Shakedown Street

Of course, Robby couldn't retire completely. When fall came, he found himself at the front of a lecture hall at the University of Pittsburgh teaching electives on the “Lasting Effects of the COVID-19 Pandemic in Healthcare” and “Trauma Responses in Emergency Medicine Workers”. Teaching scratched the itch he had to still be productive while also settling down out of the fast-paced environment of the ED. He cherished the opportunity to pass down his skills and knowledge to the next generation of doctors; to help them not make the same mistakes that he had made. He brought in help whenever he could: his husband came in to talk about combat medicine, Dana popped by to discuss violence in the workplace, and he had even managed to rope Whitaker into a video lecture on rural medicine. His classes always got great reviews, students citing engaging lectures, useful anecdotes, and interesting guest speakers.

Dr. Jack Abbot, being two years Robby’s junior and still somehow full of energy, continued in the ED for three years after Robby’s retirement. He switched to day shift, citing that he wanted to be able to spend more time with his husband - definitely not the fact that he was in his sixties and his body couldn't handle the night shift like it used to. After the initial adjustment of switching to day shift, Jack couldn't deny the rejuvenating effect of being able to wake up and go to bed next to Robby every night.

When the day came for both doctors to retire fully, their lives shifted in different ways.

Robby couldn't stay out of the hospital - something that both his therapist and Jack ragged on him about constantly. He spent his free time up in the OB, volunteering in the NICU cuddling preemies whose parents couldn't for whatever reason. Which also led him to learning how to quilt, his and Jack’s office slowly turning into a craft room as Robby putted away making baby blankets.

Jack also took up volunteering. He volunteered at the local animal shelter and the VA. His official role at the animal shelter was “Kitten Cuddler”; he helped socialize the kittens and get them used to human touch and interaction. It also wasn't unusual for shelter staff to find Jack in the back yard with a dog or two, throwing a tennis ball from his wheelchair while the dogs chased after it. At the VA, he advocated for disabled veterans and ran a support group for newly disabled vets as well as one for grieving widows and widowers.

Their nights were slow and warm. More often than not they'd have a vinyl on the record player, music playing softly through the house as Robby cooked dinner with Jack in the living room with their cat, a foster fail named Pericardiocentesis (aka: Perry, Cardi, Cardi P, Sissy, and a million other things Jack called her that weren’t her name) laying curled up in his lap. When dinner was over and the two of them had tag-teamed the dishes, Robby would whisk Jack into the kitchen for one last dance, wheeling and spinning Jack around in his wheelchair to the music.