Today, after 28 years of clinical medicine, I hung up my stethoscope, put away my box of bricks and toys, and closed my BNF for the last time.
Yes, I have finally done it. No more will I drive to Rugby on a Monday morning, to sit on the floor of my clinic room playing with little children, listening to their parents’ concerns, and trying to offer some advice or support. No more will I hold the hands of my beautiful patients at Brooke special school. I will miss them: Jimmy[1], Abi, Naheem… Each one, in their little ways, has blessed me. Little Carrie’s friendly smile; Joel’s mischievous streak; Yacob’s shyness…
It has been a privilege to work with these families over the years, and I have learnt such a lot: about children; about families; about the very real struggles and difficulties so many people face. I feel honoured to have, in some small way, shared in some of those struggles. And I hope that, for some at least, I have been able to offer some comfort, support and hope.
A chapter closes, a new one begins, opening the way for a new stage in my life. I have been planning this for some time now and perhaps it is just the next step in my life’s unfolding journey. It brings with it the opportunity to slow down a bit more, cutting down to just 4 days a week, opening up possibilities to explore new avenues; to be still and appreciate all the beauty and goodness around me; to be. It paves the way for Lois and me to do more together, particularly in our engagement with others to develop a deeper, outward-focused spirituality within Coventry Diocese. And it gives me the space to be more focused in my work on those areas where I think I can give the most, drawing on the skills and experience I have gained over all these years: my research and teaching; my specialist child protection and child death review work; my writing and editorial work.
So I hang up my stethoscope with a touch of melancholy, but with no regrets. Rather, with a sense of excitement and anticipation of what the next few years may bring.
[1] I have not used any of my patients’ real names, but as I write these pseudonyms, I picture, with fondness, individual children and their parents.