After EMS: Now What?
This article is part of an ongoing series from Mike Rubin. In this series, he’ll reflect on his career and share practical retirement advice for emergency medical personnel. Catch up on articles you missed.
Helen and I were sitting at the kitchen table, watching an episode of Cowboys and Iranians on the morning news, when I asked her if she had any plans for the day.
“Maybe,” she said. “Does laundry count?”
Yes, laundry counts more than ever. It helps pass the time whenever retirement gets dull, which is often. Doing the wash is Helen’s job because she’s the one who remembers how the washer works. I know it involves water and agitation, but so does drowning.
I felt sorry for Helen. Then I felt sorry for me because my plans were as tedious as hers. Paying bills—my forever job in retirement—is necessary but even less fun than laundry. Ask anyone if they’d rather pay the rent or refill the sock drawer. On second thought, don’t ask just anyone; pick somebody who thinks you have a brain worm. Then you won’t have as much to explain.
Laundry with Helen made me think of better ways to amuse ourselves. You don’t have to be retired to try them, but it helps to have not much going on. Let me just say, of all the retirees I know, I have the least going on.
Here’s a list of retirement pastimes Helen and I put together during a spin cycle:
Get a pet. We’ve had many. Our current dog-child is Ellie—18 months old and smarter than, I don’t know, a groundhog? Also faster, which is how she came to terrorize our backyard squirrels, who only want to eat, sleep, and make little squirrels. But Ellie is so adorable, she has our permission to chase whatever she wants. All I ask is that she stop eating things made of paper, like the mail, notes to myself, and loose currency.
Start a small business. Make it very small: only you and someone with great ideas plus lots of money. Just to clarify, you will be the junior partner.
Learn to play a musical instrument. I actually did this several times as a kid. First came the clarinet—not a good choice for music with a beat. Next was the oboe. What was I thinking? I mean, can you imagine “Groovin’ to the Oboe” cranked up to 11? It’s a known fact that anyone who likes oboe music was delivered with forceps.
Make new friends. Find people with common interests, like not dying.
Write. I spend more retirement hours writing than anything except feeling sorry for myself. But that doesn’t mean we mortals can simply pick up pen and paper and amaze our editors. Writing is complicated, especially punctuation. Do you know how long it took Stephen King to master semicolons? A long time. Don’t be like Stephen King. Spend a few months writing for yourself, practicing your parentheses and becoming the author you always wanted to be. Then try the clarinet.
Adopt a sports team. Not just any team—one from a proper city with a distinguished history of champions, like my hometown, Boston. Ignore New York, Philly, and LA. They’ve had modest success, but only because Boston got so tired of winning, we forgot to try hard in the playoffs.
Read. I enjoy reading—even stuff I didn’t write—but old-fashioned page-turners are hard to find. Maybe I should start one about a time-traveling teenage oboe player who accidentally joins a Rock band instead of a Bach band. Play that funky music, Johann.
Watch old movies. This used to be my favorite. Then I ran out of choices. I’ve seen every good picture at least 27 times, which scientists claim is 25 too many. They should mind their own business. As famous smoker and Casablanca star Humphrey Bogart said, “We’ll always have the classics…and Paris.” But I swear to you on the souls of my grandchildren, if I stream The Godfather once more, I’m gonna change Ellie’s name to Kay and mine to Frankie Five Angels.
Watch newer movies. I’d label this a work in progress. Some current films with novel plots and fresh talent are a joy to discover. Others are so bad, I wonder why they’re produced by people who can spend their money on other things.
Play board games. Did I mention I invented the EMS version of Trivial Pursuit? It’s true. Here’s a sample from the upcoming EMS Retirees version:
Question: Say you let your license lapse and retire from EMS after 30 years. What sort of job could you still get in a medical setting?
Answer: Sharps-container repair.
Do jigsaw puzzles. Helen swears by this. She says her puzzles are more calming than Valium, except when the manufacturer leaves out a piece, or the dog eats a piece, or the vacuum sucks up a piece. I would fill the holes in each puzzle with lots of Valium and worry less about missing pieces.
Change your appearance. Friends ask, “Mike, how come you’re so slim compared to healthy people?” I just tell them you have to set goals and stick to them. For example, I used to wear a hairpiece. Then I took it off because one of my goals was to not look like an extra from Boogie Nights.
Do your taxes. Ahh, income taxes: the ultimate test of comprehension and responsibility. If you read the rules and still can’t understand the meaning of “fraudulent,” find a tax preparer who teaches oboe.
Mike’s Exit Poll #20: What’s the best piece of advice you ever got?
“Don’t quit yet,” from my college roommate after our first week as freshman engineering students. We didn’t quit, but needed the option to do so, even if we’d rather jump off the roof (some did) than disappoint our parents.
That advice didn’t just get me through college; it worked during medic school when I began to doubt I could be more than a middle-aged EMT. Funny how having an out can be so much better than taking it.
Mike Rubin is a retired paramedic and the author of Life Support, a collection of EMS stories. Contact Mike at mgr22@prodigy.net.
