Some people teach us medicine. Others teach us how to be in medicine.
It’s with a heavy heart and deep reverence that I reflect on the passing of one of my most formative educator, Dr. Craig Kitchens — a physician who left an indelible mark on my education, my clinical practice, and, frankly, my character. Though he passed away in March, I only learned of his passing yesterday through an old friend and former fellow, more than fifteen years after our shared time in training — a reminder of the quiet departures that carry great weight.
I had the privilege of learning from him twice — first as a medical student at the University of Florida, and again later as a hematology-oncology fellow. In both chapters, he stood out not just for his brilliance, but for his consistency. His presence in the lecture hall, the clinic, or at grand rounds was the same: calm, passionate, and fully engaged in the moment. He taught with fire and spoke with clarity, but always maintained an equanimity that commanded respect. You never forgot a teaching point from Dr. Kitchens — not because of the content, but because of his conviction.
He made learning fun. He made it human.
A Moment That Stayed With Me
I’ll never forget a patient we saw together during fellowship — a young man admitted with extensive bilateral lower extremity DVTs. To most of us, it was a straightforward clot work-up. But Dr. Kitchens saw more. He noticed the patient’s body habitus, his widely disproportionate lower extremity girth, and questioned what others might have dismissed. He searched the archives — the literal paper archives — and uncovered that this patient had been born in our very same hospital over two decades earlier.
A single line in those yellowing records explained everything: umbilical vein catheterization at birth. That subtle trauma likely led to his chronic IVC stenosis, the development of collaterals, his lifetime of disproportionate girth and ultimately the bilateral extensive lower extremity clots. Even the patient himself was in tears learning for the first time what had actually happened to him at birth. It was one of the most profound “aha” yet sincere moment of my training — not because the answer was flashy, but because it was complete. That was Dr. Kitchens’s way. He never left a missing piece of the story unresolved. His medicine was meticulous, narrative, and whole.
Beyond the Lecture Hall
Dr. Kitchens was renowned for his commanding lectures, especially in hematology and clinical reasoning. He was the kind of attending who could bring an auditorium to a full standing ovation — laughter and tears in the same hour. He led with charisma, but more importantly, he connected. Whether he was leading a “stump the chump” session or discussing the nuances of benign hematology at weekly benign heme conference, his enthusiasm was infectious.
But what I remember most was his consistency of character. Despite being outspoken, highly confident, and commanding in his presence, he never let ego overshadow his kindness. He was the same person day in and day out: generous with his time, thoughtful in his words, and always approachable — a steady example of professionalism and humanity intertwined.
Even now, every time I see a benign hematology patient, I think of him. His voice still echoes in my mind during consults. That, perhaps, is the true measure of a teacher — to become part of the inner voice that guides your students for years to come.
The Teachers Who Shape Us
We don’t often pause to reflect on the educators who shaped our paths. But we should. Because these are the people who shaped how we approach uncertainty, how we build trust, how we think through complexity, and how we remember that every patient has a story that deserves to be heard — fully, thoughtfully, and compassionately.
Dr. Kitchens taught me all of that. And today, I simply want to say: thank you. Thank you for your presence, your brilliance, and your humanity. I am a better physician — and person — because I had the chance to learn from you.
May we all strive to carry forward the lessons of those who made us who we are.
In honor of Dr. Kitchens’s legacy, his family requested donations be made to The Still Place, a non-profit dedicated to providing retreats for families experiencing serious illness. For those who like to learn of his legacy and feel moved to contribute, you can find more information at his obituary here.
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