Up until this week I only took collections for one lab and one lab only. Every single sample I collected was sent to the same place for testing, and every single result was sent to the same place for verification before being reported. Monday my company added itself to the list of approved collection sites for a fairly large nationwide laboratory, which has very nearly doubled my workload and added a whole new set of rules to play by.
Hey, no sweat. I dig rules.
If you've ever worked in an office which made sudden, sweeping changes, though, you know that things can be hectic and disorienting for a while. Old routines have to be abandoned and incorporated into new ones. Everything has to be double-checked just to be sure it's going in the right place, or to the right person. And the situation is compounded by the fact that I work alone.
When I first started here I went through an uncomfortable period where I just attempted to wing it, at best. It takes a long time to get into a decent routine, and it took even longer to adjust to not having anyone working alongside me. No bosses to point things out that I've overlooked, no co-workers to blame things on when something goes awry. My job isn't difficult by any stretch of the imagination, but I hadn't experienced anything like it before.
For our old lab, I just type up the information (donor's name, company's name and specimen ID number) and e-mail a list to my boss each night. For the new one I have to fax some stuff to the medical review officer listed on the form. This information wasn't given to me until yesterday, which meant Monday was interesting in that I had a whole box of specimens to send out, but had no idea what to do with the forms that belonged to those specimens.
When word finally came down that the system was in place to process the paperwork and all I had to do was fax it off, I went down through the stack of backlogged forms and got them all where they needed to go. My uncooperative fax machine took thirty minutes to manage this herculean feat, but the point is it was done.
As the forms were whisking away across the country I amused myself by wondering how long it would take before one of these new MROs would call with a complaint.
Didn't take long. I got my wish this morning. Very early this morning in fact; the message was on my machine when I got in at 7:50.
"This is Dr. Cranky from such-and-such office in some faraway state you've never heard of. I need a chain of custody form faxed immediately. Please call my office back at [phone number] immediately upon receiving this message."
I tend to my first-thing-in-the-morning collections, then gather up my stack of recently-faxed forms so the one Dr. Cranky wants is at hand immediately.
"Good morning. This is Richard, I just received a message about a COC that needs to be faxed."
"Please hold," says a voice that I've never heard before.
A few minutes go by. The hold music is "I'll Be Watching You" by Sting.
"Yes, Richard," says the voice from my message, "I received some results from a collection done at your office, but I never received the COC." She rattles off the ID number from the form. "This was collected on the 9th... just wondering why it's the 11th and I haven't gotten anything yet."
"My apologies. I only started taking collections for this lab on the 9th and I'm still adjusting to the new procedures. Can I have your fax number please?"
"It's on the form, in the top-right corner, where it says 'fax number'," says Dr. Cranky in the same annoying singsong voice you'd use to tell your kids it's time to pick up their toys.
"Right, I just want to confirm the number on the form is correct." After all, I faxed this out yesterday afternoon. I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt here; maybe the number on her form is misprinted. More likely she just didn't bother to check her fax tray this morning before calling me.
She tells me the fax number, one digit at a time. I tell her, "Alright, I'll dig that out and send it off to you right away."
"I'm sorry, 'dig that out'?" asks Dr. Cranky.
"Well yeah. I have a rather large stack of forms here, and it's going to take me a moment to find the one you want."
"Mmm-hmm. Richard, may I speak with your supervisor?"
"I suppose so. Do you have a pen handy?"
"Could you please transfer me to your supervisor, Richard?"
"No, I can't. I can give you her phone number though."
"I would like to speak to your supervisor immediately, Richard."
"I work alone in this office. To speak with anyone over my head you'll have to call corporate."
"What's the number, please?"
I tell it to her.
"Thank you Richard. Do you foresee future delays between the time a collection is taken and the time you send out the COC?"
"It's possible, but not likely. As I explained, I'm still adjusting to the new set of rules for the new lab."
"Thank you, have a nice day," she says, and hangs up.
It does amuse me that when Dr. Cranky goes to check her fax machine she'll be greeted with two copies of the same form. I bet she finds it and then calls my boss to complain anyway.
I'm wondering whether or not I should conveniently lose all of Dr. Cranky's forms from here on out. Hey, she thinks I'm incompetent anyway; I may as well act the part.
Hey, no sweat. I dig rules.
If you've ever worked in an office which made sudden, sweeping changes, though, you know that things can be hectic and disorienting for a while. Old routines have to be abandoned and incorporated into new ones. Everything has to be double-checked just to be sure it's going in the right place, or to the right person. And the situation is compounded by the fact that I work alone.
When I first started here I went through an uncomfortable period where I just attempted to wing it, at best. It takes a long time to get into a decent routine, and it took even longer to adjust to not having anyone working alongside me. No bosses to point things out that I've overlooked, no co-workers to blame things on when something goes awry. My job isn't difficult by any stretch of the imagination, but I hadn't experienced anything like it before.
For our old lab, I just type up the information (donor's name, company's name and specimen ID number) and e-mail a list to my boss each night. For the new one I have to fax some stuff to the medical review officer listed on the form. This information wasn't given to me until yesterday, which meant Monday was interesting in that I had a whole box of specimens to send out, but had no idea what to do with the forms that belonged to those specimens.
When word finally came down that the system was in place to process the paperwork and all I had to do was fax it off, I went down through the stack of backlogged forms and got them all where they needed to go. My uncooperative fax machine took thirty minutes to manage this herculean feat, but the point is it was done.
As the forms were whisking away across the country I amused myself by wondering how long it would take before one of these new MROs would call with a complaint.
Didn't take long. I got my wish this morning. Very early this morning in fact; the message was on my machine when I got in at 7:50.
"This is Dr. Cranky from such-and-such office in some faraway state you've never heard of. I need a chain of custody form faxed immediately. Please call my office back at [phone number] immediately upon receiving this message."
I tend to my first-thing-in-the-morning collections, then gather up my stack of recently-faxed forms so the one Dr. Cranky wants is at hand immediately.
"Good morning. This is Richard, I just received a message about a COC that needs to be faxed."
"Please hold," says a voice that I've never heard before.
A few minutes go by. The hold music is "I'll Be Watching You" by Sting.
"Yes, Richard," says the voice from my message, "I received some results from a collection done at your office, but I never received the COC." She rattles off the ID number from the form. "This was collected on the 9th... just wondering why it's the 11th and I haven't gotten anything yet."
"My apologies. I only started taking collections for this lab on the 9th and I'm still adjusting to the new procedures. Can I have your fax number please?"
"It's on the form, in the top-right corner, where it says 'fax number'," says Dr. Cranky in the same annoying singsong voice you'd use to tell your kids it's time to pick up their toys.
"Right, I just want to confirm the number on the form is correct." After all, I faxed this out yesterday afternoon. I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt here; maybe the number on her form is misprinted. More likely she just didn't bother to check her fax tray this morning before calling me.
She tells me the fax number, one digit at a time. I tell her, "Alright, I'll dig that out and send it off to you right away."
"I'm sorry, 'dig that out'?" asks Dr. Cranky.
"Well yeah. I have a rather large stack of forms here, and it's going to take me a moment to find the one you want."
"Mmm-hmm. Richard, may I speak with your supervisor?"
"I suppose so. Do you have a pen handy?"
"Could you please transfer me to your supervisor, Richard?"
"No, I can't. I can give you her phone number though."
"I would like to speak to your supervisor immediately, Richard."
"I work alone in this office. To speak with anyone over my head you'll have to call corporate."
"What's the number, please?"
I tell it to her.
"Thank you Richard. Do you foresee future delays between the time a collection is taken and the time you send out the COC?"
"It's possible, but not likely. As I explained, I'm still adjusting to the new set of rules for the new lab."
"Thank you, have a nice day," she says, and hangs up.
It does amuse me that when Dr. Cranky goes to check her fax machine she'll be greeted with two copies of the same form. I bet she finds it and then calls my boss to complain anyway.
I'm wondering whether or not I should conveniently lose all of Dr. Cranky's forms from here on out. Hey, she thinks I'm incompetent anyway; I may as well act the part.
