We met in the emergency department at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in the wee hours of the morning,” Bryan and Yolanda Becker say. “Thirty-two years later, that moment still stands out for both of us. We both remember the patient’s name and the reason for that emergency visit.
“Ironically, we can also recite how we were dressed: Yolanda was in scrubs, as a strong Vanderbilt resident would be at that time of day, and Bryan, a nephrology fellow, was decked out in decent pants, shirt, and tie — a vestige of his Duke training. Yolanda stepped away from the film board (yes, those used to exist) and immediately gave her opinion on the diagnosis of the patient that Bryan was coming in to see. Bryan was a bit more circumspect as usual, wanting to look at the patient and the data first.”
“But, in such encounters, people catch your eye,” Bryan admits. “Fast forward four weeks to September 14, 1992, and we were going out on our first date to Rio Bravo on West End Boulevard. That evening’s dinner kept getting pushed back — from 6 p.m. to 6:45 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. — because I had to photocopy a grant for submission (yes, this was before the days of electronic submission). So, the arrival of fajitas coincided with my realization that Yolanda hadn’t simply said ‘never mind’ on my third phone call, saying I’d be late.
“We explored Nashville together and began the process of understanding what it meant to be romantically involved with someone in a different part of our profession. That meant touching base in the cafeteria over a meal — eating at very different rates depending upon who was on call — or looking at call schedules to find a day off together. And we got engaged.
“Our parents came to visit us over Thanksgiving,1992. It was a blend of cultures and experiences meeting over a holiday dinner. Our families had lived through the Great Depression, the disruption of World War II, immigrating to the United States, and moving within the country before settling down and growing families and roots in their respective communities: Mission Hills, Kansas, for me, and Slidell, Louisiana, for Yolanda.
“They also brought cultural history: Yolanda’s family is Chinese, and mine is Jewish. Ironically, Yolanda had dated Jewish men before me, and I had worked in Zhengzhou for several months as part of a novel medical school program. That created excellent stories and a safe space for everyone to linger in as we made our way through the natural awkwardness of our parents’ first meeting.
“Our blend of family culture was integrated into our wedding on August 7, 1993, with our rabbi expertly weaving a new take on the chuppah and breaking the glass at a Jewish wedding as a joyous coming together of our now shared heritage.
“Our families survived the Holocaust, the Japanese invasion of China during World War II, the loss of parents, and starting families with just themselves and their talents. That was some bedrock for both of us. Whatever we were going to tackle wasn’t as hard.
“If you can imagine a tree somehow digging its roots in and around that bedrock, that has been our marriage. We have relied on that bedrock for stability and have placed new roots in and around it as we moved to new places, took on different professional roles, and, more importantly, as we added two marvelous children to our family, adopted a series of dogs, and weathered the aging of our parents.
“In the midst of those life events, we have also created our own traditions. So in a twist on T.S. Eliot’s “Tradition and Individual Talent,” we embraced our past — helping us alter our present in many amazing and unanticipated ways — and in so doing, created something new for our family.”
“With every one of our moves, we have attempted to strike a balance between opportunity and fulfillment for both of us in the new location,” Yolanda says. “This is no small task and not always perfectly timed. With two driven and ambitious individuals, it can be extra challenging when career steps are a half-step out of sync. Jealousy can sink any relationship, so we took the opposite approach: mutual support. This included being a listening ear for difficult patient encounters, reading each other’s manuscripts, or listening to a research presentation.
“It also required personal growth, empathy, shared awareness, and a mutual ability to speak truth to one another — though we definitely used different words. This has made each of us individually stronger and our marriage better, even if the route has been more circuitous than expected.
“We found ways to sneak in travel to simple locations to rejuvenate. One of our favorite spots was the Smoky Mountains. Cashiers, North Carolina, became an almost Narnia-like release into nature — hiking, waterfalls, and with our dog Cleo traipsing beside us, a chance to explore. By returning year after year to the High Hampton resort, we satisfied my itch to connect with my Hopkins lineage — this was the summer home of Dr. Halstead, the Father of American Surgery — and discovered the joys of renting a home for a few days, trendsetters for the Vrbo and Airbnb world. Occasionally, we ventured to the Smoky Mountains with our parents in tow, building new family traditions.
“When I finished residency, we moved from country music to beer and brats in Madison, Wisconsin, for my transplant surgery fellowship. Our family tree began a growth spurt during our early years in Wisconsin. Despite a ton of work, call that had us passing each other at odd hours — like my consulting with Bryan on a patient I had just transplanted — and work-related travel, we had an opportunity to evolve as a married couple, almost like a power couple moving through the institution.
“And then we grew into our family with our children, Anna and Ian. Their arrival — punctuated by rounds of in-vitro fertilization and an adoption process with a months’- long delay — was insta-family. Ian was born on the palindromic day of October 11, 2001, and Anna came home from China on August 27, 2002, one day after a smashing first birthday party at the Hard Rock Café in Guangzhou.
“Our children allowed our parents to become grandparents — a marvelous transition. I held the upper hand here, having had my grandparents alive and integral to my life when I was younger. Bryan had never experienced grandparents for untimely and sad reasons, and the joy of three generations together — tempered on occasions by tempers — was an amazing gift for everyone. Anna’s adoption fortified our family’s cultural blend even more.
“Both of us solidified our faculty positions at the University of Wisconsin, taking different routes to develop our professional personas while initiating a constant and evolving process of work-life integration. We did the things that parents do: attending talent shows, gymnastics, AYSO soccer, and school events. We figured out how to split holidays between our parents so no one felt left out. And we found a new place — Door County, Wisconsin — where we could retreat as a family to relax, thrive, and eat sour cherries.”
“Wisconsin offered strong career footholds,” Bryan continues. “Yolanda paved a path as the only female surgeon in transplant surgery there, and I worked to be the old-fashioned triple threat — active clinically, running a translational science laboratory, and leading the fellowship program — culminating in being a division chief and vice-chair in my department. The strength of our bedrock and support for each other was invaluable as we then navigated the biases and politics of our practice environment.
“We moved to Hinsdale, Illinois. For the second time, I was the trailing spouse as Yolanda found a position at the University of Chicago in a record-breaking academic recruitment of three months. Akin to the Chinese parable of ‘Maybe so, maybe not,’ life’s unexpected twists unfold in remarkable ways. A move born from me getting my proverbial neck chopped off turned out to be massively positive for our family. We found another inflection point. It’s where we really honed the two rules that have served us well since.
“The first rule of the Becker household is ‘Do Not Panic.’ Unless someone is bleeding out or coding — the logical conclusions of our medical specialties — you have time to think your way through the situation. This has been helpful countless times over the years.
“The second rule is ‘Will this matter in 25 years?’ It’s amazing how often things are not that important when viewed through that lens.
“Whether it was Yolanda managing transitions at the University of Chicago, handling the invectives she faced as president of the Organ Procurement and Transplant Network, or me dealing with work stoppages as a CEO, or eventually exiting academic medicine after serving as an associate dean to build new care models with DaVita Integrated Care, the two rules held fast. We could cross-check ourselves and maintain perspective.
“Applying these rules led to some intense discussions — often centered on ‘Who do I need you to be now?’ Sometimes it meant just listening; other times, offering a different perspective. It continues to work to this day, though now we humorously ask what we’ll even remember in 25 years.
“And always in parallel — how are we being present in our family? Anna and Ian pursued synchronized skating and soccer, respectively, which had us traveling on weekends to unique parts of Chicagoland, the Midwest, and eventually the country for competitions. We drove to Grand Forks, North Dakota, in January, and headed to Orlando, Florida, in February. We trekked to Minneapolis, Minnesota, in December, and headed down the road to Urbana, Illinois, in May. We dove into parent, team manager, and transportation responsibilities and provided other expertise when needed, e.g., emergency first aid, because that is what doctor parents do.
“The fun of those days, as for many, was being with the other parents, watching our children step out of their comfort zones and compete with their teams. Like our parents before us, we made time to be there. We reveled in being ‘kid central,’ opening our home for countless team sleepovers, attentively listening to practice for concerts and orchestra performances — often accompanied by one of our dogs howling along — and keeping the refrigerator stocked for our children’s friends.
“That last task required me to resurrect a college habit called Gonzo shopping — an allusion to Hunter S. Thompson — which led to all kinds of things ending up in our refrigerator after a spirited run through Mariano’s or Costco.
“These activities were our time together, adjusted around call schedules for Yolanda and work travel for me. We shared our thoughts about the world in a relaxed way with intersecting social circles of sports parents, school parents, and other friends — anchored by empathy for others and that fullness of joy and pride in our children doing remarkable things.
“As our parents aged, we recognized that our tree with its sturdy roots had sprouted branches on many levels, and our bedrock could endure plates shifting underneath it. My parents died in 2017, just three weeks apart. ‘Drop and run’ as a result of health issues became routine as they were living in Kansas City, while we were in Hinsdale. Solving for respite stays via A Place for Mom while being pragmatic about a hospital stay for the other was a new drill — frustration interrupted by a Winstead’s double steakburger and cherry limeade to calm Kansas City emotions.
“Yolanda’s unwavering support and love were remarkable as we faced this series of events. Our two rules held fast. That time was paradoxical: precious, nostalgic, tender, and sometimes humorous.”
“My parents were on a slightly different trajectory,” Yolanda explains. “Still, ‘drop and run’ was part of our pattern, too, alongside tenderness, concern, worry, and at times, the same frustration Bryan had experienced, though Noshville became my comfort food of choice.
“The positivity my parents conveyed in watching our family flourish strengthened our belief in the 25-year rule. It made my father’s last months a bittersweet celebration before his passing at 100 years old. That foundational support from our parents has now fully transferred to us as we care for my mother.
“You know, when college graduation happens, you breathe a little sigh of relief — even if everything was great. We thoroughly enjoyed graduation festivities — as did our frequent flyer miles — watching Anna and Ian graduating in New York City, New York, and then Los Angeles, California, in the same week in May 2024. They’ve since embarked on new opportunities in the workforce and in graduate school. Anna is working in the biomedical design field and wants to expand her design portfolio. Ian is pursuing a master’s degree and wants to go on for a PhD in avian biology and urban ecology.
“We’re tackling new professional opportunities now in North Texas. I am the chief medical officer for a large productive organ procurement organization, and Bryan has done turnarounds for a safety-net practice, part of a primary care entity, and now holds a leadership role with an investor-backed kidney care company. We started our own consulting firm, providing subject matter expertise to various entities, and Bryan offers executive coaching — after we’ve taken our dogs for their morning constitutional by the Trinity River. We visit family in Nashville, Tennessee, and the Pacific Northwest, and keep growing together through more experiences, more travel, and thankfully, less call.
“We have been sharing experiences for nearly 33 years. At first, it was incredibly helpful to understand each other’s worlds as physicians. Over time, that common understanding became less central, while our shared bonds as a married couple expanded.
“Twenty-five years from now, no one will cite a paper either of us wrote or recall what society we led. An occasional patient may remember that we touched their lives somehow. And, hopefully, our kids and extended family will be thriving.”
Excerpted from Lessons Learned: Stories from Dual-Physician Marriages edited by Deborah M. Shlian, MD, MBA, and Joel N. Shlian, MD, MBA (American Association for Physician Leadership, 2026).