"DID ANYONE GET THE PATIENT'S NAME, DATE OF BIRTH, ADDRESS, AND SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER? WE CAN'T TREAT THEM UNTIL I HAVE THIS INFORMATION." I say. I am the glue that holds the construction paper together. I am patient registration.
"SIR IF YOU KEEP CALLING ME THAT YOU'RE NOT GETTING TREATED. YOU NEED TO WORK WITH ME SO THAT WE CAN GET YOU TREATED, OKAY"
I am the thin line that holds this place together. The grease in the gears. With fingers swift as a sparrow I type in his information. Surprisingly the information he game me is accurate. I look down at my nails and realize that I'm going to need a mani soon.
"CAN YOU CONFIRM YOUR DATE OF BIRTH AND ADDRESS SIR?"
I briskly stride down the hallway to the room, my holistic physician said to make sure I walk with more of a purpose. No one escapes not getting registered in this hospital. No one.
"WHO DID WE JUST STICK IN ROOM 7. HE NEEDS TO BE REGISTERED BEFORE HE CAN BE TREATED." I yell at the doctor. Stupid doctors don't understand that paperwork comes first.