David R. Saunders, M.D.

Note from Ron Cape

2008-02-18T19:45:00.000-08:00

Saturday, February 16, 2008

I knew and loved David from high school through four years at Princeton and although Seattle and San Francisco are not close, we kept in touch through the past 40 years with visits and phone calls.

I'm terribly sorry that today finds me in Boston whereas I would very much like to be in Seattle sharing experiences with Donna and the family and the extended family many of whom have opened their hearts and expressed so meaningfully how much David meant to so many people.

We will all miss him and appreciate the wonderful memories that he left with us.

Ron Cape

From a Shirt Tail Relative - Jeanne Mielcarek

2008-02-18T17:51:00.000-08:00

From a "SHIRT TAIL RELATIVE" (Aunt Jeanne, Auntie to Polly Campbell Saunders whose Husband is Richard Saunders, whose Father was David Saunders, and whose Beautiful and Talented Mother, Donna, is a Soul Mate of Mine. My late husband Eugene (Mielcarek) and all the branches on our family tree love and adore all the Saunders - their tree, branches, and even all the little twigs. Life was at its best when all our lives began a fortunate entanglement at the wedding of Polly and Richard)

My heart goes out to all the Saunders family and all those fortunate folks who miss their special friend and and will always hold him in their hearts, recognizing that David's family (both biological and extended) was given a unique spiritual gift so precious and life fulfilling. We are all personally diminished by losing such a good, honorable, productive and sensitive human being who has been shown to have dealt with life in a thoughtful and exemplary way. I do not know the source or the wellspring for his compassionate actions, but I feel sure it was a natural response to a desire to serve his fellow men and women, making this world a better place with more justice and fulfillment for all people. It all ended too abruptly. And I can only imagine his disappointment in not living long enough to see many of his dreams flower and come to fruition.

Perhaps we can internalize our own yearnings awakened by his example and be persuaded to rededicate our own personal journies to help further his lofty goals.

My love to all of David's family, both extended and biologic. May we have learned a lot about living and follow his model.

Jeanne Mielcarek

To My Papa David - From Jane Saunders

2008-02-18T17:50:00.000-08:00

For my Papa David.
February 27th 1933 – January 22nd 2008.
You are loved.

A little girl sitting on his lap,
Tickling, and squiggling trying to get out of his trap.
The house was full of the grandchildren’s constant laugh.
I still remember feeling protected sitting on that chair,
Upon my Papa’s lap because he was there.
And as we all grew older you remained the same,
Still the man who’s piano playing would put us all to shame,
Still the man with the silly jokes, that always managed to make me smile.
The man we thought would be here for a while.
Until the day, you started to fade away.
And only your heart was what was left to stay.
I’ve memorized your tone, the way you’d talk,
And how you’d answer the phone.
It was my papa, always so proud.
I remember when Nana said that night, “It’s okay David you can catch that cloud.”
And whatever caused it I cannot forgive
Because it took so much life, you had left to live.
And even though it’s different now,
Your still here with me somehow.
But just because you won’t be there on my wedding day,
Or when I graduate, I’d have to say,
That you’ve taught me enough to grow,
And papa I want you to know,
That you’ll be there with me in my heart,
And I love you so.

Fond Memories of Dave from Don Ostrow

2008-02-11T12:43:00.000-08:00

Having been at the UW only since 1999, I have known Dave for less time than most of those attending the celebration of his life. Nonetheless, I developed a closer relationship with him than with any colleagues at my many prior institutions, partly because we shared two major passions, teaching and wildlife. During those 10 years, I worked closely with Dave, annually updating the hepato-biliary chapters in the Gut Course syllabus and leading one of the student seminar groups. The Gut Course was his pet project and the one for which he is justifiably best known. We also collaborated on a Seattle Audubon project when I was Membership Chair for that group. In both areas, Dave was the master and I the acolyte, due to his breadth of knowledge, his zeal for learning and teaching, his creativity, and his insightful questions.

Dave was a joy to know and work with, the model of a true gentleman. He was open to new suggestions, gentle but incisive when criticizing, and always “gilded the philosophic pill” with his warm humor. He radiated an infectious enthusiasm for all he did, and this was a major factor in his effectiveness and popularity as a teacher and colleague. I thought I was a really good teacher until Dave’s superior skills honed and further advanced my own.

We also shared a third interest, choral music. Dave and Donna always attended the concerts given by the Sacred Music Chorale, the choral group of which I am managing director. Annually, I joined with Dave, Chuck Pope, and Cy Rubin, in the “old GI geezers quartet”, to sing the witty, whimsical ditties Dave wrote for our GI Division parties and the final class session of each year’s Gut Course. The students ate them up, even though our harmony left something to be desired.

We all knew the outlook was grim when Dave’s upbeat attitude gave way to justifiable pessimism toward the end of his final illness. Sadly, Dave suffered a long, slow decline, with all systems ultimately failing except for his wonderful sense of humor. In his time of trial, Donna’s love and nursing skills, and the support of his four sons and their families, helped him to depart with his customary grace. There is a lot of love in the Saunders family.

It is difficult to accept the emptiness in the mezzanine office cubicle next to mine. We of the GI Division are fortunate to have Mike, his son and clone, as a living reminder of his beloved dad. We shall all miss Dave, but none more so than Donna, I am sure. May God bless her and the rest of the family.

J. Donald (Don) Ostrow
Affiliate Professor of Medicine
UW GI/Hepatology Division

A Tribute from Mamie Bolender, fellow bird lover and steward

2008-02-08T07:52:00.000-08:00

A tribute to Dr. David Saunders,

It is with deep sadness that we say "good-by" to a good and gentle friend—a dedicated servant of mankind, who made this world a much better place.

On the other hand, it is a joy to celebrate the life of such a person who was dedicated to family, to the natural world, and to an outstanding career. He set sterling examples of how to live life well.

As a member of the Lake Forest Park Birders' Group, David took upon himself the task of notifying each of us of the monthly outings. His message usually read "Jan, (our leader and master birder from the Audubon Society) will meet her "flock" at Great Harvest Bakery at 9 AM..." on the given Sunday morning. He would carry his wonderful birding scope to each outing and set it so each of us could view the colorful merganser or Cooper's hawk or any bird which would remain in one place long enough for each to see, and we'd enjoy the clear view.

David's dedication to conservation was genuine and was evident in his faithful participation in LFP Stewardship Foundation work parties at stream restorations and at Grace Cole Nature Park. His good humor never wavered even on those occasions which he referred to as "bait and switch" operations, which were publicized as planting parties, but turned out to be cutting and digging blackberries...again!! Sometimes a grandson would accompany him to these work parties and on other occasions three generations of Saunders might appear. His legacy lives in his family.

David staunchly supported the Lake Forest Park Stewardship Foundation's. At each year's fund raiser, the Saunders family occupied an entire table and clearly enjoyed a wonderful evening of companionship and generous bidding. Thank you, Saunders family, for your steadfast support.

Soft-spoken and understated as he was, we knew little of his celebrated career as faculty member and chair of the gastroenterology at the UW Medical School. He did advocate adamantly, though, that all should have regular colonoscopies. He'd be pleased if all who read this took that advice to heart.

It has been a great privilege and inspiration to have shared a small part of David's life. The Lake Forest Park Birders and the Board of Directors of the Lake Forest Park Stewardship Foundation join me in paying tribute to a good, a gracious and a generous man.

Mamie Bolender, fellow bird lover and steward.
LFP Birders and LFP Stewardship Foundation

Memories from Derek Netelenbos

2008-02-05T21:58:00.000-08:00

For someone who would not entertain solicitations for charity over the phone, Dr. Saunders was one of the most generous people I ever had the pleasure to know. As others have written, it is very difficult to articulate the magic that was created at the Saunders’ home as we were growing up and I consider myself very privileged to have been part of it all.

As a father of four now, I can truly appreciate how gracious and patient Dr. and Mrs. Saunders were with all of the chaos created at their home, especially during times that would normally be reserved for immediate family – meals, family outings, weekends and the like.

I have so many great memories of my childhood with the Saunders Family but the ones that come immediately to mind that specifically include Dr. Saunders are…

- My first hike to the Mount Rainier region with Boz, his Dad and the mystery girls from England; who were they? I recall Jay had a crush on one or maybe both of them. I hope to return with my kids.

- My first, and hopefully only, upper GI. I hope never to return by myself or with my kids.

- Dr. Saunders loading the dishwasher after dinner. I’m not sure if this occurred every night, but it made enough of an impact on me that I assumed it did…and rightfully so because Mrs. Saunders’ gourmet meals were worth that and more.

- Dr. Saunders tending to an ingrown toe nail I had as a kid by shimming some tissue under the nail with the care and diligence as if he were giving me that damn upper GI.

- His bicycle commute. Yes he rode a bike to the UW and was ahead of his time in doing so, but the bike he rode was also ahead of its time…the predecessor to the modern-day mountain bike; a modified ten/twelve speed with straight handles bars.

- Safety. If the AAA ever needed a spokesperson, Dr. Saunders was the person for the job. Five-point harnesses, 36” rearview mirrors and backup warning signals all in a standard passenger vehicle.

- The fact that he didn’t even raise his voice when Boz “accidently” stabbed Mike in the hand with a pencil. And yes, the lead broke off in Mike’s hand and I had the pleasure of witnessing an impromptu surgery. If he had a temper I would have expected to see it that day.

- His nickname for Brian – B-Bones and the way he would always say it; short “B” and a long extended “Booooones”. Also the fact that he frequently said it randomly or when Boz was upset about something as to almost taunt Brian or at least let him know that whining about a bad Subbuteo call was not worth throwing a fit over.

- His ability to block out the banter and yelling of a dozen boys behind his illuminated reading glass sitting in his comfy chair adjacent to the fire. Maybe he was taking it all in.

I am glad I was able to see Dr. Saunders one last time at Boz’s 40th this past December. Even in his declining health he was quick with several jokes and was keenly interested in receiving an update on my family and me.

Thanks you so much Dr. and Mrs. Saunders for sharing your sons with the “Wayward Boys” and making your home such a welcome place for boys to be boys.

Derek Netelenbos

David Saunders: Doctor, poet, musician and lover of nature (Seattle Times)

2008-02-05T13:00:00.000-08:00

Here is a link to Dad's obituary in today's Seattle Times. Many thanks to Seattle Times staff reporter, Sanjay Bhatt, for his sincere and genuine work.

"David Saunders: Doctor, poet, musician and lover of nature"

Updated Letter from Doug Levine

2008-02-04T17:41:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2007

Dear David and Donna,

After getting some news from Chris Surawicz in late Fall, I learned a bit more from Patty Blount when she called me two nights ago. This prompted a call to Cy Rubin today, and somehow I was able to also contact your very busy son, Michael. I’m sure I don’t have a complete picture, but it is enough to know the past many months have been very hard for you. For this Barb and I are deeply sorry.

I wanted to reach out with this note. I expect family, friends, and colleagues in the Seattle area have been giving their best wishes to you both. But I wanted you to know for those of us living more than a day’s drive away from the Pacific Northwest, like Barb and me, the feelings are no different. You are in our thoughts and prayers.

When Barb and I first moved to Seattle, upon my starting the GI Fellowship in 1982, we had been married for less than a year. The move took us away (far away) from family in the Northeast for the first time in our lives. And so, when we were invited to your home, as part of what was a tradition of welcoming first-year fellows with a warm, family-like social occasion with the more seasoned trainees and faculty, the stress of a challenging geographic move was greatly lessened. Barb and I were so appreciative of this, and of the atmosphere you, David, helped create and sustain in the UW GI Division in forging a collegiality that is unfortunately rare in the medical academic setting and other workplaces. Seattle and the University of Washington ultimately became home, and together with so many people are very much missed.

I need for you to know how thankful I am for the experience I was lucky enough to have in Seattle, as a trainee, faculty member, and bicyclist. I know I’ve consciously tried to adopt best practices from my teachers, mentors, and colleagues. I am certain that the way I approach my current job role has a lot to do with the discipline you promoted - the care in history-taking with patients and the rigor in experimental design. It is hard not to want to emulate intentions of kindness, which seemed at the core of your being. If ever there was a time and demand for humanitarianism in Medicine, it is now. I’m grateful for how you modeled humanity - it was something I noticed, and learned to less self-consciously embrace.

But David, how you could make us all laugh! Whether on rounds, in meetings, over lunch, and in GUT course faculty prep sessions. And how this so complemented an insistence on quality and excellence by providing a humorous perspective when other faculty might just get burdensome with strict, solemn demands. And what was great was your demeanor, obviously professional but also a bit sly, which invited like behavior – in moderation, of course – that was nicely OK with you. I recall I was just “promoted” to a 3rd year of Fellowship at a time when it seemed, to me at least, that 2 years was the usual deal. You were leading a clinical discussion, and introduced a case history – not as “This 72-year-old man” or “This 72-year-old male” presenting with some symptomatic complaint – but as “This 72-year-old fellow ….” And there was something in your eye that made me exclaim, “So just how long is this GI fellowship?”

Moving on to your supervision of trainees during endoscopy, do you recall a patient with the rather memorable name of V.B.? Well, I do. You were overseeing my performance of a flexible sigmoidoscopy and the requisite rectal biopsies. Having successfully executed the acquisition of the first biopsy, I, in my infinite wisdom supported by 1 or so years of extensive GI fellowship experience, announced to the patient that I was about to take the second biopsy. Mr. B. responded weakly, “You, you already took a biopsy???” Whereupon he, despite his horizontally oriented bearing on the procedural table, promptly fainted and had a seizure. I, of course, in my infinite wisdom supported by 1 or so years of extensive GI fellowship experience, dutifully froze while you went into action. I am, as I’m sure Mr. B. would be, eternally grateful for your institution of human restraint – not only in keeping him from falling off the table but in resisting the urge emanating from every fiber in your being to politely and gently (and, undoubtedly comically) chastise me for my unnecessary babbling with Mr. B.

Bicycles. Beloved bicycles! In the late 1980s, Barb and I were cycling on North Seattle neighborhood streets when I tried to “hop” a ledge between the street and a driveway in order to get onto the sidewalk. Unfortunately, my front wheel “bit” in the crevice between street and sidewalk, causing the bicycle to continue straight away down the street and me to catapult off onto the concrete. Barb, who was behind me, could only see me with my head bouncing several times on the pavement before finally stopping. Actually, it wasn’t my head, but my helmet on my head that was doing the bouncing. I was up and about from the fall immediately, neurologically intact, and mainly concerned about the gravel embedded in my elbows and Barb’s shaking after observing the severity of the fall.

Why do I tell you this? Well, in the summer of 1982, when I learned I lived near the Burke-Gilman Trail, there was a rather novel pro-bicycle culture in Seattle, and my much respected Chief of the GI Division pretty much bicycled to work every day, I started doing the same. One day, you, David, asked about whether I wore a bicycle helmet. I can’t recall if my negative response reflected Boston-area bravado or banal sheepishness (neither Barb nor I ever wore helmets when we cycled back East), but what I recall is that you made a rather compelling case for wearing proper headgear. I think you may have lent me a helmet until I could purchase one – which Barb and I both did do soon thereafter. And we have NEVER mounted a bicycle without helmets strapped on since that time. Fortunately, neither of us has sustained another fall like the one I took in Seattle (not counting a few episodes of “keeling over” at intersections when I can’t disengage my toe clips in time). But whatever brains I have left to make what I understand to be reasonably valued intellectual contributions at work are in large measure attributable to your support of wise preventive practice and its enforcement with me. No joke. And thank you.

From what I understand, your health circumstances are certainly no joke. But I hope you can draw strength not only from the love of those who surround you, but from your own sense of humor, your own brand of cunning wit. I pray you will be the beneficiary of better luck and again have the chance to feel much, much better in the very near future. Good luck. Godspeed.

Sincerely yours,

Doug

Doug Levine

Commencement Address, 2001

2008-02-04T11:35:00.000-08:00

nb. This address, given by Dad in June 2001, elegantly expresses his love of life, poetry and reading. His words about love, duty and family are inspiring in their simplicity, and bear a portent of his own passing (and I've a sneaking suspicion some of his words may reappear at the memorial celebration). J.

Commencement Address to the University of Washington

Medical School, June 2, 2001

Dr. David R. Saunders

I am truly delighted to be with you today, to share this auspicious moment in your careers. Thank you for inviting me to be your commencement speaker.

In truth, I am very lucky to be here! In early March, Dr Ramsey called me at home where our telephone, equipped with a US West recorded message, admonished him that he had reached a number that did not accept solicitations. Would he please hang up if he was soliciting. Dr Ramsey mulled this request over, and concluded that he was inviting rather than soliciting me to give this address. Such decision-making explains why Dr Ramsey is our Dean, and why I am standing anxiously before you today.

I am anxious because I am comparing this address with those given in the past three years when I marveled at the wisdom and wit of speakers John Sheffield, Erika Goldstein, and David Byrd on this very occasion. They have been your mentors, and they are my cherished colleagues. I cannot emulate them, so I propose merely to discuss Love, Honor, Death, and the Meaning of Life in the two hours that Dean Ramsey has allotted me. These themes can only be covered through the medium of Art. I cannot sing, as this class well knows. So I have chosen the medium of Poetry to give insights into these themes. Please don’t be dismayed. I am not about to burden you with my unworthy words. Our text will be Americans’ Favorite Poems, an anthology compiled by Robert Pinsky, his special undertaking when he was our poet laureate. The two hundred poems in this anthology were chosen from the letters of thousands of Americans who wrote to Robert Pinsky about their reasons for nominating a favorite poem.

Let’s digress for a moment to enter a plea for poetry. In a life of haste and striving, it is often difficult to find time for novels, museums, or concert halls. But, in a leisure moment, a poet’s words can startle you into sudden wondering. A single shivering flash of insight or of beauty can be arresting, and turn anxiousness to daydreams of gold. Also the enduring wisdom in many poems can comfort you and others in times of uncertainty or of crisis.

How can we describe Love? Many of its attributes are ineffable, but important characteristics include devotion, and selflessness. I have seen such love most miraculously in the mother with her newborn child: my wife, Donna, with our four sons, and my daughters-in-law with our grandchildren. The Canadian poet, Margaret Atwood, captures the awe, and the selflessness of maternal love:

“---I would like to enter
Your sleep as its smooth dark wave
Slides over my head
And go with you through that lucent
Wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
With its watery sun and three moons---

I would like to give you the silver
Branch, the small white flower, the one
Word that will protect you--

I would like to be the air
That inhabits you for a moment.
I would like to be that unnoticed
And that necessary.”

May you be loved, and be able to love like that.

We physicians are fortunate in having lives which are always challenging, and educational. The acuity and enthusiasm of our learning is often heightened by manageable stress. But there will be days when you will feel that you have striven cheerlessly in a mood of desperation. If you find that you are –

“—lost in a sea of trouble,
Rise, save yourself from the whirlpool—
Courage exposes ambushes.
Steadfastness thwarts enemies.
Keep your victories hidden.
Do not sulk over defeat.
Accept good. Reject evil.
Learn the rhythm which binds humankind.”

These words come to us from Archilochos who wrote them in seventh century Greece before our common era.

In a preface to one of his poems, William Wordsworth wrote:

“The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each in natural piety.”

Society, and especially we physicians, will be challenged to maintain a natural piety among generations as an increasing number of elderly people seek care, and guidance, and as issues such as assisted suicide are debated.

My family learned much about love and forbearance from my father who died nearly six years ago in my brother’s home in Victoria, British Columbia.

I remember him as possessing great physical strength for most of his life, and remarkable intellectual prowess for all of his life. He claimed that the mind needed exercising to avoid mental deterioration so he memorized a stanza of verse nearly every day of his last ten years of life.

He would have approved the inclusion of “Ulysses” among Americans’ Favorite Poems, not only because Tennyson was one of his favorite poets, but because one of his mantras was:

“—all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move----

---for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die---

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

In his last months, we ministered to his physical needs, and comforted him with music, conversation, and reading. He was visited by his family doctor at least every fortnight, often for long conversations about cabbages and kings. How important hope was in these months! At first, he had hope for recovery from his afflictions, for revelling in the renewal of another Spring, and then, at the time of dying, he had hope for a peace which transcends earthly understanding. Emily Dickinson realized that

“ Hope is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops-at all-“

Your patients, your friends, and family will need you to give them such hope especially when they have decided that it is time to die. That hope may be for a heavenly paradise, or for a union with Nature, as in the Mansion described by poet Ammons:

“ So it came time for me to cede myself
and I chose the wind
to be delivered to.

The wind was glad and said that it needed all the body
It could get to show its motions with
And wanted to know
Willingly as I hoped it would
If it could do something in return
To show its gratitude.

When the tree of my bones rises from the skin I said
Come and whirlwinding
Stroll my dust around the plain
So that I can see how the ocotillo does
And how saguaro-wren is
And when you fall with evening
Fall with me here where we can watch
The closing up of day and think how morning breaks.”

Dad lived to see his grandchildren and two great grandchildren. Great granddaughter Meghan was at first perplexed by having two grandfather Saunders. I was called “Papa”, so she announced that she would call senior Saunders “Great Papa”. At the memorial service for Great Papa, she dissipated the gloom of a dirge-like Welsh hymn, as she told the mourners that “ I don’t know that song”.

Although Great Papa is dead, he is remembered by an extended family—that’s true long life. I urge you to devote your love, and energy to your families so that you too can have a true long life. So quickly it’s over.

An appreciation of life can be discovered in a poem by Ted Hughes who was a poet laureate of England.He chose the life of the salmon as a metaphor for our human condition. Let us hope that our northwest salmon survive so that future generations can appreciate this metaphor:

“He’s lying in poor water, a yard or so depth of poor safety,
Maybe only two feet under the no-protection of an outleaning small oak,
Half under a tangle of brambles.

After his two thousand miles, he rests,
Breathing in that lap of easy current
In his graveyard pool.

About six pounds weight,
Four years old at most, and a bare winter at sea-
But already a veteran,
Already a death-patched hero. So quickly its over.

So briefly he roamed the gallery of marvels!
Such sweet months, so richly embroidered into earth’s beauty dress,
Her life robe-
Now worn out with her tirelessness, her insatiable quest,
Hangs in the flow, a frayed scarf-

-- the sea-going Aurora Borealis of his April power-
The primrose and violet of that first upfling in the estuary-
Ripened to muddy dregs,
The river reclaiming his sea-metals.
In the October light
He hangs there, patched with leper-cloths.

All this, too, is stitched into the torn richness,
The epic poise
That holds him so steady in his wounds, ---- so patient
In the machinery of heaven.

On this joyous occasion, I urge you to revel in the gallery of life’s marvels, and to learn to be patient in the machinery of heaven. I wish you well in the coming clinical years. There is no better life that that of a physician with a life-robe of science, knowledge, humanity, and teaching. Be zestful and curious. Love yourself, and your family and colleagues. God bless

Email from Jane Saunders

2008-02-04T11:21:00.000-08:00

From: janie
Sent: Thursday, January 24, 2008 6:58 PM
To: david@thesaunders.net
Subject: RE: Saturday evening

Papa! I love you so much, and I just want you to know that. And just because you are gone doesn't mean I'll forget about you...because you'll always be in my heart. =] I'm glad that your not sick anymore and in a better place. You are loved Papa.

-Janie

A Letter from Harvey Sigman

2008-02-04T09:10:00.000-08:00

Dear Donna, John and the Saunders Family

Maxine and I were so sad when we heard of David's passing. When I spoke to him a couple of weeks ago he sounded frail but I hoped that there would be a turn around for the better. David and I go back to 1953 when we both entered Medical School and we quickly became close friends. I had known Amos long before because he was a revered teacher at Baron Byng High School. David inherited many of his Dad's characteristics - his humor, his sensitivity, his keen mind. I spent many evenings at the Saunders home on Harvard Ave. David introduced me to his favourite musical group, the Kingston Trio. David and Donna spent two years in England at the Royal Free and Maxine and I were there at Hammersmith during their second year. On our arrival, David invited us up to their flat to taste some good French wines since he said that we could get a better price if we shared a case. We had some wonderful wines which then cost about $2.00 each. The memorable part of the evening and I retell this story at least once a year was as follows: Donna served several cheeses, one consisted of a firm cheese covered by a rind made of grape pits. I was a neophyte as a cheese gourmet, my only cheese experience being Kraft processed Velveeta. Faced with this cheese and wanting to appear as one of the English Gentry, I ate the cheese with the rind since I had once read that one is supposed to eat the rind. I soon had a mouth full of grape pits because there was no way I could swallow them. I hid them in my cheek pouch until David remarked "You eat the rind?" I responded "You don't ?". "Never" said he. I rushed to the lou where I evacuated a mouth load.

I always had a close relationship with David's folks, medically and otherwise and was often in contact with David particularly as they were becoming more frail. Amos would send me letters of appreciationa nd greeting that were written in the most beautiful prose, quoting from Emerson and others. I would read his letters to my children at the dinner table. I can recall calling David when the RVH was looking for a replacement for John Beck as Chief of Medicine. I said "David you would be great for this position, why don't you put your name forward". David said " There would be only two reasons why one would want to leave Seattle - one, more money and two, more rank. Neither interests me. I can leave my office and go fishing or hiking". I could understand that well.

He always told me how proud he was of his children and their accomplishments. My sympathies to you Donna, John and all the children and grandchildren. May you draw strength in this difficult time from the knowledge of how fortunate we have all been to have been touched by such a wonderful person.

Harvey

Dad - The Last Six Months

2008-02-04T08:06:00.000-08:00

Dad died last Tuesday, January 22nd, at about 10pm. Dad was surrounded by his entire family and literally took his last, labored breath in his home as his grandkids read to him—reading their favorite children’s stories that Papa used to read to them when they were small. It was a unique and beautiful event.

I’ve included my description of Dad’s decline over the last six months. It’s fairly long and I apologize. I guess I wrote it more for myself but thought that it would provide background for people to understand how things ended for him and us.

Richard
______________________

The last six months have been an amazing downward spiral for Dad. To the family it still doesn’t seem real. Looking back on it his decline was steady and fast with the occasional plateau of recovery that brought hope but was usually short lived. Halted by a worsened condition or infection. I have said over and over “He never caught a break” in this whole affair. However, he received wonderful care from the institution where he had spent the last 40 years of his life researching, practicing, and teaching medicine. And if there is a positive to take out of this for me, it is that the amount of family togetherness and support through all of this has been marvelous. It has made us a stronger family and brought us all closer. Of that Dad would be very proud.

Up until July last year Dad had been a pretty healthy seventy four year old. Active and mobile, although definitely beginning to experience his age. In July Dad began to experience discomfort in his gut. Tests results and symptoms let to a self diagnosis of drug induced hepatitis. He stopped taking some medicines he was on and his liver tests actually showed some improvement. This would later be recognized as a false sign of recovery. Dad’s condition continued to decline. He became weaker and weaker and began retaining a lot of fluid in his stomach and legs. He underwent treatment for those symptoms. By mid-September Mom had to use a wheel chair to get Dad to his appointments. As his condition continued to decline without clear explanation, a liver biopsy was done in late September. It revealed non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Cancer in an advanced state. Given Dad’s strong organs and the fact that large cell lymphoma is quite treatable doctors recommended that Dad immediately be hospitalized, stabilized, and start chemotherapy. I remember we felt shocked by the discovery of cancer but relieved in a way that a definite course of action could now be taken.

After two and a half rounds of chemotherapy tests revealed that the cancer was in remission. Dad’s liver had shrunk dramatically in size. His physical state however continued to deteriorate. Dad continued to get wonderful care from staff at the UW and Mike continued to work extremely closely and put in much extra time and consultation with the team of doctors. Mike probably experienced more direct daily stress and pressure. He was a constant presence, monitoring all tests and results. Being with Dad in the hospital and at home (which must have put a stress on home life). He was extraordinary.

A month after stopping chemo Dad could no longer stand on his own. Just as tragic he no longer had the amenities to read, his appetite was gone, and he had become quite depressed. Humor emerged from him from time to time but it had to be mustered.

With Jay home it was nice to have all Dad’s sons around him. Dad returned to the hospital about a week before Christmas. He was weaker and his mental condition was poor. He was treated for a blood infection no doubt brought on by his weakened immune system and poor general health. Dad’s brother John and Vicky came down from Vancouver Island to visit Dad in the hospital.

Returning home after several days in the hospital mentally he was better but his system had received another huge blow. At home for Christmas he spent most of this time in his bed. He was not happy and seemed only to want to rest. He had began to rebel against Mom’s attempts to care and motivate him to recovery. His poor appetite meant that he was not getting enough nourishment. Emotionally things had really begun to take their toll on Mom, who despite all this continued to be up, positive, and worked tirelessly, often at all hours, to care for Dad and make him well.

Friday December 28th we had to take Dad back into the hospital. He had a bad cough, a fever, did not wish to get out of bed, and his mental state and temperament had become very agitated. In the hospital he was diagnosed with pneumonia and once more given a round of antibiotics. His system had taken another hit. After several days of antibiotics, mentally he was lucid but his voice was weak and he struggled to get out sentences and it was difficult to understand him.

On Saturday Mike helped arrange a meeting with Dad’s oncologist at the Cancer Care Alliance, Dr. Petersdorf. Mom, we four sons, Polly and Ellyn were on hand and Dr. Petersdorf facilitated a discussion of what was to happen next and what the family wanted to do. Dad’s cancer was in remission. The chemotherapy had done its job. But his body was in steady decline and not recovering. We discussed home care. We concluded that Dad wanted to be home, comfortable, but that we were not giving up the fight. To this Dad agreed although not emphatically. Mom would begin working with the social worker to coordinate care from home, although officially we were not at the state of hospice. What the meeting had achieved was an understanding amongst the whole family, for the first time, that we may be entering the final stretch. I think up until this point not all of us were able to believe that Dad might actually not recover.

The next morning, Sunday, December 30th, Dad called Mom, Mike, Jay, Brian and I from the hospital to inform us that he was done. He wanted us all to come in so that we could start the process of removing him from medicines and care sustaining his life. Dad said to bring him a gin and tonic with extra lime and some good wine to enjoy. He said he wanted his memorial service to be a festive gathering with music and lots of wine. Nothing somber.

The four of us canceled our plans for a day in the snow on Snoqualmie with friends and headed into University Hospital. Upon arrival we learned that Dr. Petersdorf and the nurse, Linda, had convinced Dad that dying in the hospital at this point was not right. That the family needed to have time and a chance to care for him at home. It was amazing to us that they had been able to change his mind so quickly. We were relieved. Dad spent New Years in the hospital. The adults all visited him and Mom after dining out and brought in the family 2007 New Years Video for him to view from his bed.

Dad returned home several days later. The hospital bed, oxygen machines, IVs, and equipment had been set up in the small sun room where he could view the front yard. We set up bird feeders all around the windows. Jay left to return to Kansas on January 7th.

The next several weeks are already becoming a bit of a blur. Although receiving lots of help Mom continued to provide most of the care for Dad. We had a care giver that would come and stay all night with Dad and eventually had one there during the day. There was a fairly regular schedule of nurses, social workers, insurance staff, and well wishers. Mike, Brian, and I scheduled things so that we had someone there for dinner each night and often during hours of the day. Dad got to the point where it took 2 strong adults to get him out of bed to use the toilet or go to the dining room. He began to make that trip just once a day in the evening. His appetite was poor.

Dad’s condition worsened again when he came down with another infection the week before the MLK weekend. At this point to hear him you had to put your ear up to his mouth. His appetite had shrunk more. And once again this culminated in a fever and agitated temperament. He had deteriorated to the point that had Mom very depressed. It was during this time that Mom said one night she did not believe Dad was going to recover. The first time I had heard her say this.

Jay got home again for the MLK weekend. During the week prior Dad seemed to have an upturn after Mike had worked with nurses and doctors to get a blood test and administer another round of antibiotics. The antibiotics were stopped and as the weekend progressed Dad’s condition again worsened. On Sunday evening all four sons gathered in Dad’s room and sang songs until late in the night. Mom joined us.

Jay left Monday. On Monday night Dad’s condition was so poor that we all gathered at the house and called Jay. We decided that we were not going to give Dad anything except medicine to keep him comfortable. He was receiving small doses of morphine and another medicine to keep him comfortable. Jay planned to return on Thursday. Spending almost all his time in bed his body constantly twitched and his eyes moved. He could still understand and hear from what we could determine but communication was very hard for him. Sitting with him and squeezing his hand did not seem to get a response.

On Tuesday, John and Vicky had arrived. They had been calling and checking in on Dad and the family almost every day since Dad's diagnosis. Mom had told them to come. That evening as Evan and I finished at his soccer practice Polly appeared at the field telling us that we needed to get to Dad right away. His breathing had changed and Mike didn’t think he had much more time. Evan and I arrived at the house and all the family was present. Brother, sons, daughter-in-laws, grandkids, dogs. We all spent time sitting in Dad’s room by his bed. His breathing was slow and labored. His eyes were shut and he still had the oxygen tube in his nose. Sometime it seemed like 8 – 10 seconds between his breaths. Most adults were out in the dining room as Janie, Meghan, and Evan read to Papa. They read some to their favorite stories aloud to him that he had read to them years ago. And that was how Papa died.

Mike could detect no pulse and he closed Dad’s eyes. It was wonderful to have everyone there to cry with and hug. We got Jay on the phone and all of toasted Dad. We spent what must have been the next two hours sitting with Dad, grandkids and everyone, telling their favorite stories about Papa and Dad. There was humor and joy. It was an amazingly peaceful and pleasant way to see him off.

The staff from the funeral home came to pick Dad up. It must have been around mid-night. I was not prepared for this dramatic experience. Seeing Dad’s body wrapped in a large white plastic bag before being wheeled out the front door was extremely painful. It didn’t seem like the appropriate end. Another intense good-bye.

Many of us stayed the night at Mom’s house. Brian stayed the next couple of nights, too. Jay arrived the next day and a lot of time has been spent with Mom and at the house to provide support and help with the myriad of tasks required to deal with a death.

One remarkable thing to me is that despite Dad’s intense planning and desire to not fall into a debilitated state in the end things happened so quickly he had no time to pull out of it. We all agree that he declined way beyond a state that he would have been content with. He did not want to be a burden or have that be his legacy. Ironically he was probably in the best state to go when he called us all in to the hospital. At that point he was still quite lucid and very aware of his state. He fought for us in the end. Talking to Mike last week Dad evidently believed he was doomed months ago. He told Mike one day in the hospital that his biggest goal was being able to leave the family strong and in a state where they could thrive without him. He told Mike that he felt he had done that. We agree although I’ve wondered how we will ever fill his role as leader and guardian of the extended family.

The last week has been a blur. Sad, intense, consuming, and exhausting. Many family gatherings and visits. Details and arrangements. Its hard to think about work but it is piling up. Gathering energy to plan Dad’s celebration is a little difficult, too. So many things remind me of Dad in some way. I wake up at night thinking about him or something related to him. His death still doesn’t seem real.

Through all this though it has been wonderful to have the entire family together and so supportive. That has been an amazing and joyous experience. All the uncles/dads, aunts/wives, and grandkids engaged and together. Kammie, Polly, and Ellyn have been wonderful and strong throughout this whole process. Supporting us, being with Dad, nursing him, and helping Mom with genuine care and love. It has definitely brought us closer and I think Dad would be proud of the energy, community and affection that have been rendered through his passing.
And there was the constant pulse of friends and family to help and remind us that we were not alone in any of this.

I am now thinking about the legacy that Dad has created and what that means to me in my life. I don’t have it all figured out but I intend to have some plan for it. He was not a perfect man but he did recognize his flaws openly—many of them increasingly on display as he aged. He could have a quick, combustible temper (which has been handed down to his sons in various degrees). Dad could be cautious to a fault. “Don’t drive in the middle lane, Rich…This is a dangerous corner… Why drive downtown—you could get in an accident”. It frustrated us sometimes how unadventurous and risk averse he could be. Looking back on it, this affected many aspects of his life. Things like investments, travel, remodels, cars, and relationships just to name a few. I know it affected his work and what type of administrator and leader he was because he told me. He could be very stubborn and, like many I guess, he became more set in his ways the older he became. Ironically, he was an awful patient. We always knew this and we saw some of that in his difficult final months.

On the other hand, he practiced humility and believed strongly in justice and truth. I know that what he instilled in all of his sons was honesty, hard work, and the desire to constantly learn and improve. He affected so many people with his teaching and medical skills which he carried out with kindness and caring—especially to those in any kind of need. And he has inspired in us an appreciation of art and literature and the immense social and gastronomic pleasures of good food and drink. We have gained through him a love and wonderment of nature, and a delight in humor. And perhaps Dad’s (and Mom’s) greatest gift for us is the deep, strong bond that exists between their four sons. I hope we can pass that down to Dad’s grandsons and granddaughters.

Dr. Saunders and Your Family from Tim Yeomans

2008-02-02T12:05:00.000-08:00

Re, Boz, Moin, Nan & Mrs. Saunders

After viewing the wonderful slide show at least eight times and reading the words that have been written by you, Allen, Winne and Dave, it has taken me a bit of time to pull myself together and reflect on the deep connection and importance that your family and your father has for me. The picture that you posted with all of us around the dinner table... all eight, ten or twelve that happened to be present on any given night reminds me of some of the very happiest memories of my life... and after a few moments brings me to tears. Like Allen I always greeted your father as Dr. Saunders yet inside I felt no distance. Without fail he greeted each of us, each day with a wonderful enthusiasm that made me feel as though we were each very special. I can close my eyes and here him say, "It's Winne!", and see Brian break into a big smile as he joined the assembled masses for another wonderful day of games, Subbuteo, irreverent banter, the odd argument about something very important at the moment, and best of all feeling like a part of your family. I used to wake very early nearly every weekend day and watch the clock until it might be a semi-reasonable time to arrive and spend the next nine hours at your house having the most fun, and feeling a sense of deep connection that I find very difficult to explain to those who did not experience those years of my youth. I am certain that there may have been a day that your father and mother might have wished deeply for the din and chaos of our activities to subside just slightly... yet they never gave us any other message than, "you are always welcome... we are glad you are here... and would you like to stay for dinner?" Whether it was Monty Python rolled into the dining room on the TV as we ate, or an endless steam of laughter as we recounted the day's heroics on the Brookside pitch or the Subbuteo table, my memory of your father was one of wit and happiness as he joined in with us to start us all laughing again, or received a collective groan from a "witty pun". I remember him getting up from the table during one of our many meals as the phone rang and answering it, "Saunders home for wayward boys!" I smiled and laughed... and hoped dearly that it not a call for me to return home. I loved every minute that I was part of your family.

Dr. Saunders, your dad and husband, taught me many lessons that I have applied to my work and my life on a daily basis. Belonging to something special that feels much bigger than yourself is a nearly universal desire of people. While I was never as good as your father at greeting someone in a way that they feel as though they are the most important person who might have possibly come through the door, I found that this simple act, done on a daily basis, has been the most effective practice I could have ever put to use. I have had scores of struggling students mention that the school office was the only place where they felt like someone was really happy to see them. It was, and still is, a pleasure for me to tell them about the first time that happened for me, at your house from your dad, and how that made me feel every time I arrived.

A second lesson I learned from your father was to look beyond the immediate impact and see what the long term outcome may be. I have very vivid images of turning my gaze during one of our countless competitions in your front yard, and seeing your father patiently pruning the flowers or Rhododendrons, as we turned the lawn into a beaten mass of fallow earth day after day, and then descended upon your kitchen trailing the dirt and mud. I do not remember anything other than a patient smile and an encouraging word. As I drove by your family home last summer I noticed that the grass grew back and that the yard looks beautiful... I think he knew it would. I think he knew that it was boys, not a lawn, that was growing in that yard. That means a great deal to me now that I have enough life experience to understand it.

The third lesson I learned from your father was that being yourself, in the best way you are able... and doing what is right, in the best way you can... is the real measure of a man. I also remember seeing your dad riding his bike to the UW before anyone else thought about the carbon impact. I remember watching him place his boat in the water at the Civic Club and go for a paddle on the lake. I remember seeing him gently greeting your mom after we and the dogs had once again reduced every common room in the house to a shambles. I learned what it means to be gracious and thankful for the blessing and good fortune that we have received. That family is the greatest of those blessings.

When I saw your father this last summer he was suffering, yet he wanted to know about my family and what was going on with me. I had the very same feeling of caring and belonging that was created so long ago. It made me feel so good to hear my last name said in a way that made me feel like I was the one person that he was waiting to see, knowing always that this is how we all felt.

I will miss you Dr. Saunders... thanks for being "our" dad too.

Tim Yeomans

A slightly irreverent biography…

2008-01-30T14:28:00.000-08:00

Dr. David R. Saunders, Professor Emeritus of Medicine at the University of Washington Medical Center, died 22 January 2008, after waging a short but heroic struggle with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. David bequeaths to his wife, Donna, his four sons, three daughters-in-law, and nine grandchildren his deep love of life, music, poetry, the wonders of nature, and the joy of learning.

Born in 1933 in Montreal, Canada, David was raised in Quebec, spending his Summers at a family cottage on 16 Island Lake. In 1949 he was matriculated by Princeton University. In 1953, despite earlier training as a classical pianist, he elected to enroll in the medical school at the University of McGill, in Montreal. After graduation, he continued to pursue his medical studies, as well as a number of nurses,at the Royal Victoria Hospital, where he served a two year residency, and met his bride-to-be, Donna (though perhaps he was more surprised than she by her assent). In 1960, the two married and moved to England, where David commenced a two-year course of study at the Royal Free Hospital in London, where their first child was hatched. Returning to Montreal in 1963, they welcomed a second child, as they really had no choice by that point. Lured by the intellectual blandishments of friends from his days in England, David brought his young family to Seattle to join the University of Washington Medical Center’s Division of Gastroenterology in 1964 as a GI Fellow. After three years, and two more children, he was appointed an assistant professor of medicine. In 1981, he became Chief of the Division of Gastroenterology, a post which he served in until 1995.

He took sabbaticals in 1972, 1979, and 1989, returning to England to research and study and to expose his family to the delights of European living, the joys of (English) football, and the unalloyed brilliance of Monty Python.

Throughout his tenure at the UofW, David was celebrated by family, friends and colleagues around the world for his kindness and clever wit (he was an inveterate punster who was renowned for droll turns of phrase); he was hailed as a meticulous researcher, a scrupulously ethical physician, a compassionate clinician, and a marvelous mentor and teacher. His contributions were integral to the successful presentation of The Gut Course (Human Biology 551) to UofW medical students for over 33 years. During this time, his thoughtful, caring approach to medicine influenced thousandsof budding medical professionals. He was honored several times by students andfaculty of the U of W Medical School for his outstanding teaching. In 1997 he received the George N. Aagaard award for outstanding teaching. In 2002 he was named an Outstanding Teacher in Perpetuity by the Medical School graduating classes of 1995, 2000, 2001, and 2002. Even after retirement, he continued to teach and to inspire future doctors and other health care professionals with his sympathetic and humanitarian approach to patient care.

He further pursued his love of learning long after relinquishing most of his administrative and teaching responsibilities, participating in Elder Hostel educational trips and taking classes through various institutions. He returned to Europe in 1991 and 1998, touring Germany, France, and Austria. Always an enthusiastic backcountry hiker, he continued to savor the beauties of the Pacific Northwest, hiking and canoeing parts of the Columbia River, Vancouver Island and Murtle Lake in British Columbia. An avid birder, he could often be seen paddling the north end of Lake Washington in his kayak observing the abundant bird life of this picturesque area. To the delight of all, he returned to the piano and shared the beauty of Fauré, Chopin, and others with his family.

A brilliant and erudite man of letters, a critical scientist and compassionate physician,a caring fellow who worked to preserve the natural world and protect public lands; a man of vision, generosity and kindness, David was a wise and munificent father who inspired his family to travel and to learn, sharing with them his awe of nature’s wonders and an appreciation of its mysteries. His eyes sparkled with merriment, and his clever word play was an endless source of fun. He had an ardent vision of health care for all, a pristine environment, top-notch publiceducation, and open democracy and world peace.

Though we will never fill the chasm that has opened in our souls with his departure, we can, as time passes, be thankful every day for his gifts of humor and insight, we can chuckle at some of his foibles, and we can remember him fondly when the rains fall on the forests, and when the chickadees and wrens flit among the trees.

A festive celebration of his life is being planned by the family in lieu of a memorial service. There will be no funeral; David’s family is contemplating scattering his ashes over the waters of Puget Sound, which he loved so. It is hoped that, sleeping with thefishes, his sole will find peace in its final resting plaice.

Gifts in Honor of Dr. Saunders

2008-01-30T11:35:00.000-08:00

It was Dr. Saunders' wish that, in lieu of flowers or gifts, charitable contributions be made to the UW Division of Gastroenterology educational fund. If you would like to make a gift in honor of Dr. Saunders, please make a check payable to the University of Washington Foundation, note "Dr. David R. Saunders" in the memo line of the check (or in a letter), and mail to the contact listed below. Your gift will be used to honor Dr. Saunders' memory and his tremendous contributions, both to the GI Division and to the Gut Course (HuBio 551).

Please visit our website at http://www.uwgi.org/ for more information.

Yours sincerely,

Toan Nguyen, M.D.
Acting Head, GI Division

************************
To mail your gift and/or for more information, please contact:

Carrie Silverman
University of Washington
Division of Gastroenterology
1959 NE Pacific Street Box 356424
Seattle, WA 98195-6424
P: (206) 235-3223 F: (206) 764-2147
carries@medicine.washington.edu

A Note From David. B. Gessner

2008-01-30T11:29:00.000-08:00

Dr. Saunders was an incredible man in every sense of the word. He inspired young and old, family and friends, colleagues and students, with a warming and embracing charm. In short, he brought out the best in people without having to say many words. His devotion to family was ever present, as was his acceptance of so many of us moochers who frequented his place of residence. Dr. Saunders and the entire Saunders bunch had a magnetism that was strong. That’s really rare in today’s neighborhoods and I will cherish those memories always. Like Allen James, Brian Wennerlind and a host of other lads, I called Dr. Saunders a surrogate father. Engaging in conversations was enthralling albeit fruitless if politics were the subject. Nevertheless, a good discussion was something to look forward to on the weekends. And we all became a bit savvier after a good jawing.

Some of my fondest memories of Dr. Saunders span many years. I was asked to be a soccer linesman while Richard manned the other sideline and the big guy was the head referee. It was quite a change from being on the pitch and I think I blew just about every call when the ball went out of bounds, but a great time for sure. Then there was the time I invited myself up to Spada Lake to do some trout fishing with Richard and the expert fly tying Dr. Saunders. Actually, I may have been invited on this outing and the experience of being so in touch with nature was something the Saunders’ subtly did and we’re all the better for it. Later, seeing Dr. Saunders beam with pride as he oversaw a fine group of sons make that transition from youth to productive citizens, it was clear his job as father and mentor was an overwhelming success.

Dr. David Saunders’ legacy will be carried forward through pictures and memories and countless stories. I thank you sir for the influence you had on my life.

Sincerely,

David Gessner

To Dr. Saunders from Allen James

2008-01-29T07:41:00.000-08:00

To Dr. Saunders,
I mostly referred to you as Dr. Saunders, but in so many ways I should have just called you Dad. You taught me so much about being a father. Even though my natural father lived 1000’s of miles away, I had you to look up to at my other house.

Yes, it’s probably true that I probably spent more time at your house than my own. You never seemed to mind. Your interaction with your sons showed me much about kindness, gentleness and humility. Your sense of humor, that you passed along quite well I might add, lives in me, though I always find myself lacking your skills.

Today, I’m so sad, that I didn’t get to see you one more time. My grief overwhelms me as the news is so fresh. I know, however, I will celebrate your wonderful life for the rest of my life. Every time I make a witty pun or even better hear my son do the same, I’ll have you to thank. (Though others may regret it!)

You have provided me some cool, some unique and some, well, quite unusual memories like: Seeing you riding your bike home from work on the Burke-Gilman Trail (so ahead of your time), building your Heath kit computer (did that ever work?), and having your sons put their stools on dry ice (I did say unusual.)

We grieve, we mourn and then we celebrate. Thank you Dr. Saunders.

To The Saunders Clan,
Thank you for sharing your husband / brother / Dad / Grandfather with me. Thank you for the great friendships we’ve had over the years. Thank you for taking me in and allowing me to be part of your family.

I can’t imagine what your sense of loss is like. You are all in my thoughts and prayers. I specifically pray for healing hearts and for treasured memories. In so many ways you all have been carrying on in his sense of character, integrity and of course, humor.

Regretfully, it’s highly unlikely that I can attend the celebration on the 16th. In its place I will make a journey over to Niagara-on-the-Lake and make a toast to my other Dad’s memory!

With all of my love,
Allen

Thoughts from Brian Wennerlind

2008-01-29T07:36:00.000-08:00

Upon hearing the sad, sad news of last week, I just wanted to pass on my condolences and a few thoughts about your father.

Though I feel great sadness at his passing, that must be tempered against the pure joy I feel just to have known him. Dr. Saunders was a truly wonderful man and I feel so blessed and lucky to have had his influence in my life. His love for life and for all those around him was positively infectious. I'm quite proud to say it infected me. I always envied the way he doted on his boys, and more than once wished I were one of them. When I think back about him now, what comes flooding to me is joy. Pure joy. The joy and thoughtfulness that he lived daily is something I will always try to emulate. I dearly hope it's something I can instill into my children the way he helped instill it into me.

I can't imagine anyone leading a more incredible, fulfilled life with such an amazing, caring, accomplished family who, quite understandably, never strayed very far from him.

I know that my life and this world are much much better places for his being in them. I'm made aware every day of his memory when I bellow nicknames at my own kids, bike to and from work, laugh enthusiastically over a well-told joke or the ironies of life, or simply smile and gaze on at the ones I love, as I observed him doing so often. He never will stop being a big part of our lives.

Know that my thoughts are with all of you,
--Winnie

Announcement from Dr. William Bremner, University of Washington

2008-01-25T18:04:00.000-08:00

To: Faculty, Department of Medicine

Dear Colleagues,

I am very sorry to inform you that Dr. David Saunders, professor emeritus of medicine and former head of the Division of Gastroenterology, died Tuesday night at his home in Seattle after a long struggle with lymphoma.

After obtaining his undergraduate education from Princeton University (BA, 1953) and medical education from McGill University (MD, 1957), Dr. Saunders continued on at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montreal as intern, resident, chief resident, and gastroenterology fellow (1957-1964), with an additional research fellowship at the Royal Free Hospital in London (1960-1962). In 1964, he joined the Gastroenterology Division headed by Dr. Wade Wolviler at the University of Washington, to work initially with Dr. Cyrus Rubin, and rose through the ranks to be Professor and Head of the Division from 1981 to his retirement in 1995. Dr. Saunders received many distinctions for his research on intestinal absorptive physiology but the dearest professional achievement for him was his legendary contribution to the Gut Course (HuBio 551), which he organized for 33 years, even after his retirement. For these efforts, he was honored with the School of Medicine Distinguished Teacher Award four times and therefore became a Teacher Superior in Perpetuity..

Former Division Head Sum Lee said of Dr. Saunders, "He was an extraordinary human being, exemplary teacher, clinician, and intellectually curious clinical investigator. He was always generous, humorous, erudite and helpful to his fellow human beings."

David Saunders was a great friend and colleague who made outstanding contributions to his field, to his students, and to his patients. It was a privilege to have him as a member of our faculty; his infectious enthusiasm will be remembered and missed for many years to come.

With best regards,

Bill

William J. Bremner, M.D., Ph.D.
Professor and Chair, Department of Medicine The Robert G. Petersdorf Endowed Chair in Medince