What are we talking about today?

I'll get back to theme days once I find a groove of posting regularly. In the meantime, most of my posts are about some variation of books, bikes, buses, or Broadway. Plus bits about writing, nonprofits, and grief from time to time.

This blog is mostly lighthearted and pretty silly. It's not about the terrible things happening in the world, but please know that I'm not ignoring those things. I just generally don't write about them here.

21 April 2008

It's a tough job, but...

So at work the other day, I was clearing out the "new" visits.

These are visits that we have in our system, waiting for charges to be put into them so they can then be billed to the insurance/patient/both. We get some that hang around for a while, though, because a patient didn't come in but wasn't removed from the schedule, or because I didn't know there was already a visit in place and created a new one when I billed the visit, or because I missed the visit altogether when billing out the charges for a particuar day. Whatever the reason, there are always visits hanging around that I have to go back and check on from time to time.

The first time I did the clearing-out, my supervisor explained it to me like this: "This is a job... (pause)."
I: That no one else wants to do?
She: No. Well, yes. But I was going to say it's something we have to do from time to time.
I: But no one wants to do it, so it hasn't been done in a while.
She: Right. I think there are a lot in there.


She was right; on that first venture, there were tons, some dating back a few years. But it didn't take me long to clear them out, and I've done it once a month ever since. My successor in this job had better appreciate that.


But really, I don't know why no one wanted to do it. It's fun for me. I get to look things up, figure things out, and wonder what on earth I thought I was doing on that particular day. I've never understood, not since that first time, why this is a job no one wants to do.

This is the price I pay for being anal.

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