The Pen Transplant

"Dr. Wetzel, would you be interested in speaking at one of our club meetings this fall semester?"

"Huh? Like what do you mean?"

"Oh it's because you came from a Cal State too and here you are, an ER doctor...you'd be a great source of motivation for us students"

"Uhm...haha"

"Well you can violently decline doc, but..."

She laughed and left her seat to go check on one of her patients...

Although she seemed reluctant to the idea, I knew that she wanted to do it. Earlier during the shift, she agreed to come help out with the health fairs and eventually, the free clinic that me and my buddies were planning and working on launching this fall semester. So why wouldn't she come speak to one of our meetings?

A couple hours and a gazillion ER scutwork later, she called me.

"I have a mission for you, Reinier!"

"Yes ma'am!"

She took out a retractable green ballpoint pen from her pocket. It was one of those freebie pens from annoying medreps.

"You see, I love this pen, but it ran out of ink. I want to use it again. Do a pen transplant! If you do, I'll come to your meeting!"

I took the pen and smiled. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Is this a joke?

The ER wasn't that busy so I had the chance to employ my analytic skills, manual dexterity, and fresh knowledge of biochemistry, biology, calculus, physics, chinese swordsmanship and astrogardening to this critical case. This is ballpoint pen surgery. I am pioneering the pen transplant. The first of its kind in the world. No it wasn't being done at Harvard, Stanford, or Hopkins. It was here at Anaheim. And the primary surgeon was me. I call the shots. The fate of Dr. Wetzel's charting delight, the premed club meeting, and the pen relied on me. I was the- what the hell?

I analyzed the pen. Is this fine point or medium point? Hmmm...oh it has a spring mechanism. Oh cool. So I stole a bic pen and another freebie pen similar to hers.

Cool. I took the other freebie pen since it shared the same spring mechanism and parts. The bic pen was extraneous to the operation- discarding it was imminent and inevitable. As heartbreaking as it is, I had to let it go. It served no purpose. I took the functional clone, dismembered it, took out the vital ink-containing component of it which I have labeled "spine" plus the "cervical support" that employed Hooke's law (spring, idiot! F=kx^2), cut it down to size, and "transplanted" it to Dr. Wetzel's pen.

The great pen surgeon has delivered. Another first. Another breakthrough operation. It was a complete success!!!

"Here you go doc!'

"Hmmm...let's see (she scribbles TCA on my biochem pathways cheatsheet)...oh it worked!"

"So you're coming to our meeting this coming semester?"

"Yeah!"

"Suh-weeeeeeeeeet!!!"