The Retirement I Almost Didn’t Get to Enjoy

By Gary Hailes

Most of you have heard me talk about my brother Gary, affectionately called “Scoop,”. He earned that nickname when he joined me at Ottawa University, where our basketball skills made us known around campus as “Hoop and Scoop.”

Recently, Gary shared a deeply challenging chapter of his life — one I consider a powerful testimony of faith, strength and perseverance. With his permission, I’m sharing his story with you today.

A dream trip to Portugal, a backyard project and a frightening discovery about my heart changed how I think about retirement.

Almost a year ago, in Porto, Portugal, my wife of 35 years gave me permission to do something I had been struggling to do for a long time. She told me it was time to retire.

My wife, Angela, and I had finally made it to a bucket-list trip our son had insisted we take. We had spent the week exploring Lisbon and Sintra and had now arrived in Porto, enjoying an evening in Portugal’s beautiful wine country.

I had recently turned 68, and much of our conversation during the trip centered on a question that had followed me for months: When was the right time to retire?

I had spent much of my life working, building relationships and pursuing the next opportunity. Slowing down sounded appealing, but I wasn’t sure I was ready. What would I do with my time? Who was I outside of my work?

Then, after a quiet moment, Angela looked at me and said something I wasn’t expecting.

“Why don’t you retire and find something you are passionate about? I’ve got us.”

Those words stayed with me.

I began thinking seriously about retirement. But one of my first concerns was surprisingly simple: I had no hobbies.

I had also heard the stories about men who retired, only to experience health problems that limited their ability to enjoy the years they had worked so hard to earn. I didn’t want that to be my story.

At the time, I had no idea how personal that concern would become.

A backyard project with an unexpected consequence

After retiring, I decided to create a small Zen-inspired space on our patio — somewhere I could relax with a cocktail, a cigar and a little music.

With the help of artificial intelligence, I developed a plan and got to work.

For three weeks, I hauled concrete blocks and 150-pound pier caps through temperatures exceeding 95 degrees. I built, tore down and rebuilt until I finally had something I knew Angela would love.

By then, temperatures were hovering around 100 degrees.

As I worked, I began feeling dizzy. I couldn’t seem to drink enough water or electrolytes to feel right. I called my doctor’s office, and they asked whether I was experiencing chest pain. They suggested I visit urgent care.

Like many people who don’t want to believe something serious might be wrong, I wasn’t eager to go.

But I checked my blood pressure. The reading was 207/99.

I knew that was dangerously high. The following day, I saw my doctor, beginning a series of tests that would change my understanding of my own health.

There were EKGs, an echocardiogram and a coronary calcium scan. My calcium score, which had previously been 150, had risen to 2,076.

Eventually, an angiogram was scheduled. The possibility of stents or bypass surgery was discussed, depending on what the doctors found.

Throughout the process, the question remained the same: Was I experiencing chest pain?

No.

What I was experiencing was fatigue, sweating and intermittent dizziness. I didn’t have the dramatic chest pain I had always associated with a heart problem.

That was part of what made the experience so unsettling.

The number I couldn’t believe

The most recent discovery was especially difficult to reconcile with how I thought I was living.

Over time, I had lost approximately 40 to 45 pounds through walking and adopting a pescatarian diet. I had been taking better care of myself and had begun to feel that I was on a path toward a long, healthy life. Both of my parents lived into their 90s, and I had imagined doing the same.

Then came the angiogram.

As I was wheeled out of the cardiac catheterization lab and into recovery, I learned that my medical team had found a 100% blockage in one coronary artery and a 70% blockage in another. They had decided not to place stents or proceed with bypass surgery at that time.

A 100% blockage?

I was stunned. Surely, that explained the dizziness, fatigue and sweating. But if an artery was completely blocked, why wasn’t it being opened?

I immediately called my sister, Tonya, a physician in the Washington, D.C., area who had been following my medical journey.

Her explanation helped calm me and introduced me to a term I had never fully appreciated: collateral circulation.

My sister explained that, in some people with a long-standing coronary artery blockage, the body develops alternative blood-vessel pathways that can help supply the heart muscle. The process is associated with the body’s ability to adapt to a chronic problem.

The medical term for restoring blood flow is revascularization, but my understanding was that my heart might already have developed alternative routes for blood to reach areas affected by the blockage.

That didn’t mean the blockages were harmless. It meant there was more to understand than the percentages alone could tell me.

I would need to work with my cardiology team to understand my particular anatomy, the risks and benefits of treatment, and the best path forward.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about how remarkable the human body can be.

The warning signs we learn to ignore

As frightening as the discovery was, it also forced me to look back.

Around 2004, during a routine physical, my doctor had asked whether I experienced chest pain. I didn’t. But there were early signs of plaque buildup in my arteries. At the time, nothing seemed alarming, and the findings became a baseline to monitor.

I was relatively active then. I worked out regularly, lifted weights, followed a protein-heavy diet and took a variety of supplements. I believed I was doing many of the right things.

Years passed. Work remained a priority. Like so many people, I assumed that if something were seriously wrong, I would know it.

I didn’t appreciate how much could change quietly over time.

Even more surprising was that, in the years before this discovery, I had made significant lifestyle changes. I had lost weight, adopted a more plant-focused diet that included fish, and regularly walked four miles.

Those changes mattered to me, and I believe they remain important. But my experience taught me that healthy habits, while essential, do not erase family history or guarantee that disease has stopped progressing.

You can feel better and still have a serious medical problem.

You can look healthy and still need medical attention.

And you can spend years planning for retirement without giving enough thought to the health that will allow you to enjoy it.

Retirement requires a different kind of planning

I’m no retirement expert. But I have come to believe that many of us approach retirement with an incomplete plan.

We meet with financial planners. We calculate our savings, review our pensions and investments, think about our homes and decide whether we can afford to stop working.

Those things matter.

But we should also be asking a different set of questions: Have I kept up with my medical care? Am I paying attention to changes in my body? Have I addressed my mental health? Do I understand my risk factors? Am I putting off an appointment because I’m too busy, too stubborn or too convinced that nothing is wrong?

For years, we can become so consumed with working that we postpone taking care of ourselves. We tell ourselves that we’ll have time later.

Later, we’ll exercise more. Later, we’ll schedule the appointment. Later, we’ll address the fatigue or the symptoms we don’t quite understand.

We live to work, believing retirement will finally give us time to live.

My experience has made me question that assumption.

The time to prepare for retirement isn’t the day you leave your job. It begins well before then, and it includes taking care of the person who will be living that retirement.

Becoming an advocate for my own health

Angela has spent much of her career as a health care executive. One message she has consistently emphasized is the importance of being an advocate for your own health care.

Now, I understand that lesson in a much more personal way.

I communicate with my medical team frequently. I ask questions. I want to understand my options, and I want to make informed decisions about my care.

I am also working with a patient advocate whom Angela helped me find. That advocate is helping us explore additional options and navigate a complicated medical system.

There is still much I want to accomplish. Retirement hasn’t diminished my ambition; it has given it a different focus.

I want to explore new opportunities, spend time with my family and pursue ideas I never had time to develop while working. I want to enjoy the life Angela encouraged me to embrace in Porto.

And I want to do everything reasonably possible to protect my health along the way.

One part of that effort has involved discussing additional cholesterol-lowering treatment with my physicians. Repatha, an injectable medication that can significantly lower LDL cholesterol and reduce cardiovascular risk in appropriate patients, has become part of the conversation. Because of its cost and insurance-coverage challenges, finding a way to access it required additional effort.

It is one example of why asking questions and advocating for yourself matter. Treatment decisions should be made with your medical team, based on your individual circumstances and risk.

Don’t wait for retirement to take care of yourself

I began this journey in Portugal, wondering when I should retire and what I would do with my life once I stopped working.

I didn’t expect the answer to involve a cardiac catheterization lab, a completely blocked artery or a new understanding of how fragile our assumptions about health can be.

I am sharing this story not because I believe my experience is unique, but because I suspect parts of it will sound familiar to others.

Perhaps you are approaching retirement and wondering whether you can afford to stop working. Perhaps you are already retired and trying to figure out what comes next. Or perhaps, like me, you have spent years believing that feeling reasonably healthy is enough.

It isn’t a substitute for knowing your numbers, keeping medical appointments and paying attention when something changes.

If you are planning your retirement, make an appointment with your physician as deliberately as you schedule time with your financial planner. Ask about your cardiovascular risk, your family history and the screenings appropriate for you. Don’t dismiss unexplained symptoms simply because you aren’t experiencing chest pain.

And if something doesn’t feel right, seek medical advice rather than waiting for it to pass.

I still want to reach 95. I still want to enjoy a quiet evening on the patio with Angela, a little music and the satisfaction of knowing that I built something with my own hands.

But I now understand that retirement isn’t simply a financial destination or the end of a working life.

It is an opportunity — one worth preparing for with the same determination we bring to our careers.

Angela told me in Porto, “I’ve got us.”

I am grateful for those words. They reminded me that we had built a life together and that it was time to enjoy it.

Now, I have another responsibility: to do my part to make sure I am here to enjoy the years ahead.

The lesson I hope others take from my story is simple: Don’t wait until retirement to start living like your health matters. The best time to take care of yourself is long before you finally have the time.