Is That Deductible? Missing My Wife: Reflections On Locum Life
Oct 14, 2024As I sit here in the quiet remoteness of John Day, Oregon, nearing the end of my first two-week locum assignment, a strange sense of loneliness has set in. This is the first time in nearly 25 years of marriage that Ellen and I have been apart for an extended period of time. It’s a new experience—one we anticipated, discussed, and were both on board with—but it’s been harder than I expected. I miss her deeply.
Home Is Where The Heart Is
When we married, we made the conscious decision for Ellen to be a stay-at-home mom and wife, a choice that defined much of our early years together. She was always present—always home. As our kids grew and became more independent, and I transitioned to being an independent contractor, Ellen transitioned to working at home through managing the books for my professional corporation (PC) and our various other micro-corporations. Despite my busy career as a rural family doctor doing obstetrics, we always anchored ourselves with a daily family supper, prayer time together, and falling asleep next to each other every night.
Our weeks had their rhythm—worshiping together at church, taking walks, and committing to a weekly "date night." No matter how busy life got, we were always together, not because we had to be, but because we placed an incredibly high value on our marriage. This shared commitment wasn’t a burden; it was a joy. We have what we call an "upper 1% marriage"—something that is cherished, worked on daily, and embraced with gratitude.
Our belief in the sanctity and significance of marriage is so profound that we took action by founding a non-profit organization called Family Foundations. This initiative, driven by our unwavering dedication, evolved into Marriage Mentors and eventually became part of a national Christian ministry. Our journey reflects our deep commitment to nurturing and strengthening the bonds of marriage for countless families. It’s been a rich experience mentoring countless couples in our community through the nuances of pre-marriage, marriages that need tuned up and marriages on the brink of break-up. Through it all, our simple goal was to simply lead couples towards the richness of what we have personally experienced. Honestly, it feels great to watch marriages persevere, grow, and thrive through just a little loving support from a fellow couple who have also traversed the challenges of life together.
New Spaces Together
One of our most cherished and eagerly anticipated rituals has always been our annual strategic planning, goal-setting, and budgeting trip in the vibrant embrace of the late fall. This special journey is more than just a routine; it’s a profound tradition that allows us to align our focus, dreams, and aspirations as a couple for the forthcoming year. As we immerse ourselves in the crisp fall air and the breathtaking tapestry of colorful leaves, we delve deeply into mindful and prayer filled discussions about our shared vision, meticulously setting goals that resonate with both our hearts and ambitions. Each moment spent in reflection and planning during this time away strengthens our bond, making it an invaluable cornerstone of our relationship. We write down and record the summary of those annual retreats, and our file folder with 24 years worth of reflections paints a pro-active roadmap of our family’s life and journey. It’s also a reminder of how valuable goal setting and and intentional drive towards those shared goals make a difference. For us, our lives are the result of stacked up pro-active decisions, not a journey of reactive living. I talk more about this in my post Dare To Dream-Goal Setting For Physicians.
2024 was supposed to be the beginning of a new chapter—our "Act 2." After wrapping up my daily commitment to my rural clinic at the end of June this year, we were ready to enter a semi-retired phase where we could finally enjoy each other like newlyweds. For Ellen and me, this wasn’t just another phase—this space has been a 25 year dream. The backstory of our marriage is unique. I was a widower with two small children when we married, and Ellen instantly became a mother from day one. Over the next three years, our family rapidly expanded to five children. That left little room for the carefree, responsibility-free period of life most couples experience early on.
Ellen, ever remarkable, resilient, and full of grace, has been "on" for 24 straight years—never faltering, always shining. We've spent decades dreaming of this new phase when we could finally focus on each other without the constant demands of family and career pulling us in every direction. Each time we envisioned it, our hearts swelled with anticipation and hope. That’s not to say that we didn’t savor all that transpired during those years; our community, our family, our children, and our home were truly the essence of our shared mission. Every moment was a testament to our dedication and love—a love that only grew stronger with each challenge faced and each triumph celebrated together. Now, as we stand on the brink of this next chapter, ready to embrace a future where it's just us against the world once more, our hearts race with excitement for the adventures yet to come—together and deeply focused on each other.
We had big plans that had been percolating for years—including adventure travel together, Ellen launching her scrapbooking business, me getting my telehealth company, ChatRx, off the ground, and the two of us traveling together as I did locum work all over our great land. The vision was clear: a balance between work and adventure, exploring the country, all while still growing professionally.
The Experiment
This locum assignment in Oregon was an experiment of sorts. Ellen and I had discussed what it would look like for me to take on locum assignments that would take me away from home for weeks at a time, and we were both supportive of it. We did not expect Ellen to always travel with me; rather, she could use that time to immerse herself in the scrapbooking studio without interruption—at least in theory. Deep down, I think Ellen was looking forward to having some space—time to herself, with full agency over her days. And I was all for it, too.
But being here, in the remote Strawberry Wilderness, I’ve found it more challenging than anticipated. Yes, we talk daily, and yes, I still pray with her over the phone every night, but I miss her in ways I didn’t fully realize I would. I miss her presence, her touch, the companionship we share, the laughter, and the non-verbal communication that comes with being together for so long. There’s something special in the "small things"—the quiet, unspoken moments of being in the same space that I’m acutely aware of in her absence.
It doesn’t help that John Day is isolated. I don’t know anyone here, and for reasons of personal boundaries, I’m not actively engaging with the local community outside of my work at the clinic. I work, exercise(running), and hide away in my AirBnB where I read and intensely focus on work like SimpliMD. Well, there are occasional rabbit holes called Netflx too! This social isolation has made the separation from Ellen feel even more pronounced. It’s made me wonder how others who regularly travel for work deal with this kind of prolonged separation from their spouses.
The answer to our experiment, for me, is clear: "Yes, I can do this"—but the more important question is, "Do I want to?" I’ve got five more weeks scheduled here through the end of the year, and as of now, it’s still TBD how I feel about being away from Ellen for this long. The plan was that she would join me on some of these trips, but this initial experience has made me question how often we will actually do that.
Is That Deductible?
Regarding the practical side of locum life—“Is That Deductible?”—most of my expenses are covered by the locum company. This includes:
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Malpractice insurance-covered
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Airline tickets-covered
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Licensing and credentialing-covered
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Rental car-covered
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Airbnb lodging-covered
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Airport parking-covered
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Food-not covered.This is on me, so I’m taking a per diem from my PC and sourcing most of my meals through the local grocery store. It’s been a throwback to my medical school days—a rotation of frozen pizza, cans of soup, popcorn, and cereal. I can purchase meals at the hospital cafeteria but honestly they have not been very appealing. My locally pre-packaged food is simple, cheap, and easy. I miss my wife’s meals:)
While the professional experience has been relatively low-key, the emotional experience has been profound. I miss my wife more than I thought I would. We’ll see how these next few weeks go, but one thing’s for sure: I cherish the time we have together, and the freedom I thought I would enjoy while being apart has been replaced with a longing to return to the woman who has been by my side for nearly 25 years.
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