Rachel: Chart Warrior

In a few weeks, I'll be celebrating my two year relationship...with my job. Yes, my friends, two glorious years as a receptionist and medical records "expert." While, I'm thankful for my boss for taking a chance on a lowly college graduate with no medical experience, I outgrew and outqualified this job nearly six months into it. High on stress, low on pay. High on work, little on respect. I can handle being short - but not the stump of the medical totem pole.
However, by far the worst part of this job has been witnessing my creativity drain out of me like a catheter. After awhile, realizing my own mental mortality, I diagnosed myself as creatively brain damaged and promptly wrote myself an Rx for fun. I jazzed up clinic life and injected some much-needed Scrubs sass into this barren tundra.
For example, sometimes I need to direct calls elsewhere - to the nurse, scheduling receptionist, or business office. I've devised a warning code system for certain patients/parents. For example, "Code A" stands for accent. This is not meant to be prejudice; rather, it flags the clinic member to listen carefully and tone down on the multi-tasking while on this call. Code "B" is a favorite, and stands for "bitch." While self-explanatory, this code advises the clinic member to be respectful, but to also not take any of their verbal sh*t they try slinging at you via phone like a pissed off monkey.
Now that I work back in Medical Records, I've invented names for myself, and the [very] important things I do. If a doctor needs a chart STAT, I consider myself "The Chart Wrangler," or "Rachel: Princess Wrangler." This inflated title motivates me to deftly locate the chart with extraordinary efficiency and accuracy. I suggest you try this with your own job title and job description. For example, you aren't "just" a dog walker, missy. My, you're a certified canine cardiovascular trainer. Try THAT one on for size at your next neighborhood soiree!
Sometimes it can be quite tricky pinpointing the exact location of a medical chart. In these infrequent cases, I "send out the search dogs." These highly specialized canines are actually my co-workers with whom I'm closest. I'll shoot them a secret email, asking if they can help me locate the chart. But it's always in secret. To the doctor, to the nurse, they're simply my "search dogs." It's best to keep those sorts of things under wraps.
I'm in charge of all records and dictation on new patients that come into our clinic. Once they are seen by our cardiologist, I review the dictation and determine whether they will be a "frequent flyer" at the clinic (regular patient) or "one-timer." Sometimes, it's hard to tell; they may or may not return. In these cases, I've created my own section in Medical Records: the simmer shelf. Are they done, or still need to boil? We aren't so sure. Better let them simmer for awhile until a more conclusive decision can be made. Nurses laughed at first, but now find this simmer pile quite helpful.
You see, working in a medical clinic doesn't have to be so dull. You just have to invent your own ways of fun. I'm the Jim (or Pam) of the clinic (if you watch Office Space). You gotta spice it up in order to save your sanity.