On Retirement

I’m nearing one full orbit of the sun since stepping down from a top leadership position at the theatre company that I founded twelve years ago. The decision to make such a monumental change was difficult, the transition tumultuous, but the payoff has been plentiful. Upon sharing the news, I heard an echoing refrain of “Congratulations on your retirement!” To which I would swiftly retort, “I’m not going into true retirement, I’m just retiring from arts administration,” so reticent was I to adopt a label of retiree.

But, in many ways, I was becoming one. I left the world of regular email communications and stacked scheduling and a habit of exhaustive hurry in order to slow down, to rest, to prioritize the nurturing of my health and my soul. Sure, I’ve had some small jobs here and there. However, the general tempo of this past year has been a rich, languishing legato. I am not “on” all the time. I have been dormant, hibernating in the dark and quiet cocoon of my career chrysalis. And it has been oh so good for me. 

This is why, when learning of other individuals' slowing, of later life retirements, I exclaim joy for the ease of being they will soon inhabit. I express how happy I am for them, and I mean it. The delight in another’s deceleration comes easily.

That is, until last week. Because last week I learned of a career cessation that struck me devastatingly: the retirement of my beloved neurologist.

For nearly eleven years, I have been blessed with the unyielding, steadfast care of Dr. Tamara Miller, a force of a woman, a hero of healthcare, a relentless champion for her chronically ill MS patients. It is not hyperbole when I state that this woman saved my life. She quite literally did. What’s more, she gave me the ability to live a full, meaningful life.

I came to Dr. Miller during the early stages of what wound up as a spiraling tornado of debilitating relapses, each one mounting on top of the last in quicker succession and with greater neurologic destruction. She did not balk. She rose to the occasion, leveling up with every instrument in her armory and a signature “hit it fast, hit it hard” warcry. She is tough. She is brave. She is interminable.

And though she is ruthless on disease activity, she is warmly compassionate in the care of her patients, going above and beyond the call of duty. 

Once, when hospitalized at Poudre Valley Hospital in Ft. Collins for relapse treatment, she pledged to visit me after leaving work that day. With the office closing at 4:00, I anticipated seeing her sometime between 4:30-5:00. By 5:30, she had not shown. I watched the proverbial hand of the clock spin. 6:00. No sign. 6:30. Nope. At that point, I had come to the conclusion that the day must have been particularly busy and she was no longer able to squeeze in a trip to my bedside.

On the first count, I was correct. The events of the day had been full and fast-paced. So much so that, after the office closed at 4:00, Dr. Miller remained at her desk tending to reporting and paperwork for three more hours. But, as for the latter half of my assumption, the looming click of sturdy heels approaching my hospital room proved the hypothesis false. Shortly after 7:00, Dr. Miller came bustling into my room, committed to honoring her promise to check in on me. She had been at it for more than twelve hours, working through every break and sliver of time in her schedule, and still managed to prioritize my care before the day’s end. She did not have to do this because she was a neurologist. She had to do this because, to her core, she is a provider of holistic, wholehearted care.

And now? Now she will retire. She will rest. She will play. She will extend that unending care to her family members sans distraction. She has earned it - nay, more than earned it. She undeniably deserves it. And, though I may experience grief over the loss of such mighty strength on my medical team, I could not be happier for her. I will survive. I will forge new medical provider relationships. And Dr. Miller? Dr. Miller will thrive.

So, as so many expressed to me upon the news of my career transition, I extend the same to the indefatigable Dr. Tamara Ann Miller, MD:

Happy retirement, Dr. Miller! I wish you all the joyful delights in your days to come.