Can I get a "woot" "woot" while you raise your hands?
If you understand the title of this blog... then you feel my pain. If you don't, let me enlighten you. I work in a hospital. I am not a clinical person. I am not a nurse or a doctor and I don't play one on TV. I work in administration... sorta what would be the equivalent of middle management, I suppose. The Joint Commission is the agency responsible for granting accreditation to hospitals and other healthcare facilities. Blah blah blah... I know. This is important because it directly ties into reimbursement, which keeps the hospital in business, which keeps me employed. The Joint Commission does unannounced nailing-biting inspections surveys on a triennial cycle. It just so happens I started my hospital career right after the last survey, so I haven't had the pleasure of enduring participating in a survey yet.
Well... I can scratch that off my list of things to do. They showed up bright and early on Tuesday morning. (Man, was I thankful I carpooled with Countrymouse that day. With all whip cracking he does in the morning, I am usually on time when I ride with him... that is except for the days I am feverishly trying to get *just one more thing done* before we leave.)
Having "The Joint" in your hospital is kinda like having the IRS over for dinner, except instead of just looking at your receipts and tax forms and giving you a kiss goodbye, The Joint wants to see all sorts of various and sundry documents, have a nice meet and greet with your physicians and leadership, peek under the tables and on top of the shelves for dust bunnies and generally shake the place up, smiling and being pleasant all the while. The Joint Commission has these pesky things they call Standards. These Standards might as well be written in Sanskrit. They are notorious for being hard to follow and interpret. (I think that's part of the plan. They give you just enough room to hang yourself.) Of course, the cherry on top is once you think you are finally compliant, they go and change them on you!
My direct portion of the survey will be tomorrow (oh joy). I spoke with my surveyor late this afternoon and went over what he wants available to review. I pulled files and ran reports and copied policies and bylaws. Of course, not anticipating having to stay late, I rode to work with Countrymouse again today. He was a sweetie though and went home, fed the pups and came back for me. (We both work in the same town, which is 20 miles away from the town in which we live.) He even indulged me in a couple of Blue Moons and boneless Buffalo wings at Applebees. (That's my guy mouse.)
On the way home we had an animated conversation about religion, politics, business, children, family and random hospital gossip. (Probably due, in part, to my two Brewtus Blue Moons.) That's a lot for a 30 minute car ride. When I am animated, I am very animated and can't talk without my hands. (I was born in New York, afterall.) This was the result tonight...
No, Countrymouse didn't sock me. (Although, I told him I was gonna say that. I can be evil sometimes.) I actually stabbed myself with my thumbnail. Can you believe it? (Well, I can hardly believe I've stopped biting my nails long enough that they have grown to the point where they could be considered a dangerous weapon.) I don't even want to think about the dirt, germs and Buffalo sauce that may have been hiding on my hands. While small, my boo boo hurt like the Dickens and I bled like I had really been shanked (as the pups would say). Who knew?
So now that I am sufficiently bandaged up, here I am chillaxing in my bed, nursing a wounded chin, wondering how hot the coals will be tomorrow. Hope tomorrow brings a shorter, less bloody, more family-filled day.
Fickle April in the Italian Language
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