There’s a special kind of delirium that descends sometime between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m., when caffeine metabolism has stalled, and the glow of the EHR becomes your only companion. That’s when autocorrect—our digital trickster—decides to make charting interesting.
To the uninitiated, autocorrect appears harmless. Helpful, even. But for those of us who have dared to chart in the witching hours, it’s the mischievous intern or APP student we never asked for—bold, overconfident, and utterly wrong.
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The Great Betrayals
You meant to type “patient resting comfortably.”
Autocorrect, always melodramatic, changed it to “patient roasting comfortably.”
“Cough improving” becomes “couch improving,” while somewhere, a Joint Commission auditor twitches.
And God help you if you try to type “sinus tach.” You’ll get “sincere taco,” which, honestly, sounds more comforting.
EHRs do not discriminate. They’ll humiliate the novice and veteran alike. Autocorrect has no respect for credentials—only chaos.
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The 3 a.m. Philosophical Shift
There’s a point where the EHR begins to feel sentient. It learns your phrases—then misuses them with glee.
By the end of a 12-hour, seven-shift stretch, you’re debating the ethics of arguing with a machine.
You start to question everything: Did I type that, or did the EHR?
Was the patient “discharged home in stable condition,” or “discharged to home instability”?
You don’t know anymore. You might even consider clicking “Sign” and pray the next healthcare provider doesn’t read the audit trail.
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The Auto-Phrases We Deserve
Somewhere out there, a developer thought, “Wouldn’t it be helpful if every note started with a prefilled paragraph?”
And thus was born the modern art form of deleting 400 irrelevant lines before you can document the part that matters.
You scroll past “No known allergies,” “reviewed chart,” and “patient seen and examined,” like walking through a digital junkyard of redundant affirmations.
By the time you reach the free-text box, you’re already emotionally compromised.
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When Autocorrect Outpaces Autonomy
There’s a rumor that AI documentation will soon do it all for us—real-time transcription, automated differential diagnosis, even complete with empathy prompts.
Which is comforting, until you remember autocorrect still thinks “lisinopril” is “listen, April.”
Before we hand over our progress notes to the machines, perhaps they should first learn the difference between “ileus” and “illness.”
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A Plea for Mercy
So here’s to every physician or APP nocturnist hospitalist who has stared into the pixelated abyss and whispered, “Why?”
May your cursor move smoothly, your templates cooperate, and your autocorrect know the difference between “peritoneum” and “peritoneal.”
Because in the end, we don’t need perfection—just a chart that won’t get us called to risk management before breakfast.
Mr. Facklam
Mr. Facklam (an adult hospital medicine nurse practitioner and nocturnist with Apogee Physicians at South Georgia Medical Center in Valdosta, Ga., and a member of SHM’s NP/PA advisory council) has made peace with caffeine, chaos, and autocorrect.