The dreaded blank page! My editor has just reminded me that I need to send him my column for this month. I assured him that I would do so and that this event would occur just about any minute. Then, I stared at this … blank page.
It reminds me of the many, many moments in my life when I came up blank. We’ve all done that. The first time I can recall “going blank” was when I was in the ninth grade and Miss Ollem said, “Just hand me your research papers at the end of class today.”
Research paper? What research paper? I went blank. Perhaps I passed out. But when the room stopped spinning, my instincts kicked in and I immediately grasped the fact that one must quickly and confidently fill any blank page within reach. And—this is simple but critically important—it really matters NOT how you fill it. Just fill it!
Before long, Miss Ollem read the finest research paper ever written on one of the most important subjects of that time: The Beatles.
Another time that I went blank was in optometry school. One of the professors called me into his office, sat me down and asked me what I planned to do when I left optometry school. I proudly stated: “I will be an eye doctor!” He sighed and said, “No. Really.”
OK, that left a blank I was more than a little hesitant to fill, because he knew for a fact that I had been playing darts with my buddy Big Al instead of preparing for class. I knew he was right and I promised him that I would do all I could to improve my attitude, my study efforts and my dart game as well. My dart game did in fact improve, and I did graduate from optometry school, which proves there is a God.
Patients really find ways to make you go blank. Even after 32 years, they continue to astound me. Generally, I’m astounded in a good way, like when the 45-year-old grandmother told me she would prefer that I not dilate her eyes because she was pregnant. That deserved some combination of awe and joy and terror. I filled the blank with congratulations, grinning, giggling and breaking into a cold sweat.
Then, what do we do when the patient announces something horrible … loss of a child … divorce … cancer? Is there any possible way to fill that blank? Not with words, and for a big mouth like me, that’s tough. So, I fill it with a touch. Just a touch.
Those of you who have seen me perform my optometric stand-up comedy routine (complete with optometric musical interludes) would not believe this—but I get stage fright. So, I’ve simply convinced myself that sheer terror is actually physiologically identical to extreme pleasure. This little tip may come in handy when you get tongue-tied taking an oral or practical board examination as optometry evolves into its future. Here’s how to fill up that blank page that is your brain.
Examiner: “Describe the differential diagnosis of Posner-Schlossman syndrome and its relationship to Behçet’s disease.”
You: “I just peed myself, so I must be thrilled.”
You may not pass the test, but you’ll think that you are filled with joy. That’s nice, right?
Oh, I just noticed—I’ve filled this blank page! So here is my column that I’ve been working on diligently since last month’s column, Mr. Editor. Gotta go now. It’s darts night.