a change in government policy of how physicians are paid, a catastrophic illness or injury, or someone discovering that I was incompetent.  So I always saved everything I could for that probable day. 

MD Management to the rescue.

When, as a young doctor, I bought into a medical building, hired medical support staff, bought our first home, got married and started a family (all in the same year), I felt the weight of the world on me, which worsened when my wife stopped working to raise our kids.  When I realized that the first 3 weeks of every month’s salary went to cover my now considerable overhead, it became easy to understand the importance of life and disability insurance, let alone staying healthy. It also became easy to see the value of getting sound financial advice, and so it was a no-brainer to approach MD Management for all of my financial needs–a service covered by my medical dues, and 100% dedicated to Canadian physicians like me.
As it turned out I was extremely fortunate. My family thrived. And although my 30-year career was rife with ups and downs, I survived it–all of it, with the help of some solid decisions and a sound roadmap to reduce the impact of uncertainties. I slept better knowing I had MD Management in my corner. 

But now what?

However, having reached the threshold of retirement, the roadmap is less clear.  MD Management is still at my beck and call, but somehow that doesn’t seem to be enough.  What is a successful retirement? It’s gotta be more than just having a sound financial plan. What resources can I draw from? Are there no guidelines out there for such an important chapter of life–or, in asking this, am I just reflecting the life of a nerdy, protocol-driven physician? Regardless, is there anyone who understands the unique angsts of the retiring physician? 
Since there is less written on this than I had expected, I thought I would create this website–to explore the issues firsthand, and to invite colleagues to share their stories–so that physicians still in the trenches will have the support they may need–from their fellow physicians–when taking their last great leap of their careers.  Read on–there is much more to come. And feel free to join the conversation.