The office manager for a doctors' office near my mother's home called me for an interview.
At the newspaper, I was used to dressing in sweatpants and T-shirts, but my fine-tuned jobhunting skills told me that attire would be inappropriate for a job interview.
I pulled out the only decent outfit I could find and showed up.
After a brief conversation, the office manager said they would take me on as a volunteer, and that was it. I could start on Monday.
The next couple of weeks found me mainly stuck in the messiest file room I hope I ever see. Patients' charts were everywhere. You could barely walk without your feet sliding on a pile of charts.
I restored order to the chaos and was offered a fulltime position as an office assistant. My duties would include answering phones, faxing, sending out letters, making appointments and, of course, filing.
There would be no coding or billing involved. The office had contracted out the billing to one person, who didn't need any help. And, as I discovered, most doctors do their own coding.
That paper they give you when you leave the office is basically a sheet of codes. The doctor marks the appropriate codes for your visit.
My life spooled out in front of me, an endless sea of faxes and files, phones and futility.
No comments:
Post a Comment