When I was a general practitioner in a small town in the South, one of my friends told me the mark of a country doctor is that he has fertilizer on his shoes and a story to tell. I have more stories from my three years as a general practitioner than I do from over 30 years as an ophthalmologist. Around 50 years ago when I started practice, a call came in for me to see a new patient who was in labor. It turned out to be a breech delivery. No hospital was available. I coached Grandma on what she should do. In the mean-time, I had my instruments boiling on the stove. Mother-to-be had a glass with cotton and chloroform, much the same as I've been told Simpson gave Queen Victoria. When the crucial moment arrived, Grandma did fine holding the infant's feet up. I was on my