Doctors and pens

When I was in residency in Idaho, I went to a skilled nursing facility to see a couple patients with one of my preceptors, Dr. Woodhouse.  I had forgotten to bring a pen, so I asked a nurse to borrow a pen.  Shortly thereafter when we were done seeing the patients, written our paper notes, and were driving away, I said, “Oh I forgot to give this pen back to that nurse.”  Dr. Woodhouse chuckled and said something like, “Don’t worry about it.  Pens are like air, we just inhale them!”  I hope Dr. Woodhouse doesn’t mind me revealing that he is a chronic pen burglar. And in fact, Dr. Woodhouse is one of my favorite preceptors for teaching me some of the most memorable lessons of my residency.  Doctors are like vacuums for pens.  We have a well-deserved reputation.  I don’t think I have ever bought a pen since becoming a doctor.  Not to brag, but I probably could afford a bag of 20 to 50 pens, and I could even buy my favorite disposable ones.  Though for some reason I don’t buy any.  I just keep getting a free one from our office at the hospital or up on the medical floor.  There is a whole drawer of pens up on the medical floor, although it is a crap shoot, I never know what kind of pen is going to be up there.  Sometimes there are gel pens, sometimes ball point, sometimes pens with caps, sometimes click pens, usually black pens, and occasionally blue pens.  My favorite color is blue, click pens are soooooo much faster and I seem to get done quicker with my day’s work with a click pen, and ball point pens just work better than gel pens.  My ideal pen is a ball-point click pen, and the cherry on top is the soft rubber part where you hold the pen to write.  They don’t come in blue though, or at least I have never seen one at the hospital.  They’re all black at the hospital.  Sometimes there are no pens in the drawer, and I ask the ward clerk if they have a pen that I can have (steal)—they usually have a drawer with a few office supplies.

I was in one of these frequent pen-less predicaments a couple of weeks ago.  I was working a night shift, and went to see some patients being admitted who were still in the ER.  After I got down there, I realized I didn’t have a pen.  So, I was scrounging around for pen to avoid walking back down the long hallway to the hospitalist office.  I wasn’t finding one, so I asked the clerk if he had one.  He looked in the organizer on his desk and there weren’t any there, so he pulled a pen—a blue gel click pen with a rubber grip—out of his pocket and gave it to me.  There seemed to be a slight reluctance when he handed it to me, like he liked that pen and he probably would never see it again given the reputation that we have.  “Thank you,” I said, realizing that was probably his personal pen since he pulled it out of his pocket.  Well, before I knew it, I was down there cooped up in the ER seeing patients for a couple hours before I had to rush upstairs to see a patient.  As I was hurriedly leaving the ER, I glanced over and saw the clerk, and seeing him for some reason jogged my memory that he probably wanted the pen back.  As I was walking by, I handed him the blue gel click pen with the rubber grip, and said, “Here’s your pen back.  Thanks for letting me borrow it.”  He just nodded his head, probably a little surprised to see it again, let alone get it back.  Not to be dramatic, it is just a pen, but to be honest we both wanted that pen. 

I continued on my way to go to the ICU, I don’t remember why.  I was going through the short cut through the back of the ER up the stairs to the second floor.  I went through the door and there laying at the base of the first stair on the ground was pen—a black ball point click pen with a rubber grip.  I was very surprised and not too proud to pick it up off the ground.  I have never seen a pen on the ground in the hospital in my 3 years working there.  I was laughing to myself.  I had just given the other pen back, about 15 seconds before, and right away there is another pen, the best kind they have at the hospital, drops right into my lap!  It was a tender mercy from Heavenly Father, or as I prefer to call them, a little miracle.  When I told this to my wife, she instantly interpreted the event to be a witness from Heavenly Father to mean that although I have big changes coming up in my career of which I am anxious about, there will be no lapse in being able to stay busy and provide for my family.  I think she is right, and I am grateful to have her and her ability to interpret such things.