Christopher Lopatosky

“I’ve done things most people wouldn’t dream of,” Christopher Lopatosky, 75, said in one of his final conversations before succumbing to a battery of worsening health conditions he dealt with over the last decade of his life.

And it’s true.

Countless times, he climbed to the very top of the mast of the Star of India—a fully rigged, iron-hulled windjammer and one of the oldest active sailing ships in the world. He was a crew member of that ship and part of the Maritime Museum, through which he took to the seas on other boats as a sailor, medic and photographer throughout the years, treating various ailments off the coast of California from asthma attacks to a broken hip.

That was only one chapter in many sailing adventures he had in his lifetime. Add to that the fact that he worked in nuclear reactors in the Navy during the Vietnam War, flew gliders, rode horses on a Mexican beach, made makeshift explosives the he and his childhood friends would set off for fun in the Ventura, Calif., farmlands—his hometown, raced motorcycles in his 20s (and crashed some, which his mother refused to witness), later became a Honda and air-cooled Volkswagen mechanic in the 1970’s, hosted dinner for one of his favorite authors, Clive Cussler, at his home at the time, road tripped all over the continental United States, and was only the seventh PA in San Diego County before it was widely accepted as a prominent role in the nation’s health care industry. He was also among the first PAs with surgical privileges both in orthopedics and OB-GYN, typically supporting knee surgeries and emergency Caesarian sections.

Known to his numerous students and patients over his 35 years as Dr. Chris, he served in community clinics, such as Imperial Beach and Mid-City community clinics, where the uninsured and underinsured often go for primary care services. That included low income families, young adults, immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, even sex workers. He treated them all without judgment and offered the best, practical care for which his career was known. In fact, many patients would accept only visits with him because of his unique approach.

Astronomy was one of his many fascinations outside of work, having toyed with dozens of telescopes, each increasingly more sophisticated than the last. One would even track whatever the lens was focused on based on the speed of Earth’s rotation. It was a hobby that bonded him with one of his step-grandchildren, David, who eventually memorized the entire solar system—including planets and their moons—before finishing elementary school.

But the sun around which his world revolved was his wife of almost 20 years, Veronica Kaeg, by whom he is survived—his travel buddy and life partner. The two had a shared history in health care before dating and marriage, and Veronica figuratively pulled his foot out of the grave a few times caring for him after a heart attack, a tumble and subsequent hip surgery that he refused for two weeks, and his first stint under hospice care earlier this year before downgrading back to palliative care, which allowed him to tend to his garden from his wheelchair for a bonus six months.

Cymbidiums, geraniums, hydrangeas, hibiscus, peace lilies, coleus, fuchsias and his lifelong favorite Mr. Lincoln hybrid roses lined the backyard of his home around his hot tub. They bloomed each year alongside butternut squash, tomatoes and various herbs, that surrounded all his woodwork: patio furniture, bird houses and wagons—all joys in his life.

By way of marriage, he’s also survived by three step-daughters, Monica, Nancy and Alex, as well as his step-grandchildren.

His two sons from a previous marriage with Alicia Santos for 17 years, Patrick and Nicolas, knew him as the father who made them begrudgingly mow the lawns every two weeks but also built memories, such a three-story treehouse in the backyard for them with his own hands and tools—electricity and all, taught them to swim, encouraged them in taekwondo, fine arts, aeronautics and their careers, and to truly push boundaries in life.

“They can’t say yes if you don’t ask,” he often said, trying to motivate them to also do things others wouldn’t ever dream of.

Preceeded in death by both his parents, Francis and Anna Lopatosky, though they divorced in Chris’ formative years. Gone too soon were also his brother, Greg Lopatosky, close cousin, Linda Popovich, and a lineup of Depression era aunts and uncles.

Alumnus of Ventura High School and Charles R. Drew University. To the self-described “would-be sailor,” we wish him infinite back rubs in heaven while sailing among the stars.

Services will be held at:

Lighthouse Church

2428 Fenton St

Chula Vista

Saturday, August 23, 2025 from 2pm to 4pm.