A patient's valid prescription no longer meets his refractive needs. Does the practice eat the remake costs?  
 
 
 
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The Case of the
Stale Script

A patient's valid prescription no longer meets his refractive needs. Does the practice eat the remake costs?

By Natalie Taylor

T

he Hawaiian practice Pearl City Optics was a relatively new player serving Oahu's diverse Honolulu community. The office had three lanes for their single provider, and a large showroom full of moderately priced frames.

Optician Kalea met a walk-in early one morning and quickly recognized him as an established patient.

"If I remember correctly, Mr. Kimura, you had planned to fill your script at one of the 'big box' stores, right?" asked Kalea. "Did you end up having an issue?"

"I never got around to it, actually," replied Mr. Kimura. "I've come back to pick something out, this old pair just isn't meeting my needs," and gently touched the frames resting askew on his nose.

"Great, I'd be happy to help," she said, turning to the computer on the dispensing desk. "The prescription was made eight months ago, so it's still valid. Let me pull a few frames I think will work and we can get started."

EDITOR'S NOTE:
Real Deal is a fictional scenario designed to read like real-life business events. The businesses and people mentioned in this story should not be confused with actual businesses and people.

Kalea put together a package for Mr. Kimura which included progressive lenses with premium anti-reflective and photochromic technology. A few weeks later, Kalea dispensed the eyewear, which had come out beautifully. However, as soon as Kalea placed them on Mr. Kimura's face he frowned and looked around the room.

"These aren't as good as my other pair," he said flatly. Kalea immediately set to troubleshooting, from marking and re-neutralizing to comparing all aspects of both pairs of glasses. The new progressives were an updated design, but if anything she expected Mr. Kimura to be happier with the change.

"Listen, I need to leave for today. This is taking much longer than I expected," he said. "Keep the glasses and call me when you know."

Kalea was racking her brain when her boss Dr. Ng found her, holed up in the lab and hunched over the lensometer. The optician brought her boss up to speed.

"In all likelihood he needs a new refraction," said Dr. Ng. "Refractions can sometimes change over an eight-month period."

"Ah! Great, I'll call him and schedule a recheck," said Kalea.

"A refraction," Dr. Ng corrected. "We need to charge him, since the glasses were made correctly. It isn't our fault he waited so long to order them."

Kalea nodded in compliance and grabbed the phone; Mr. Kimura answered on the second ring. "I'm so glad we were able to determine where the issue was!" exclaimed Kalea, relieved. "The glasses are accurate to what we measured at your initial exam. Your vision has likely changed in the interim – hence the difference."

"You checked to make sure my prescription was current, what's the point of having it expire if it doesn't even work?" asked Mr. Kimura, and quickly added. "I don't want that pair if they aren't correct."

"Like I said, they are correct to your initial measurements. We can remake them based on a new refraction, which is $60. Do you have time later this week?" she said.

Mr. Kimura scoffed. "That's not right. I'm not paying for two exams in the same year! If you don't fix them for free I want a full refund and I'll take my business elsewhere," he said, and promptly ended the conversation.

 

Questions to Consider

1. Should Mr. Kimura be billed for a refraction in this instance, or should the recheck be free?

2. What could Kalea do differently in the future to prevent this from happening again?

3. Would you issue a full refund, considering there was technically no error made?