In Memory of Robert J. Johnson, M.D.
Mood:
sad
I had the profound privilege of knowing and working with Dr. Johnson (or “Robbie” as he was known to me) for about 10 years. I’d like to thank the Johnson family for giving me the opportunity to share some thoughts on what he meant to me. I met him in 1996 when I was an intern during our residency training at OU. I immediately liked him as a person but, through the many sleepless on-call nights with him taking care of critically ill patients, I grew to respect him for not only his knowledge but also his patience and kindness. He taught me many of the things a young doctor-in-training needs to know, including how to look reasonably intelligent during morning rounds with the attending doctors.
A few years later when I was considering my job offers upon graduating, it came down to the fact that I wanted to work with him, and I have never regretted my decision to join him at Warren Clinic. He had a seemingly endless supply of good humor and an effortless practice style that I could always admire but never fully emulate. I trusted his clinical judgment so much that I asked him to be my wife’s doctor during her frightening cardiac problems and he accepted without a second thought. To this day, when I’m faced with a difficult medical problem, my strategy – as I’ve joked in the past - is to think of what someone smarter than me would do, and then do that. So, naturally, I still find myself asking, "What would Robbie say about this?"
The great Greek physician Galen, writing in the 2rd Century, once said this about doctors:
"He cures most in whom most have faith." “He cures most in whom most have faith.” Robbie had a fantastic way of inspiring that kind of confidence and loyalty in his patients almost without exception. In one episode that has stayed with me ever since, I encountered one of the finest testaments to the kind of doctor he was one weekend when I was on rounds for him at the hospital. One of his patients, a frail elderly lady with multiple medical problems, some of which were incurable, was able to summarize what it was that made him an outstanding doctor. She said, "I immediately feel better when he just walks into the room." I can think of no higher praise for a physician than that - to be able to bring comfort to those who are suffering with his mere presence.
Of course, Robbie was good at his job not just because he was smart, he was a great doctor because he was a great person. He was smart and practical. He was funny and loved to laugh. He made people around him automatically feel better about themselves, just as that elderly patient in the hospital said. I think I actually liked myself better when I was around him. I loved playing basketball with him (certainly instead of against him), and I had fun fishing in his ponds, even though I was known to frequently accuse him of not actually have any fish in them. Instead of pointing the obvious – which was the fact that I’m a horrible fisherman – he would just laugh and tell me that maybe I’d have better luck next time.
I always thought that we would always work together, and that I could always sit down in his office and ask him what he thought about various subjects. I enjoyed doing that because of the respect I had for him. I always figured that we had plenty of time to be not just colleagues, but friends as well. Because I still see through the glass darkly, I do not understand why he had to leave us so soon, but I do understand why he was put here – to be a loving husband and father, an honorable son and brother, a good friend, a superbly skilled physician, and the kind of person who inspired both admiration and confidence in everyone around him.
For now, I take comfort in the words of St. Paul to the Romans when he wrote, "Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? …No, in all these things we are conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Just as the things of this world are only temporary, I believe that our separation from him is temporary and incomplete. We are still bound together, all of us, in our love and respect for Robbie, just as we are united in One Body, One Spirit, and one hope of eternal glory. Although I miss him, I am grateful for the time I was given to spend with him, and I know that I am a better person and a better doctor because of him. Let us resolve today to honor him by trying to do the things he did so well with such ease – to act thoughtfully, to laugh often, and to care always. Eternal Rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let the perpetual light of your love shine upon him, forever and ever. Amen.
This week is the 500th birthday of St. Francis Xavier, the namesake of the hospital which was the site of my spiritual awakening. When I was a college student I was introduced to the holy concern and medical expertise of healthcare workers at St. Francis Hospital; as an internal medicine resident I would sit in the chapel at 2 o'clock in the morning and pray for spiritual guidance in my life (even before I was Catholic). St. Francis Xavier is in my Saintly Top Five, along with St. Peter, St. Luke, St. Patrick, and St. Benedict.
incredulous