Reconnecting with former mentors can be both a nostalgic and enlightening experience, often offering insights into how our past influences have shaped our present. Recently, I decided to reach out to three physicians who played pivotal roles early in my career. Now in their 80s, these mentors each left an indelible mark on my professional journey. To rekindle our connection, I sent them an essay I had recently published about the importance of revoking reverence for unethical physicians, a topic I believed would resonate with their experiences and values.
Given our shared history and the gravity of the subject matter, I anticipated a thoughtful and engaging dialogue. However, the responses I received were unexpectedly brief and somewhat detached.
Doctor A, an infectious disease specialist, acknowledged the essay with a succinct, "Thanks, Arthur. This is an important issue, one that is sometimes hard to navigate. Be well." His response, though polite, lacked the depth of engagement I had hoped for, leaving me wondering about his current perspective.
Doctor B, a fellow psychiatrist, offered a similarly brief reply: "Thanks, Art. Well done. Hope that all is good with you and yours. [Sent from my iPhone]." The casual tone and the note about his device suggested a hurried response, perhaps indicative of a busy or distracted moment. This brevity felt particularly surprising given our shared specialty and in-depth discussions when he was my psychotherapy supervisor.
Doctor C, a medical ethicist, provided the most detailed response, yet it too was marked by a sense of finality: "Dear Art. Thank you for sending this article. It's good to see your continued activism in ethics. I hope all is well with you and your family. I'm fully retired at this point. We sold our home of 50 years and are living in a 2 BR condo. With warm regards." His note, while kind and personal, also conveyed a significant life transition and a possible retreat from professional discourse.
This experience has highlighted the importance of adaptability in maintaining professional relationships. Our mentors, who once guided us with vigor and insight, may now be navigating different paths, where professional engagement takes a backseat to personal fulfillment and tranquility. While their terse responses initially felt like a missed opportunity for deeper connection, they also served as a valuable lesson in respecting the natural ebb and flow of relationships and the diverse ways in which our mentors choose to engage with their past protégés.
As a practicing psychiatrist, I have always valued the mentor-mentee relationship and the mutual enrichment it brings. My mentors were once vibrant, highly engaged professionals who dedicated their lives to the practice of medicine and the education of future physicians. Their enthusiasm and commitment were contagious, inspiring me and many others to pursue excellence in our fields.
However, as I reconnected with them, I noticed a palpable shift in their demeanor. Their responses, while polite, lacked the warmth and depth I had once experienced. This change, I realized, is not merely a reflection of time passed but also indicative of the natural process of disengagement from the medical profession that comes with aging, retirement, and the health challenges that often accompany these stages of life.
Retirement marks a significant transition in a physician's life. It is a time to step back from the demands of clinical practice, to rest, and to reflect on a career well-lived. For many, it is also a period of adjustment, as they navigate the loss of a professional identity that defined them for decades. The detachment I sensed in my mentors' replies may well be a manifestation of this transition. Having devoted their lives to the service of others, they are now in a phase where they are gradually letting go of their professional ties and embracing a new chapter, perhaps focused on themselves and their families.
The brevity of their responses may also reflect a desire to distance themselves from the emotional and cognitive demands of their former roles. After years of intense intellectual engagement and emotional investment in their patients and students, it is natural for retired physicians to seek a simpler, more tranquil existence. This shift is a healthy and necessary part of aging, allowing them to preserve their well-being and enjoy the fruits of their labor.
Adding to this process are the medical issues that aging brings. For example, I know that Doctor C's wife suffered a stroke several years ago, which was a significant factor in their decision to downsize. Another mentor, not among those discussed here, responded to one of my articles not with professional insights but with concerns about his heart disease. Tragically, he passed away shortly thereafter. These personal health challenges undoubtedly impact their ability to engage as they once did.
Understanding the disengagement that accompanies aging, retirement, and health challenges allows me to approach my interactions with former mentors with greater empathy and respect. Their concise replies are not a rejection but rather an indication of their current life stage. I am grateful for the time they have given me in the past and the lessons they have imparted, and I respect their need for space.
In reflecting on this experience, I am reminded of the cyclical nature of mentorship. Just as my mentors once guided me, I now find myself in a position to mentor the next generation of physicians. This role comes with its own set of responsibilities and rewards, and I am committed to honoring the legacy of my mentors by providing support and guidance. The legacy of our mentors lives in the countless lives they have touched, and it is our responsibility to continue their work with the same dedication and passion they once embodied.
is a former Doximity Fellow, a member of the editorial board of the American Association for Physician Leadership, and an adjunct professor of psychiatry at the Lewis Katz School of Medicine at Temple University in Philadelphia. He is the author of several books on narrative medicine, including and .