SOCIAL

  LESSONS LEARNED

ADIEU, ADIOS AND AU REVOIR

HOW DO YOU SAY GOODBYE AFTER ALL THESE YEARS?

“OUR CIRCUS elephant died,” sobbed Dewey Hafta, the circus clown, when asked why he was crying such copious tears.

“You loved him that much?”

“No, I’m crying because I discovered I have to dig his grave.”

I’m a little teary eyed myself — this column is my last for Optometric Management after all these years. Since it’s also the 50th anniversary of OM, it presents a dilemma: Do I write about and pay tribute to the genius who 50 years ago was responsible for taking over a failing journal and making it a flourishing success, Dr. Irving Bennett, among the wisest and finest men I’ve ever known? Or do I instead write a final “Lessons Learned,” like:

HONESTY: NOT ALWAYS THE BEST POLICY

“I came to you because you did such an excellent job on my mother,” said a new patient, Bea Wildered. “You improved her eyes so much, now she can read without glasses!”

If this had happened when I was young in practice, I would have thought it morally dishonest not to spend the next five minutes thoroughly boring Bea by explaining it was not my skill, but the “second sight” phenomenon that was responsible.

But then it occurred to me that I caught enough hell for things I hadn’t done wrong, that this might be the Lord’s way of evening the score a little, by giving me this undeserved compliment. So I just modestly mumbled something to the effect that her momma’s sight might possibly have come back even without my remarkable skill, and proceeded with the exam.

Or this one:

YOUR JOB DOESN’T HAVE TO BE WORK

Dr. Rosie Outlook was a college professor. I discovered her refraction to be OD: -0.50 -1.50 x 125 and OS -4.50 -0.75 x 40. She appeared to be a good sport, so when I finished her exam I told her, “Your diagnosis is that you have one bad eye, and one damned bad eye.”

She loved it. She became a loyal patient and friend for many years, and referred a whole lot of folks to me. Each mentioned the “bad eye, damned bad eye” levity as a reason.

Or maybe this one:

YOU CAN’T WIN

Accept the fact that no matter what you decide, it’s probably gonna be wrong anyway. “My new glasses are fine,” said new patient Sharon Guilt, “but the sunglasses aren’t right.” We discovered the lab had made the left lens with a 1.75 cylinder rather than 0.75. I apologized, explained and assured her we would fix it.

“I appreciate your admission,” she said. “I went to a physician last year who made an obvious mistake but wouldn’t own up to it. I lost all respect for him, and never went back.”

So I wrote an OM column about this experience to show how honesty is the best policy. A few weeks later I received a note from a Missouri O.D., “Followed your advice. Admitted mistake to patient. She is now suing me for malpractice.”

It appears I’ve run out of space, so now I don’t have to decide what to write, which further validates axiom #4 in Runninger’s Rules for Hangin’ in There: “Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.”

Sayonara. OM

JACK RUNNINGER, O.D., lives in Rome, Ga. He’s also a past editor of OM. Contact him at runningerj@comcast.net.