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January 2003
Volume 67 |
Number 1 |
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Mark J. Lema, M.D., Ph.D. Editor
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Life After Anesthesiology
Travel, tennis, golf, fishing and relaxation. Most overworked
anesthesiologists may be dreaming of a time when they
can put away their laryngoscopes and retire. The thought
of enough free time to fulfill one’s every whim
seems unrealistic and even unnatural to the battle-fatigued
professional.
Consider, however, that most if not all anesthesiologists
are action people. Daily life consists of a series of
deadlines, timetables and successful outcomes. A weary
but professional satisfaction is often felt after a
full day’s work. So, is it possible that these
visions of sugar plum lazy days may conversely make
many former anesthesiologists restless and unsatisfied?
I often wonder if the first day of true retirement is
exhilarating or depressing. Can one really stop thinking
like a doctor, and will friends cease to ask for one’s
sage medical advice?
I would like to share with you an essay written by one
of our more illustrious colleagues who, in Robert Frost
style, took the road less traveled. Peter L. McDermott,
M.D., Ph.D., past ASA President, retired only to enroll
in a Ph.D. program. It is a delightful account that
just may get a few more anesthesiologists contemplating
advanced degrees in Mandarin or metallurgy. For me,
I might just return to studying Latin and Greek.
The Road …Less Traveled
After 30 years as an anesthesiologist, it occurred to
me that I would probably be around for 30 more. Another
30 years of night call? Of juggling schedules and managing
personalities? Why not, I thought, revisit one of those
once-possible alternatives to a career in medicine?
Would it be
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Peter L. McDermott, M.D., Ph.D.
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possible for a grandfather in his sixth decade to refashion
himself in a new discipline? I decided to take a small
bite by enrolling in an evening course in Asian history
at a local university. This was a good test to discover
if I had any residual learning potential. I knew almost
nothing about Asian history, and after my old college
transcripts were obtained (on clay tablets), I joined
a class composed in large part of Asian students. I
did well and enjoyed myself enormously. Over the next
three years, I finished undergraduate studies with honors
in history and received my B.A. in June 1992. The only
blemish on my record was a B+ in pottery. Fervor was,
apparently, no substitute for talent. I forgot to say
that I sneaked into medical school without a degree
back in the 1950s, so a bachelor’s degree was
step one.
I took the next school year off — we college types
need and deserve time to travel and find ourselves after
squandering our parents’ money. Also, I was ASA
President that year [1993] and was very busy visiting
the faithful, managing the affairs of state, testifying
before Congress and leading the occasional symphony
orchestra. When I started graduate school at the University
of California-Santa Barbara in 1993, it goes without
saying that I was the oldest graduate student in the
department. I was also older than all but a handful
of the faculty.
Moving from my old tribe to a new one was a culture
shock. Historians do not process information the same
way physicians and other scientists do, so a certain
amount of intellectual reformatting was necessary. In
addition, there was no way a vintage physician could
be buddies with 20-ish graduate students or participate
on an equal basis with faculty members who had earned
their stripes and developed a brotherhood (and sisterhood)
of collegiality. There was, therefore, a bit of distance,
but not necessarily isolation, in the relationships
of the old guy and the players in the new discipline.
And there was just a hint of resentment and distrust:
resentment that someone from another profession would
have the luxury of entering another scholarly enterprise
and suspicion that that my motives were those of a dilettante
or other kind of self-indulgent amateur.
I took the classes, participated in the seminars, wrote
the research papers, mastered Latin once again, taught
a few classes and published two articles in historical
journals. I took no short cuts and received no special
considerations. In September 2002, I was awarded a Ph.D.
I am once again engaged in a job search.
I think we live long enough for two careers. Sometimes
inertia, fear of failing or a lack of imagination may
sequester us in the comfort of familiar routines. Except
for the precious few who die slumped over a gas machine,
most anesthesiologists retire at some point. It is important
to retire into something not from something.
Plan your next move. Avoid mirrors — they lie.
There is still a kid inside most of us. Golf, cruises,
bridge and birding have their place, but they are not
enough for the hungry mind. A banquet awaits!
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The views expressed herein are those of the authors and
do not necessarily represent or reflect the views, policies
or actions of the American Society of Anesthesiologists.
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