To let the punishment fit the crime

My object all sublime

I shall achieve in time –

To let the punishment fit the crime –

The punishment fit the crime.

–The Mikado

Gilbert and Sullivan

The Mikado’s ambition to give back in a jocular, but apt, way to the subjects who annoyed him is well known. Although I am no Mikado and don’t give back to anybody, aptly or otherwise, I have to admit that the impulse to do so does cross my mind. Maybe it crosses yours, too. Here are some people I sometimes meet. You might recognize them, and perhaps approve some of my suggested just deserts; punishments that fit the crime (PTFTC).

• The imaginary voice mail. "Call John Doe back right away," reads the message. "Use this number."

"You have reached 617-555-1234. This voice-mailbox has not yet been set up and cannot accept calls. Goodbye."

PTFTC: New outgoing message: "Dr. Rockoff is not actually a dermatologist yet. He will get back to you as soon as he becomes one."

• Playing with a full box. "You have reached 617-555-4321. This mailbox is full and cannot accept messages. Goodbye."

PTFTC: Outgoing message: "You have reached the doctor’s office. The doctor has filled his monthly quota of advice giving. Please call back next month, preferably before the 9th."

• Never mind who this is. "Doctor, please call me back right away. My itch is terrible and the medicine you prescribed doesn’t work at all." Click.

PTFTC: Outgoing message: Heavy breathing for 30 seconds. (Has to be for everyone, since we don’t know the number to call.)

• Mumbles. "Doctor, zy... Zyglub ... really need frtunsn mnidioos ... You ... to dhrsrsrs ... 617-96dlubgx ... Again, the number is zigd ... 52879 ... cloy."

PTFTC: Outgoing message. "Hello, Zyg! Glub Dr. Roc ... Bfflp! Yucca grapetz! ... Brgl nice day!"

• The anonymous e-mailer. "Hi, Doc! That cream is great! Can you call more into my pharmacy? Thanks! Skip ([email protected].)

PTFTC: Return e-mail: "Hey, Skip! Take care on that skateboard! Could I have your name? Thanks!"

• The mailed-scrip requester. "Please mail a prescription to Mr. Bean’s house," says the message. "It can’t be called or faxed in. It has to be mailed, with a 90-day supply and three refills."

PTFTC: "Dear Mr. Bean, Kindly send a detailed prescription request typed on an Underwood manual manufactured no later than 1936. Please include a stamped, self-addressed envelope with correct postage. Thank you."

• The walk-in scrip requester. "Doctor," says my front-desk person, catching me in the hall between patients. "Dimitriy is in the waiting room. He says he needs you to write out refills for the three medicines you gave him – the one for the scalp, the one for the body, and the one for the other part that he doesn’t want to tell me about. He says he’ll wait."

PTFTC: "Tell Dimitriy that I need to review his record in detail. I should be done first thing tomorrow morning."

• The highly-detailed-scrip requester. "Doctor, my insurer requires that my prescription be written in a specific way: ‘SuperDerm cream, six 45-gram tunes for a 90-day supply, apply twice a day, morning and night, substitution mandated on penalty of reporting to the Highest Authorities.’ After you’re done with that, I’ll instruct you on the correct way to write my three other prescriptions."

PTFTC: "Here are four blank prescription forms. Please fill them out exactly as your insurer requires. I will return in 21 minutes to review and sign them."

Turnabout is of course fair play. I am sure that many patients, mine and yours, could readily generate lists of our infractions along with appropriate penalties. For instance:

• The doctor kept me waiting so long that I got a parking ticket.

• He called in the solution when I specifically asked for the cream.

• I rearranged my whole schedule and hired a babysitter to keep my appointment, and then her office called the day before and canceled it.

To show my even-handedness, I have set up a Let-the-Punishment-Fit-the-Crime hotline for any patients reading this article. To take these calls, I have rented a special office just outside Fargo, North Dakota, at 701-555-6789, although I’m rarely there.

Oh yes, the voice mail hasn’t been set up yet.

Dr. Rockoff practices dermatology in Brookline, Mass. He is on the clinical faculty at Tufts University School of Medicine, Boston, and has taught senior medical students and other trainees for 30 years. Dr. Rockoff has contributed to the Under My Skin column in Skin & Allergy News since January 2002.

My object all sublime

I shall achieve in time –

To let the punishment fit the crime –

The punishment fit the crime.

–The Mikado

Gilbert and Sullivan

The Mikado’s ambition to give back in a jocular, but apt, way to the subjects who annoyed him is well known. Although I am no Mikado and don’t give back to anybody, aptly or otherwise, I have to admit that the impulse to do so does cross my mind. Maybe it crosses yours, too. Here are some people I sometimes meet. You might recognize them, and perhaps approve some of my suggested just deserts; punishments that fit the crime (PTFTC).

• The imaginary voice mail. "Call John Doe back right away," reads the message. "Use this number."

"You have reached 617-555-1234. This voice-mailbox has not yet been set up and cannot accept calls. Goodbye."

PTFTC: New outgoing message: "Dr. Rockoff is not actually a dermatologist yet. He will get back to you as soon as he becomes one."

• Playing with a full box. "You have reached 617-555-4321. This mailbox is full and cannot accept messages. Goodbye."

PTFTC: Outgoing message: "You have reached the doctor’s office. The doctor has filled his monthly quota of advice giving. Please call back next month, preferably before the 9th."

• Never mind who this is. "Doctor, please call me back right away. My itch is terrible and the medicine you prescribed doesn’t work at all." Click.

PTFTC: Outgoing message: Heavy breathing for 30 seconds. (Has to be for everyone, since we don’t know the number to call.)

• Mumbles. "Doctor, zy... Zyglub ... really need frtunsn mnidioos ... You ... to dhrsrsrs ... 617-96dlubgx ... Again, the number is zigd ... 52879 ... cloy."

PTFTC: Outgoing message. "Hello, Zyg! Glub Dr. Roc ... Bfflp! Yucca grapetz! ... Brgl nice day!"

• The anonymous e-mailer. "Hi, Doc! That cream is great! Can you call more into my pharmacy? Thanks! Skip ([email protected].)

PTFTC: Return e-mail: "Hey, Skip! Take care on that skateboard! Could I have your name? Thanks!"

• The mailed-scrip requester. "Please mail a prescription to Mr. Bean’s house," says the message. "It can’t be called or faxed in. It has to be mailed, with a 90-day supply and three refills."

PTFTC: "Dear Mr. Bean, Kindly send a detailed prescription request typed on an Underwood manual manufactured no later than 1936. Please include a stamped, self-addressed envelope with correct postage. Thank you."

• The walk-in scrip requester. "Doctor," says my front-desk person, catching me in the hall between patients. "Dimitriy is in the waiting room. He says he needs you to write out refills for the three medicines you gave him – the one for the scalp, the one for the body, and the one for the other part that he doesn’t want to tell me about. He says he’ll wait."

PTFTC: "Tell Dimitriy that I need to review his record in detail. I should be done first thing tomorrow morning."

• The highly-detailed-scrip requester. "Doctor, my insurer requires that my prescription be written in a specific way: ‘SuperDerm cream, six 45-gram tunes for a 90-day supply, apply twice a day, morning and night, substitution mandated on penalty of reporting to the Highest Authorities.’ After you’re done with that, I’ll instruct you on the correct way to write my three other prescriptions."

PTFTC: "Here are four blank prescription forms. Please fill them out exactly as your insurer requires. I will return in 21 minutes to review and sign them."

Turnabout is of course fair play. I am sure that many patients, mine and yours, could readily generate lists of our infractions along with appropriate penalties. For instance:

• The doctor kept me waiting so long that I got a parking ticket.

• He called in the solution when I specifically asked for the cream.

• I rearranged my whole schedule and hired a babysitter to keep my appointment, and then her office called the day before and canceled it.

To show my even-handedness, I have set up a Let-the-Punishment-Fit-the-Crime hotline for any patients reading this article. To take these calls, I have rented a special office just outside Fargo, North Dakota, at 701-555-6789, although I’m rarely there.

Oh yes, the voice mail hasn’t been set up yet.

Dr. Rockoff practices dermatology in Brookline, Mass. He is on the clinical faculty at Tufts University School of Medicine, Boston, and has taught senior medical students and other trainees for 30 years. Dr. Rockoff has contributed to the Under My Skin column in Skin & Allergy News since January 2002.

My object all sublime

I shall achieve in time –

To let the punishment fit the crime –

The punishment fit the crime.

–The Mikado

Gilbert and Sullivan

The Mikado’s ambition to give back in a jocular, but apt, way to the subjects who annoyed him is well known. Although I am no Mikado and don’t give back to anybody, aptly or otherwise, I have to admit that the impulse to do so does cross my mind. Maybe it crosses yours, too. Here are some people I sometimes meet. You might recognize them, and perhaps approve some of my suggested just deserts; punishments that fit the crime (PTFTC).

• The imaginary voice mail. "Call John Doe back right away," reads the message. "Use this number."

"You have reached 617-555-1234. This voice-mailbox has not yet been set up and cannot accept calls. Goodbye."

PTFTC: New outgoing message: "Dr. Rockoff is not actually a dermatologist yet. He will get back to you as soon as he becomes one."

• Playing with a full box. "You have reached 617-555-4321. This mailbox is full and cannot accept messages. Goodbye."

PTFTC: Outgoing message: "You have reached the doctor’s office. The doctor has filled his monthly quota of advice giving. Please call back next month, preferably before the 9th."

• Never mind who this is. "Doctor, please call me back right away. My itch is terrible and the medicine you prescribed doesn’t work at all." Click.

PTFTC: Outgoing message: Heavy breathing for 30 seconds. (Has to be for everyone, since we don’t know the number to call.)

• Mumbles. "Doctor, zy... Zyglub ... really need frtunsn mnidioos ... You ... to dhrsrsrs ... 617-96dlubgx ... Again, the number is zigd ... 52879 ... cloy."

PTFTC: Outgoing message. "Hello, Zyg! Glub Dr. Roc ... Bfflp! Yucca grapetz! ... Brgl nice day!"

• The anonymous e-mailer. "Hi, Doc! That cream is great! Can you call more into my pharmacy? Thanks! Skip ([email protected].)

PTFTC: Return e-mail: "Hey, Skip! Take care on that skateboard! Could I have your name? Thanks!"

• The mailed-scrip requester. "Please mail a prescription to Mr. Bean’s house," says the message. "It can’t be called or faxed in. It has to be mailed, with a 90-day supply and three refills."

PTFTC: "Dear Mr. Bean, Kindly send a detailed prescription request typed on an Underwood manual manufactured no later than 1936. Please include a stamped, self-addressed envelope with correct postage. Thank you."

• The walk-in scrip requester. "Doctor," says my front-desk person, catching me in the hall between patients. "Dimitriy is in the waiting room. He says he needs you to write out refills for the three medicines you gave him – the one for the scalp, the one for the body, and the one for the other part that he doesn’t want to tell me about. He says he’ll wait."

PTFTC: "Tell Dimitriy that I need to review his record in detail. I should be done first thing tomorrow morning."

• The highly-detailed-scrip requester. "Doctor, my insurer requires that my prescription be written in a specific way: ‘SuperDerm cream, six 45-gram tunes for a 90-day supply, apply twice a day, morning and night, substitution mandated on penalty of reporting to the Highest Authorities.’ After you’re done with that, I’ll instruct you on the correct way to write my three other prescriptions."

PTFTC: "Here are four blank prescription forms. Please fill them out exactly as your insurer requires. I will return in 21 minutes to review and sign them."

Turnabout is of course fair play. I am sure that many patients, mine and yours, could readily generate lists of our infractions along with appropriate penalties. For instance:

• The doctor kept me waiting so long that I got a parking ticket.

• He called in the solution when I specifically asked for the cream.

• I rearranged my whole schedule and hired a babysitter to keep my appointment, and then her office called the day before and canceled it.

To show my even-handedness, I have set up a Let-the-Punishment-Fit-the-Crime hotline for any patients reading this article. To take these calls, I have rented a special office just outside Fargo, North Dakota, at 701-555-6789, although I’m rarely there.

Oh yes, the voice mail hasn’t been set up yet.

Dr. Rockoff practices dermatology in Brookline, Mass. He is on the clinical faculty at Tufts University School of Medicine, Boston, and has taught senior medical students and other trainees for 30 years. Dr. Rockoff has contributed to the Under My Skin column in Skin & Allergy News since January 2002.