Sara Teichholtz is a second year medical student at Charles E.Schmidt School of Medicine, Boca Raton, Florida who periodically guest posts for TDWI. She has written an ode to her Mom in honor or her birthday, originally posted on Teich Does Medicine on 12/6/2012. With both of their permissions, we share this charming piece with you. Pat
by Sara Teichholz
I know that many people say this about their parents, but I am absolutely certain that you are the best mother in the world. Actually, I’m pretty convinced that you’re superwoman, but that’s getting ahead of myself.
The other day, as I was going about my make-up routine (Step 1: apply mascara. There is no step 2), I realized that even in the tiniest details of my life, I am slowly turning into you. And that this is a very, very good thing.
From the very beginning, you have done everything in your power to make sure I had the absolute best. Not only did you make sure I was born at the Brigham, but you avoided having the July 1st fresh-out-of-med-school interns take care of me by bringing me into this world at 11:30pm on June 30.
Seventeen months after I was born, you were interviewing to get into veterinary school while 8 months pregnant. Eighteen months after I was born, you were back at the Brigham to let me pick out a baby sister – Paulababy joins the party. And then, with two children under the age of two, you began veterinary school. Seeing as how I can barely keep tabs on myself while going through medical school, this feat is definitive proof of your mystical powers. Inquiry as to how this was possible goes as follows:
“I read you and Paula my textbooks as bedtime stories.”
“I used funny voices.”
[This either led to my propensity towards anatomy or explains my massive slight hypochondriac tendencies. ]
You are super sly. When you see a gimpy puppy in need of a home, you casually suggest to Pa Teich that you “go see the puppy together,” because you know that Dad can’t turn down any animal.
You love every single critter on this planet. I include myself and your vet students in this category. While reading Anatomy texts to us as bedtime stories was totally normal, “Bambi” was out of the question because it made you too sad. Any baby animal in need somehow ended up being raised on our porch, on our bathroom counter, or in a bucket next to your bed.
Being an Anatomy professor/super fancy fertility specialist/goat wrangler by day and mother of two demanding angelic daughters/the world’s animals at night still left you with several nagging seconds of spare time each day though. So on the side you’ve headed up the oboe section in several community orchestras.
You’re the definition of hard core. You respond really, really kindly to my e mails (yes, plural) with the subject “I think I’m dying.” Your nonchalance to my obvious imminent terminal state is a little less reassuring given how you calmly drove yourself to the hospital mid acute-cholecystitis, calling dad from the ER as an afterthought. Coming home from the hospital, “healing from surgery” was merely a nuisance that kept you from work–your real concern was wanting to wash your hair.
From you, I have inherited a love of science, a desire to help those around me, a love of sushi, and the need to sleep with my feet in a really specific position. From you, I’ve learned how to play music, how to bake (although I will admittedly never be on your level), and how to neuter pet kittens on the kitchen table.
You raised me to be strong, but you carried me during times of weakness. Some day, I hope to find that I’ve inherited some of your magic powers.
So today, I hope that you are celebrating your birthday with one of your beautiful baking creations:
Because, uh, our PBL case today was about fertility, so I’m definitely going to be asking you about FSH/LH levels during our birthday phone conversation.
I know I speak for my entire readership when I say
LOVE YOU MOM!