Fountain pens

I love fountain pens, but I’m far to busy for the regular ritual of cleaning, filling, etc. Most of my day is spent scrawling notes or typing on a keyboard. But there is one task for which only a fountain pen will do.

I’ve lost a number of patients lately. Most were in hospice, all were elderly, but it’s always tough. I take care of my patients until they die, including hospice care, so I often get to follow them on the journey from health to death. Sometimes, great debility and dementia is a step on that journey. I’ve taken to writing short notes to the spouse of the deceased, to acknowledge the death, let them know I’m available, and remind them that I knew the patient on a personal level and appreciate the loss of a person, rather than just a patient.

I just can’t type a letter like that, and using some plastic throw-away pen doesn’t seem appropriate. I take a nice piece of office stationary, dip my pen, and write. After signing the letter, I turn it and blot it on another sheet.

The subtle smears that are left by my mediocre penmanship create a clearly personal document, separating it from a generic communication.

There really aren’t many more important tasks. I don’t mind brushing off my quirky 1957 Pelican once in a while. One must always use the proper tool for the occasion. While a patient lives, a stethoscope, clean hands, and a penlight are indispensable. After they are gone, only a fountain pen will do.