Retirement: A Life After Work

June 2025 | Vol. 69, No. 2
Written by Gerald Skobinsky, DO, PCOM class of 1970

After graduating from PCOM and interning at a small general hospital, I went into family practice in the Tacony section of Philadelphia. I was a solo practitioner for 40.5 years – until I retired in 2011.

What happened to going to the office? I was set free, or was I? No prior authorizations, no Medicare, and no paycheck; just “blissfully” lazy days. Ouch, now what?

Monday dawned and I awoke at 6:00 a.m. prepared for a busy day. I had nothing to do. I tried to go back to sleep and couldn’t. My mind was screaming, “What do I do next?” The thought of wasting all that education and experience gave me the feeling that I was cheating the world and myself of Me.

At that time, my oldest son was living in the South of France with his French (now ex-) wife and two children. My wife, Joyce, and I decided to visit them and stay for a month to see their everyday lives firsthand. That turned out to be three weeks too long. 

While there, we toured the local area and spent time in Arles, Avignon and Lyon. We enjoyed our daughter-in-law’s French family, as well as being with our grandchildren. Normally, we only saw the children for two weeks each summer when we flew them to the U.S. The family was warm and welcoming, and they even tried ketchup on their fries instead of vinegar.  Although the French know all the best ways to eat, a bottle of ketchup was discovered in the mother-in-law’s fridge.

Joyce and I got to spend valuable time together in many longed-for ways. We traveled to Europe, Africa and Mexico. We maintained a yearly subscription to the Metropolitan Opera in NYC. We enjoyed our trips to New York to eat and drink like swells, as well as actually going to the opera and theater. We loved the freedom that retirement brought. This was a dream we had shared for many years. It was freeing for me to go away without worrying about bothering friends for coverage of my practice, even though they were great about it. I no longer had to impose on them.

I also got to experience life at home during the day. When I was addressed as “Jer,” I knew that the car had been destroyed, there was a leak dripping through the ceiling somewhere, or my wife had broken a fingernail. When I was called “Jerry,” I knew that the computer was acting out and – after she had pushed ALL the keys – I was being summoned to fix the beast. I also got to learn some new words for these situations, that I now call my MacBook on similar occasions. Another phase of my education, for sure.

As a return on the investment of study in the sciences and medicine, and while I still had my license, I volunteered at a free clinic in Trevose, PA, seeing patients as a primary care physician. This was wonderfully fulfilling until the ACA came along with its subsidies – causing the clinic to close because people could get full coverage for very little money. Sad for me. Happy for them.

My scientific background then led me to sign on as a “floor volunteer” at the Franklin Institute Science Museum. I got to ask and answer questions on the exhibits to eager and not-so-eager youngsters about the area of science at my station. This was great fun, and it required that I brush up on what Einstein, Tesla, and Newton said about our physical world and universe. I still don’t know what Einstein theorized and proved, and probably never will, unless it was about getting the 12-year-old kid, with the algorithm, to approve the MRI that I ordered. Sadly, this program ended when the pandemic hit and has never been brought back.

As a retired physician, you are never free. I would answer questions that should have been asked of the specialist my friends saw, as they didn’t want to bother him/her. Bothering me seemed to be fair game. I had another group of post-practice patients: immediate family. I used to enter family gatherings with the thought, “Form a straight line.” Only then, I postulated, could I take questions in an orderly fashion. For years, I also maintained an active retired license so that I could act as “medic” on weekends held by the Mankind Project, a group that strived to make the world a better place “one man at a time.” When I found that – even for this license – CME credits were required, I was appalled and let it lapse. I was retired!

In my personal life, I found something that I thought was lost forever: my first name. I was beginning to think that my first name was Doctor. I find that I sometimes use it when announcing myself to someone or dealing with a company. I used to feel as though I was putting on airs when I said, “This is Dr. Skobinsky.” Now I think, “So What?” I guess it’s the blessing of being old.

In August of 2022, my wife of 58 years, Joyce (of blessed memory) passed. She always said that I must go on if she were gone. A well-thought-out plan emerged. I decided that I could take up hobbies which, due to a heavy workload and family schedule, I had never done. I couldn’t just sit in doctors’ offices, which I do, and/or clean out my desk drawers for the rest of my life.  

I could and would happily be lousy at hobbies. I began to study two impossible games: I played golf, and I studied and played bridge. I am horrible at both, but I do the former to keep my body in shape (by riding in a golf cart!) and the latter to keep my mind young (it’s partially working). I like both. I’ll stick with them in perpetuity and will never progress.

I am now remarried to a wonderful woman named Lynda who I met online – not knowing that we lived four floors apart in the same building. Retirement is replete with surprises, eh? She’s Canadian.

In retirement, I have been thinking of what I’ve learned about human nature and my own behavior around people. I, like many young doctors meeting patients in a trusted role, was cocksure that my word was “law.” What I found, however, was that my patients’ knowledge ran the gamut from disinterested, to having no familiarity with their bodies, to those who were their own physician or had some knowledge of how certain parts of their body worked. 

This “professional” knowledge came from reading or hearing about another’s illness. I quickly learned that I had to find out my patient’s level of knowledge and accommodate that. I also learned very quickly that except for most “easy” illnesses, patients were uniformly frightened of what I might find. This has given me the compassion, understanding and ability to be a better listener.  

In my early days, I found myself anticipating the next word or sentence to be offered. As a physician, my every word was scrutinized for accuracy and delivery. I could never say, “Your test was good.” It was “perfect,” “excellent,” or “normal.” Those lessons have been invaluable to me in this stage of life. To this day, I never say “pretty good” when I mean “fine.” I use the most definitive descriptive word possible.

Whenever I think of my years in practice or have been asked what my biggest reward was, my answer has always been the same: I valued most the trust my patients had in me to do my best for them and advise them with truth. I still feel the same way. In fact, I always enjoy meeting former patients. Now, as a civilian, I’ve met former patients in the strangest places. When I was in an Italian restaurant, I actually met a server (and former pediatric patient) who took a selfie with me and sent it to all the members of her extended family. The replies were warm and often funny, with people asking if I was really still alive or if that was a cardboard cutout of me.

Recently, I tutored a young GP from Ukraine in English through the Abington Free Library’s Adult Education Program. After just two months of working as a doctor there, he left the practice of medicine for a career selling cars. I learned that his pay was low, his days were filled with hours of paperwork, and he needed to see many patients each day to make a living.  He told me that, in Russia, doctors are among the lowest paid people. The government believes that those who practice medicine see their job as a calling and don’t really want the money.  Really?

At 81.5 years old, I am again in pursuit of what to do next. The number of doctors’ appointments has swelled, and my back is worse, so I read more and go onto websites where I can play bridge with people from countries where they don’t speak English. By reading their comments, I see that they all seem to have figured out that I’m old, a poor player, and American. American!

In closing, my only advice is: Don’t waste the free time that you’ve earned. You’ll find that you are needed even after being needed.