The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish

Actually, that's one of the few Neil Gaimans I haven't read. I already have goldfish at home (well, my mom does) and even if I didn't, I wouldn't trade my dad for them. Not even if they were magical and held the secret to world peace or perfectly bouncy hair. I was too lazy to think of a title less dumb than The Day I Went Nuts Because I Couldn't Find My Pen.

A black Pilot GTEC C4 sign pen to be exact.

It's not a secret that I can be anal about my writing implements. I've been using this specific type of Pilot since high school, roughly 15 years now, and I simply don't like using any other kind. And then one early sunny morning, I woke up with a sunny disposition (I always do, don't argue.) to admit a pregnant woman scheduled for a cesarean section and I was almost through with my admitting orders and history when I had to go get the fetal heartbeat. When I got back to my admitting counter, MY PEN WAS GONE. The horror!

I rifled through all the papers, searched every nook and cranny of the ER counter, checked my pockets... hell, if my underwear had pockets, I'd have looked there too but alas, it was nowhere to be found. I retraced my steps, checked the container for the Doppler, still nada. I even checked and rechecked empty pockets because you never know, magicians pull rabbits out of empty hats, why couldn't I pull a sign pen out of an empty pocket? And you know how sometimes you look for something and then later realize that you've been holding it in your hand all along? Well, I stared at my empty hands, like some lunatic, just to be sure.

I was ready to go into a full-blown tantrum. It's not that I can't write with a Uni pen (yech), I'm not that moronic, but I won't like doing it. No matter how busy it gets, even if I get bombarded with a truckload of patients, as long as I'm using my pen, nothing could faze me. My gloved hands could be covered in blood but I'd still be cracking jokes. Not in front of the patients of course, but you know.

Anyway, I was running out of options. I even went so far as to accuse the charge nurse of hiding my pen.

Me: Chingkaaaaaay! Aha akong sign pen baaaaaa? Stop hiding it!

Nurse: Nganong itago man lugar nako, doc?

Me: Kay you know man nga maboang ko kung di nako makita! Where is it lagi baaaaaa? (whilst feeling her up in a completely non-sexually harassing way)

Nurse: Na, ambot nimo, doc. Basin naa didto sa patient, sa iyang bed.

Me: Nganong moabot man lugar didto beh?

But I was already considering where in the patient's bed my pen could be. And the dilemma of how I was to go about looking for it presented itself. Do I have her turn to sides to see if she was lying on it? Do I shake her blanket? Those options seemed too, well, unprofessional so I made up excuses to keep going back to her bed to look for it out of the corner of my eye. First I informed her of her pediatrician (even though she already knew). Then I informed her she can't eat anymore (even though she already started fasting the night before). Then I told her she would be going to her room in a few minutes. Then I just resorted to peeking in between the curtains to see if I could spot it on her bed without her knowing I was there looking, like some crazy voyeur.

Fresh out of ideas, I was practically yelling, "I am not admitting another patient until I find my pen! Ching! Where's my pen?! Stop hiding it ba!" And then the patient was wheeled to her room and I rushed to the bed she vacated. I turned over the pillow, almost yanked out the bedsheets and there it was, hidden beneath the linen.

*grin*

Double rainbow!

I sat back down, happily admitted the two dialysis patients that arrived during my near tantrum. And when no less than FOUR patients came in at the same time for their scheduled cryosurgeries and had to be admitted in a span of *minutes* because the surgeon was waiting at the operating room, I was all like, "Bring it on."