Message Received
- erikaraskin
- May 29
- 3 min read
Updated: Jun 1
I hit the retirement age of 65 at the same time my spouse, who actually had.. what's that thing called? oh yeah,
a career
decided to step back from his position as an anesthesiologist/assistant med school dean/director of an educational simulation center/journal reviewer/journal editor/researcher/board examiner
etc
etc
(ad nauseam)
because, finally, at 68, he was ready to take a nap.
In November when Keith replaced unending weekend call and 4:45 morning alarms for our grandson's piano recitals, great gossip about his sister's collection of seriously bad doll babies, and staying up to date with our grandtoddler's developmental milestones via Zoom ('how big? -- sooo big!) my spouse of many years began giving off a veritable buzz of contentment. I got jealous. So on a whim I casually pronounced myself retired, too. Not because I (ever) had an all-consuming, exhausting job to give up but, you know, Just because. And thanks to being (read the following in a Karen country club voice:)
a doctor's wife
--I could.
Without much pondering (SOP for me) I decided to hang up my Writer/Jewish-Mother/VeryVocalSpotter role, and join my spouse on the new developmental stage. For years I'd squished work (my writing that lands somewhere between an avocation and a beloved volunteer position) betwixt family commitments (about which I have less than zero regrets) and other important activities (like TV). I turned my keen observational skills and proclivity towards sharing concerns -- into an actual civic responsibility. I crafted Cassandra-like predictions into hardcopy worry.
I'm not blowing smoke. Allegiance, foretold the monstrous things that've happened since the inauguration -- pre-election. (Excluding Elon and DOGE, of course. No one could've predicted that.) I also wrote a novel of medical suspense (informed by parenting a child with a serious chronic illness) about malpractice calcified into the system itself; and a book that fictionalized the downside of televised family therapy sessions (a product of afore-mentioned fondness for network and cable fare.)
Anyway, immediately after making the decision to hang up my laptop and join Keith as a pensioner, the universe was like, 'Are you suuuure?'
'Of course I'm sure,' I insisted.
'M--kayyyyy,' was the response.
In wildly short order my asthma took a deep breath, put its shoulder down and barreled forward full force knocking me on my ass; I was diagnosed with pretty funky osteoporosis (at least not the mortifyingly dubbed, less-advanced, osteo-PEEEEE-nia) which triggered my internist's sage advice to 'not fall'); an absurd number of precancerous connect-a-dots (the incredulous dermatologist asked where I'd grown up;) and my thumb started giving me the finger requiring steroid shots in the joint so it could bend again (bringing me to my arthritic knees).
Oh yeah -- and some potentially no joke heart-related thing I can't remember the name of, showed up on a CAT scan of my veins.
(Or arteries.)
The problem is that my brain burned out trying to keep my daughter healthy, so whenever a doctor begins to address my issues, I smile and check out. I don't mean to. But I do.
(I'm sure they all talk about me in the hospital cafeteria.)
So. While Keith is finally catching up on extracurricular interests, family time and rest, I'm rethinking my own last act. I am not organized or attentive enough to focus on me. I need to go back to being a town crier. Part-time anyway. There's still serious shit out there that needs pointing out.
It is exhausting to be retired—all those looking over your life questions plus the time goes so much faster than when you were working and a week was approximately 6 months. BTW, have you read The Midnight Library by Matt Haig? Very interesting and almost makes me want to write again.