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“Hello, this is June Matthews with the Salt Lake City Orthopedic Care Center. Is this Gordon Larsey?”
“Oh, yes,” he said brightly.
“Mr. Larsey, I apologize for this, but I had a miscommunication with scheduling you yesterday. I was told that we need to schedule you with Dr. Andrews, does that sound right?”
“No,” Gordon said, and his voice took on a hard edge. “You’ve done this to me every time! I need to see Dr. Brady for my neck pain.”
Patience. Patience.“I understand, Mr. Larsey. I saw the referral, and we are so happy to get you taken care of. Sometimes our medical team consults within the center, and given your records and previous scans, Dr. Brady and Dr. Andrews feel very confident that Dr. Andrews can—”
“I want to talk to your supervisor,” the patient snapped.
I swallowed a sigh. “Of course,” I said brightly. “Let me put you on hold.”
Katherine glanced at me, her black-lacquered nails doing a tap dance on her keyboard. “Carla doesn’t have the patience for that first thing in the morning.”
“Neither do I,” I muttered. Before I could go in search of Carla, our office manager, another message pinged through the portal.
Dr. Brady: I need MRI for J. Kauffman. Was supposed to come in yesterday.
I had absolutely no control over how quickly imaging centers and outside services sent files to our office, and he knew that very well. I ignored his message and hopped out of my chair, patting my unruly, red curls in their messy bun, and straightening my cardigan—like a marginally tidy appearance was going to help Carla’s mood when I told her she had a cranky patient to deal with at 8:08 in the morning.
I found Carla in the nurse’s station, organizing patient files for the day so each doctor could find their correct files at the correct time. A stylish forty-something woman with dark skin and full lips, Carla completely personified the gorgeous corporate maverick ideal. She kept her hair natural and curly, and I could easily imagine her on a high rise somewhere, sipping a dry martini and laughing with her socialite friends.
And really, Carla was the boss I wish I had. In a way, she was everyone’s boss, but I wished I could defer to her directly. She’d been reading a “leadership book” for the last week and a half, and although she shouted corny things like, “Transparent is trusting!” and “What we do matters, but who we help matters more,” the idea that she cared about our potential as staff made me feel all cozy inside.
That said, she wasn’t a morning person.
“Good morning,” I said brightly.
Carla gave me a once-over. “Why do you look like someone forgot the boba in your boba tea?”
Accurate. Still stings. Thanks so much.“I have a Mr. Larsey who wants to be scheduled with Dr. Brady, but Dr. Brady says no, and he wants him to be scheduled with Dr. Andrews.”
“And you told him this?” she asked, double-checking some files against her schedule on Dr. Frazier’s file holder.
“Yes, and I already scheduled him with Dr. Brady because that’s what the referral from his GP said, but apparently that was a mistake. And now he wants to talk to my manager.”
“Lord alive,” she muttered, slamming down another stack of files. She gave me an exasperated look. “It’s too early in the morning for this.”
“It is,” I agreed, tapping my hands together nervously.
“I’ll handle it.” She picked up her leadership book off the counter. She’d been carrying it everywhere like a preacher and her bible. “Double check with Dr. Brady. Always.”
“Got it,” I said, stretching my mouth uncertainly.
She clacked away in her black stiletto heels, and I blew out a breath. Crisis one averted. No big deal.
Jackie, the blond nurse just to my left, gave me a sympathetic face. Patients were, arguably, the best and worst parts of our jobs. When I returned to my desk, I had three other messages from Dr. Brady.
Dr. Brady: MRI?
Dr. Brady: Keep my sched free on Thurs next week after 2. Thank you.
Dr. Brady: Kauffman is my 11 today. Need MRI.
“Maybe you should send a nurse to take his blood pressure,” Katherine suggested. Her bright, unnaturally red hair had been pulled into a retro-styled finger wave updo, and she had on a wispy shawl—her signature style. Katherine read palms on the weekends, but I didn’t need my life line read to know it had a rocky trajectory lately.
I sat down hard and tapped back with unnecessary force.
