Successful M.D. Exits L.A.’s Fast Lane, Bound for Simpler Life

Dr. Ross Donald has spent the past 19 years delivering babies for the rich and occasionally famous. But late last month he delivered something else--1,500 letter bombs.

“I would like to inform you that as of July 1, I will no longer be practicing here in Santa Monica,” he wrote. “I will be moving my family to Ketchum, Idaho. It has been a dream of Kathy’s and mine to raise our family in the type of environment offered there.”

Here is a 48-year-old man at the pinnacle of his career who for two decades has thrived on the affluence of the Westside. A man who shares a Spanish-style manse with his wife and three young sons in the elegant above-Montana Avenue quarter of Santa Monica.

A man who has 1,500 patients. Patients with winter getaways in Aspen. Patients with movie deals. And regular folk like me.

I went to Dr. Donald for nearly 10 years--I, a mere tenant in a rent-controlled apartment. When I moved to Long Beach with my husband last fall--and soon after discovered that I was pregnant--my trusted gynecologist became a geographically undesirable obstetrician.

As a former patient and one still on the computerized mailing list, I had to know what was behind this seemingly sudden change of venue.

Here was an affable chatterbox with a gift for making one of womankind’s most disconcerting chores--the dreaded gynecological check-up--almost pleasant. So I made a house call to Dr. Donald and his family.

A new Suburban van with Idaho license plates stood in the driveway. “Famous Potatoes,” read the state motto.

Inside, the home was coming apart--boxes stacked in every corner, paintings removed from the walls.

Dr. Donald and his wife corralled their three boys, who no doubt had better things to do on a sunny Sunday afternoon than sit around listening to adults gab.

With all the post-riot talk of Angelenos longing to flee the big city, I wondered if the Donalds’ own decision to pick up roots came on the heels of the recent uprising.

“No, not at all,” answered Kathy Donald, a California blonde born just down the street at St. John’s, the same hospital where her husband now delivers babies. “If anything, the riots have made me feel sorry that we will not be part of the solution.”

Rather, the couple determined a few years ago that they eventually would resettle in the picturesque village where Ernest Hemingway spent his final days. They bought a vacation home on the river and began visiting the area frequently.

“I thought we might retire there,” said Dr. Donald. “I didn’t think I wanted to leave my practice here yet--I’ve worked a long time for it and it’s been very successful.”

But gradually they were drawn to the rewards of small-town life.

“It’s really hard to make an impact here,” he said. “Let’s say you were interested in solving the homeless problem in Santa Monica. You’ve got to contend with L.A. right next to you. No matter what you do here, it becomes so watered down. In a place like Ketchum, if you and your friends decided there was a project you wanted to do, chances are you could see it through to its fruition.”

His wife appreciated “the sense of trust between people that you don’t get in a large city.”

Nine-year-old Graham piped in with an example: “One time I went to the market (in Ketchum), and then I found out I didn’t have enough money to pay for my candy bar. The man said to take the candy and come back later with the money.”

Last month, two things happened that made an out-of-state move possible sooner than later. Dr. Donald’s younger of two daughters, who has divided her time between him and his first wife, graduated from high school. And Kathy Donald’s 91-year-old father died.

“There was no way we could leave while Dad was alive because he needed us,” she said. “Nor would we have considered it until both the girls were in college.”

Dr. Donald started investigating his chances of survival in Wood River Valley, a community of 18,000 people scattered among Ketchum and other little towns. “There’s only one gynecologist, and she’s booked six weeks in advance,” he said. “I’ve done the arithmetic; I figure the population can support at least one other gynecologist.”

No, the money won’t be as good. “My income probably will halve,” he said. But he just doesn’t feel as ambitious as he once did. “When I was younger, I wanted to be in Mecca, I wanted to be in the center of things. Now, my career is of secondary importance.”

Patients wonder: Won’t you miss the excitement that Los Angeles offers? What will you do there?

“I tell them, well, I’ll do the same sorts of things there that I do here. I’ll get up in the morning, shower and shave, say hello to the family, go to work, come home, do things with the family.

“Once you’ve had your baby,” he added, nodding at my bulging tummy, “you’ll find that your world becomes very small. What you’ll want to do most of the time is relate to your spouse, your kids, your neighbors. Your world won’t be the Lakers or the restaurants in Beverly Hills or the theaters downtown.”

On the whole, reaction to Dr. Donald’s surprise announcement has been supportive. An expectant television actress is already making plans to camp out at her Sun Valley ski lodge during the ninth month, so that she can head for nearby Ketchum on labor day.

However, an indignant few have called to vent what Dr. Donald describes as outrage. “They were amazing,” he said. “It was as if I was leaving only them: ‘How could you do this to me? ‘ And they weren’t even my pregnant patients.”

Westsiders tend to be “incredibly intense,” in Dr. Donald’s view. “Everybody wants everything done yesterday, whether it’s their room wallpapered or their house painted. When people come in here for a lab test, they want the results the same afternoon.”

Still, his wife reiterated, “We’re not leaving in disgust, saying L.A. is horrible. We’re happy here. It’s just that Ketchum seems like such a wonderful place to be.”

As she escorted me to my car, she remembered one more point she wanted to emphasize.

“You know, it’s very unusual that a 48-year-old man at the peak of his success would have the courage to leave for something he considers better,” said Kathy Donald, a homemaker.

“A lot of people would say, ‘I want to do this,’ but insecurity would keep them from it. I feel so proud of him.”