Part 19 (2/2)
”That's not funny.” Sheryl clutched a file folder to her chest.
”By the way, good morning.” Jill opened the door into her office, a windowless white box that held her diplomas, licenses, reference books, and a neat desk with a struggling ficus plant. She spent as little time as possible here, preferring the examining rooms. She loved her patients, but didn't love working at Pembey Family, mainly because of Sheryl. ”So what's up?”
”I need to speak to you about your stats, again. I know you're part-time, so I accounted for that.” Sheryl pursed her thin lips. Her eyes were dirt brown, and she had the doughy features of a baby, without any of the charm. ”I sent an email to John, showing that last quarter, you saw only between eighteen and twenty cases a day.” Sheryl whipped out a printout of numbers, from the folder. ”That's ten to twelve fewer than the average of all the other docs. Each doc needs to keep the schedule, and you need to see more cases a day.”
”They're patients, not cases, and if you want to talk averages, their average age is two.” Jill had explained this many times before. ”I'm the only pediatrician here. I take longer because babies can't tell you where it hurts.”
”Don't be funny.”
”I wasn't being funny, just now. I was being funny, before.” Jill gave up on the humor thing, and Sheryl's eyes hardened.
”The numbers don't lie. You take too long with the cases. You have to draw the line. Five minutes with each case, ten at the max, and twenty only if it's an annual. You're consistently running twenty minutes or longer, with each case.”
”Sheryl, come on. Pediatricians don't work the same as adult docs, we can't.” Jill had said this before, too. ”Each visit, I have two patients, a parent and a child. I use the time it takes to give my patients the best care possible, and no more.”
Sheryl gestured at the door. ”Like with Mrs. Fitzmartin, you chat them up, don't you?”
Jill almost laughed. ”Guilty as charged. I'm friendly with the patients.”
”She's not your patient.”
”I like her, is that okay with you? If I were keeping patients waiting, it would be different, but John wanted me to build a pediatric practice. The best way to grow is to provide quality care, including the relations.h.i.+p side. The statistics aren't the same for me.”
Sheryl arched an eyebrow. ”You don't follow any of the rules of Pembey Family, whether they pertain to a pediatric practice or not.”
”Of course I do. Which rules don't I follow?”
”For starters, you answer questions by email.”
Jill blinked. ”How do you know that?”
”We monitor it.”
Jill recoiled. ”You read my email?”
”It's not your email, it's Pembey Family email. We own it, it's proprietary, and it's my job to monitor it.”
”Since when?” Jill should have guessed as much, but somehow she hadn't. ”Why do you care if I answer by email? We lose the exam fee?”
”It's a business, Jill. We don't encourage uncompensated phone or email advice. You're the only doc who gives out her intraoffice email, [email protected], which you're not supposed to do, either. All patient email has to go to me, at ”
”Then it gets to me three days later.”
Sheryl frowned. ”Also, you're exposing us to lawsuits if your orders are misunderstood, or if a misdiagnosis is made because the case wasn't seen.”
”I would never prescribe anything unless it was a patient I'd seen, and I don't use it for acute medical issues.” Jill was so sick of hearing about lawsuits. Pembey had layers of CYA paperwork in case they got sued, and that was on top of the insurance-company paperwork. ”I have to be available by phone and email. You can't tell Mom to chill out when her baby's sick.”
”You're only hurting yourself, you know. Your bonus would be higher if you were more productive.”
”Seeing more patients isn't necessarily more productive, and if money were all that mattered, I'd do cosmetic surgery for a living.”
Sheryl's eyes narrowed. ”You think everything is a joke, don't you?”
”No, I don't. I take my patients and my practice very seriously. I'm using humor to keep the mood light, and I'm failing, evidently.”
”I have a sense of humor.”
”Where?” Jill smiled, and Sheryl frowned.
”You act as if you're the exception.”
”I am, because of what I do.”
”Not so. You're the only part-timer we have. Why? That doesn't have anything to do with what you do.”
”Yes, it does.” Jill felt taken aback. Of all of Sheryl's complaints, she'd never heard this one before. ”I do it to be home with my daughter. I love kids, even if they're mine, as absurd as that sounds.”
”Megan's thirteen, Jill. I don't think she needs you to take her to playdates anymore. You'd be working full-time if you were committed to Pembey Family.”
”I'm committed to my family, okay?” Jill felt herself flush. ”I made a part-time deal when I got here, and I still don't get home some nights until eight.”
”Every doc here works long hours.”
”I'm sure,” Jill said, though she never saw any of the four other docs. They all ran separate practices, and there was no time to interact with anyone except Sheryl. ”But I'm the only woman, the only mom.”
”So again, you're the exception.”
”Yes.” Jill wasn't getting anywhere. ”Look, I have to do some charting, then get ready for Carrie Bryson, who'll be here any minute. She has a two-year-old and she emailed me last night, about his rash. She called the office first, for the after-hours program.” Jill caught herself. ”But I guess you knew that.”
”Yes, and you told her that you could squeeze her in this morning. You have to stop doing that, too.” Sheryl frowned. ”She has to go through Donna. Donna is the appointment secretary.”
”I emailed Donna and told her myself.”
”That's not Pembey Family procedure. These procedures serve a purpose. If we don't know Carrie's coming in, we can't pull her file, and we can't make sure that the case is properly logged, coded, and billed.”
”Donna wasn't available at midnight, when I answered the email. I know we have procedures, but they can't get in the way of the patients and the medicine. That's why we're here.”
Rring! Jill's cell phone rang in her back pocket, and her heart leapt up. It had to be Abby; it wasn't the ringtone for Megan or Sam. ”Excuse me.” She reached for her phone and checked the screen. She didn't recognize the number but she wasn't taking any chances. ”Sorry, I have to get this.”
Sheryl was already stalking away. ”Don't be long,” she called over her shoulder, closing the door behind her as the call connected.
”Jill, it's Victoria, calling from home. Have you heard from Abby?”
”No,” Jill answered, surprised. Victoria sounded less angry. Not warm exactly, but not as hostile as yesterday. ”She hasn't returned my calls.”
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