I hate good-byes. I really do. I find them awkward and unsatisfying. For me, leaving a party is stressful. Who do I say bye to? Shake hands or hug? Make plans to see people again? Text me? Call me? Email? If I were to psychoanalyze myself, it probably goes back to when I was a child and it was customary to say good bye to every single relative before heading home from a birthday or holiday. I know that sounds terrible, but sometimes you just don’t know what to say bye to that uncle twice removed who always smelled of cigarettes and made bad jokes.
I especially hate good-byes, though, when it involves so many people I love and respect. People that have become integral parts of my life, above and beyond any single event or gathering. It becomes doubly hard when that good-bye also involves a place I’ve called home for longer than my previous 3 destinations in life.
But this is where I find myself, so let the awkwardness begin.
Let me start with what many of you already know: Starting in January, I will be moving to San Diego to pursue a new job at UCSD as a Perinatologist in their Department of Reproductive Medicine. Having done my Fellowship training there, it is a homecoming of sorts, turning my good-bye from 2013 into more of a “see you later”. Of course, in our tradition of not doing anything traditionally, Regina and Violet will not be joining me until next September once Regina completes her program. More on that later. This is an amazing opportunity for us both and it marks the first time in a decade that we are actually choosing our own destination rather than waiting to see where some matching algorithm takes us. Needless to say, however, this means I have to leave yet another party. And what a party it’s been.
I never thought I would live in Texas. Ever. As an OB/GYN and Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialist, being forced to take our oral Boards twice in Dallas was going to be enough for me. Having grown up in New York, then serving a six-year academic tour in Boston only to return and then transplant to California, Texas just never entered my radar, despite its size. I’ve never been shy about my narrow world view I considered a God-given right to all New Yorkers. But that aforementioned algorithm has a way of eliminating such biases in the name of academic pursuit. When Regina refreshed her NRMP profile page and “UT-Houston Child Neurology, Houston, TX” magically appeared, I’ll be honest, I panicked. Not in a holy-shit-I-have-to-wear-cowboy-boots-and-vote-Republican kind of way (I’m not THAT shallow), but more like an I-now-have-to-live-with-your-wife-for-the-first-time-in-four-years-in-a-completely-foreign-enivoronment-while-starting-my-career-and-voting-Republican kind of way. Okay, maybe I was a bit freaked out about the Republican thing. Sue me.
Looking back now, however, I can’t think of any better way things could have gone. That’s not say things have been perfect (what is?), but it’s been perfect for us. And in case you haven’t noticed from my rambling thus far, it’s hard for me to actually start saying good-bye without retracing my hellos.
I’ll start with my academic family at Baylor. The first time I met anyone from the department was at a crawfish boil. Picture it: A New Yorker via California, setting foot for the first time in Texas, on a warm Saturday in April, standing in front of a table full of little spicy sea creatures he’s never seen in his life, let alone eaten, surrounded by nearly all his potential colleagues trying to make a good first impression. If this were some sort of lowbrow sitcom, I would have eventually launched a spicy crawfish tail into the eye of my future chairman as I try to extract some semblance of meat from these mutant sea-based cockroaches. Thankfully, this was the beginning of a more civilized and heartfelt comedy. The kind where you know the protagonist is going to have some painfully awkward growing pains, but ultimately should make it through intact. I survived the crawfish boil (as did all my future colleagues’ eyes) and I already felt at ease. The next day I was treated to a wonderful homemade Sunday brunch. By the time my actual interview day would arrive on Monday, I knew I had found my academic home.
For the next four and a half years, I would learn from some of the greatest people I have ever met. And I’m not simply talking about facts and figures and evidence-based medicine (of which there was plenty), but about life in general and myself in particular. From the Core-Four-turned-Fab-Five at Ben Taub to the mothership that is the Pavilion to the Emerald City that is the Texas Medical Center, I left no academic stone unturned. I had mentors to learn from and friends to turn to at all times. I’ve said it often, and I’ll say it again: I could not have written a better script for my first job out of fellowship. Was I really seeing that anomaly on ultrasound? I always had someone to ask. Is this case something I can handle? I always had backup. Am I the worst new father this world has ever seen? I always had someone to reassure me. When you spend the amount of time we spend with each other as physicians, and you share the intense moments we share in our field, lives become intertwined. Roots take hold. And if the key to growth is the number of roots one plants, I feel like an oak.
Hopefully I have been able to give as much as I have received. Not just to my faculty colleagues, but to my residents, fellows and students as well. I know I had my soap box moments, and perhaps carried on a bit more about politics and comic books than most, but I also hope there was some enlightening moments sprinkled in as well. You kept me on my toes, proved me wrong when I needed to be proven wrong and consistently made me proud to be your attending. My future residents and fellows have a lot to live up to. As do I. Please know that you should never hesitate to contact me, whether it be a clinical question, job-related question or if you happen to be in town one day. I love being a tour guide. And always remember, magnesium sulfate is NOT a tocolytic.
Beyond the four walls of the hospital, I am going to miss the network of friends I could rely on to tolerate my attempts at Texas barbeques, humor me by seeing the latest superhero movie, or setting up playdates, whether they be for dogs or babies or grown adults. Besides Regina (and eventually Violet, too), the most consistent presence in my life outside of work was my softball team, No Glove No Love. We started off as a free agent team, and then every week, all year round, with very few interruptions and a great core surrounded by a rotating cast of characters, we played our hearts out and left it all out the field. Essentially, we pulled a lot of muscles, drank cheap beer, laughed a ton, and won more than we lost, with a few championships sprinkled in for good measure. I have been blessed to see relationships start, engagements happen, marriages take place and children be born, while at the same time receiving the same kind of love and support as our own family grew. Violet may be too young to remember much of Houston when all is said and done, but I’m hoping she will be constantly reminded as our paths keep crossing with everyone we’ve met during our time here.
Okay, this is getting way too long. I left awkward behind about three paragraphs ago and am now in the realm of overstaying my welcome.
Instead of good-bye, I’ll just say “see you later.” Over the next nine months, I’ll be back-and-forth between Houston and San Diego, so you’re not completely rid of me just yet. And even after September, between traveling for work and life events, texting, Facebook, Instagram, GroupMe, random chance, carrier pigeons and even (gasp!) the telephone, there is no shortage of opportunities to keep up with everyone. Lord knows, most people, including my own family, have watched Violet grow through social media more than they have in person. Why change now? Though I can’t guarantee how long that will last once she gets into her dad-stop-taking-pictures-of-me-and-posting-them-on-your-stupid-old-antiquated-Facebook-page phase. I shudder to think.
Though, even then, you know I’ll keep bothering her.
Stay tuned…and see you later,
Jerry.
