The other day I walked through the corridors of Warwick Hospital for what may be my last time as an NHS employee. I thought back on all those days and nights – many years ago now – walking (and at times running) through similar long, pre-fab corridors as a junior house officer. Those days (and nights) are long gone now, and I can’t say that I miss them – certainly not the horrendous long hours and the relentless intrusions of the dreaded bleep – but I do look back with a bit of a sense of nostalgia.

Bereavement and transition

It is often said that retirement is a kind of bereavement. Looking ahead to my retirement, though, it doesn’t feel so much a bereavement as a transition. I guess I am privileged: privileged to have had a career that has been worthwhile and fulfilling; privileged to have also had meaning and worth in my life outside my work; and privileged to be retiring at a stage when I am able to look forward to all the new things I will be able to do.

But any transition also involves loss, and I recognise that for many that can be acutely painful. Particularly where retirement is accompanied by a sudden or gradual loss of significance.

So as I go through this change in my life, how do I make it a positive transition rather than a painful loss? There are three questions which I have found helpful in facing any kind of transition, which can be summarised in the three concepts of mourning, meaning and moving.

Mourning: How do I let go of all that has gone before?

For me, this has been a gradual process: stepping back from hospital work and nights and weekends on call; dropping my clinics to focus more on my academic and specialist work; and now leaving paid employment with the NHS entirely. As I look back there is so much I am grateful for: my colleagues; the families I have worked with; the things I have achieved in my career. I can recognise and celebrate the contributions I have made to protecting children, supporting families, and encouraging and empowering other professionals – both locally and nationally. At the same time, I can accept the things I haven’t achieved; the mistakes made; the unfulfilled dreams: the closure of our child health MSc; the doors closed on a return to Cambodia; my lack of promotion to an academic chair; my failure to establish a sustainable local team for responding to unexpected child deaths. And I can acknowledge that there will be aspects of my work that I may miss: the interaction with my colleagues, children and families; inspiring teaching sessions with motivated students; chairing our local serious cases sub-committee…

Meaning: how do I make sense of this transition?

In a way this, for me, is quite an easy question. And in this I recognise, again, just how privileged I am. I can look back on the journey my career has taken, and see lots of meaning and purpose in it. While at the time there were aspects which were perhaps harder to make sense of – my repeated failure to pass my MRCP exams; the traumas we faced in Cambodia; the gradual disintegration of our academic child health team; the frustrations of unsuccessful grant applications – overall, there has been a sense of purpose, of doing something worthwhile, and now, being able to move on to new opportunities. Looking back I can see how my life and work have had meaning, and how it has unfolded in a path that has brought me to where I am now, with all the skills and experience I have gained along the way. And I am blessed in now being able to take that expertise and apply it in new areas – both nationally and internationally, as well as, perhaps, developing new areas of interest and engagement.

Moving: how can I make the most of this new phase of my life?

For me retirement is a wholesome and positive moving forward. I am looking forward to the new opportunities it brings. To be able to take the skills and experience I have gained over these years and use them in new and inspiring ways. And to enter into a more gentle pace of life, one where there is no longer the pressure to achieve or be productive. There is so much I am looking forward to: being more involved in the rhythm of life at Breathing Space; working from home, looking out at the beauty of our garden; morning toast and coffee with Lois; helping create the house and garden as a place of peace and serenity; pursuing other projects here in the UK and abroad; starting a PhD; spending time with family and friends…
And, for now at least, no longer walking down long, pre-fabricated hospital corridors.