End Notes
A Voice from an Ancient Stump
A retired surgeon ponders the possibility of remaining relevant.
By Harrison H. Farley, M.D.
For old surgeons such as myself who like to see a visible accomplishment at the end of the day (a sewn up wound, for example), it is particularly difficult to go from being the one who can change the life of a patient to having to watch from the sidelines. I was mulling this over as I sat on the dock during a recent visit to our retreat in the north woods.
As I pondered, I spied an aging relic beached on the shore nearby. It was an old tree stump that had been floating freely in the lake and was now immobile. The image percolated in my mind and made me think about my current status. I knew that old stump had value for the lake. But I wondered, What value do we retired physicians have?
Some of us continue to dabble in medicine, but most of us, like Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s old soldier, just fade away. And why not? The science of medicine is changing so quickly that even doctors in active practice have trouble keeping abreast of the latest techniques and discoveries. But to give it up, to be permanently shelved, seems cruel. Most of us were imbued with utilitarian goals early on and we worked hard to become physicians. To have it end seems like such a waste.
Our cabin is located on a flowage. For those unfamiliar with such a body of water, it is a man-made lake created by a dam constructed across a stream or river. The water rises, overflows its banks, and covers the surrounding land. Trees and shrubs die, and previously forested land becomes submerged. Floating islands or bogs are not uncommon. The shoreline undulates and is largely uninhabited.
Our flowage was created by the area’s electric power company around 1930. It was stocked with fish that multiplied and made the lake a coveted fishing retreat. It is still a fine place to catch northern pike, walleye, and muskellunge.
The lake remains in rather pristine condition because of the relative scarcity of lakeshore homes (hence less harmful runoff), water usage restrictions that favor fishing, and the presence of a large number of old tree stumps, reminders of its earlier self. These nearly petrified hardwood remnants are not always visible. At times they lurk just beneath the surface of the water. A few work their way loose and float at the mercy of wind and waves.
The fine old specimen I was looking at had drifted close to shore during high water. Then with a drought, the lake receded, leaving the stump high and dry, and exposed on the beach. It brought to mind the image of the retired physician shoved to the side by time and circumstance.
The old stumps can wreak havoc on a careless water skier, speed boat enthusiast, or angler. Some say they’re a menace. But they serve a purpose. They slow the speed of boaters, and they provide shelter for fish. They help maintain the overall milieu of the lake. Demonized by some, they are treasured by others.
Doctors in retirement may be unfamiliar with the new tools in the profession, but we can serve a purpose. We understand the hidden pressures that can adversely affect a practicing physician’s ability to make a sound decision. It is not uncommon for former patients to ask us for advice. We must be careful what we say, but often we can be of help, especially in alerting them to the downsides of wonder drugs and surgical procedures that have little to do with helping them live a long and fruitful life.
We can emulate the floating stump and get in the way of hucksters who try to take advantage of unsuspecting patients, shelter beleaguered docs who are overwhelmed by the complexity of practice, and continue to play a role in maintaining the integrity and quality of our venerable profession.
Alone on the dock, I could not fail to marvel at that old stump, beached but stubborn and proud. It made for a wonderful image and an apt metaphor for this medical relic as he still tries to maintain relevance in a fast-moving age. MM
Harrison Farley is a retired surgeon from St. Paul.