During one of my shifts at my job as an ophthalmic tech, I was preparing a patient to see the doctor. He was in his sixties and in excellent spirits and health. No actual problems on the surface — mind you, this was before the doctor had seen him. I don’t know how we got onto the subject, but he started to talk about his childhood. It seems that when you are in a field where you are in a “one on one” situation with another person, they sometimes feel like they can open up to you, or tell you things about themselves that weren’t relevant to the case.
Bartenders can sympathize.
DISCLAIMER: As most of the people that read my blog, or talk to me in person, I’m sarcastic, cynical, nihilistic, crude — hell, I could keep going, and it’s not just that I’m beating up on myself. It’s the truth. Seriously, I have difficulty taking things seriously sometimes, and I have a way of saying things that some, if not a lot of people, may not agree.
To that end, what I am about to write about is an important topic, and I’m not going to hold any punches back, but I need to get this out of my system. I need people to realize that there is “hope.”
Here we go.