Holy Crap, This Job...

I'm not going to complain about having a full-time job.  That would be ungrateful and inconsiderate of me, particularly after the past 11 month span where I couldn't find employment of any kind.  So please do understand me when I say I'm incredibly grateful to be employed.  But holy crap, this job.  I haven't even started doing the job I've been hired for yet.  Instead, the past two weeks have been learning the very raw basics on how to do it before they let us start doing it.  "But Wonderduck," I hear you say, because I have microphones scattered around your domicile and oh my god you really shouldn't sing like that in the shower or anywhere else for that matter, "isn't that good?  You'll know what you're doing!"  Sure, you'd think that, but here's what I've been learning:

Medical terminology.  Billing codes.  Billing modifiers.  The medical insurance rules for an entire friggin' state.  What gets billed, how to do it, and how to turn them down.  How to approve, why to approve, and how the hell does ICD-9 427.0 have anything to do with a broken ankle anyway, and how did they manage to bill it like that?  Seriously, I'm asking 'cause that just ain't possible unless you're doing a HicPic D9220.  If you are, I have a request.  And every single day, something changes.  You think I'm kidding.  Believe me, I am being deathly serious.  I want to make something perfectly clear right now: I am a supporter of the Office of the President.  While I may (or may not) be a fan of who is the elected representative of that Office (as this is an American politics-free blog, I refuse to get into it), I respect the position he holds.  However, as a potential Medical Claims Examiner, I find myself in the position of being about to say something I've given others grief for saying: "Thanks, Obama!"  I can only imagine what it was like for those who had this job when the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act first took effect.  It couldn't have been fun at all, because it sure as heck ain't fun now.

Some sharper-eyed readers amongst the assembled Pond Scum may have noted the word "potential" up there.  That's because I'm not one yet, and won't be until I pass my certification test.  Which involves either knowing everything in that library shown above, or knowing how to find the needed information quickly.  Very quickly.  Because when I'm actually on the floor I'll be paid by the claim, and spending ten minutes trying to figure out the difference between 996.81 and 969.71 would be very bad for my bank account.  And, it must also be said, the patient's bank account if I got them wrong.  Probably.  So everybody in my training class is furiously studying our notes, going through the Binders of Doom, and hoping our cheat sheets are right.  Because you don't want to know what happens to your employment status if you don't pass the test.

As a result of all this, I leave the office feeling like I've been mentally hit by a truck, catapulted into the path of an oncoming train (express, not local), then deposited by the side of the track, there to be munched on by a passing fluffle of bunnies.  Then deposited by the side of the track again a few hours later, because that's how bunnies do.  As an example, I got home Wednesday around 5pm.  By seven, I was in bed, taking a short nap.  I blew through two alarms and woke up around midnight.  Then went back to bed an hour later, and slept until it was time to go back to work.  And then I came home tonight, had something to eat, and started to write this post.  Which, in a strange twist of fate, brings us to this very moment as I type this word.  And this one.  And these over here.  And this bit.  Ooh!  And the whole bunch at the end of this section of words between pictures.

What I'm saying is, holy crap, this job.  I'm sure it was no different when I was starting out at the D**k U B**ks***e, but I'm not used to feeling this stupid.  Stupid, yes, that comes with the territory of being me, totally used to feeling stupid.  But not so stupid that I wonder if I can even tie my own shoes (Wonderduck's note: that may not be the best example, as I actually wasn't able to tie my own shoes in a butterfly knot until I was ten years old.  I possessed perhaps the worst fine motor skills in the world, and to be honest, I never got very good at the trick.  Today, I use shoes with velcro fasteners... these, to be exact, though in black.  Maybe the most comfy shoes I've ever owned, and durable?  I've got one pair that I wore to Orlando two years ago that still feel like new.), let alone be a claims processor.  Dumb as a box of hair, that's me!  Oh, and I'm also godawfully tired, and glad beyond words that this is a three-day weekend.  Speaking of tired, if you don't mind I do believe I'm going to go lie down for a few hours. 

Yup, a nap is just what this lil' ol' Wonderduck is a-needin' 'round 'bout now...

Posted by: Wonderduck at 07:31 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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