“ . . . software I can . . . medical coding from . . . that cool? . . . I can take . . . little companion!”

Megan’s cut was starting to scab, but the scab was still thin and new—that kind of yellow, crystallized pus, like dried snot or eye-crap. It cracked a little when Megan put weight on it.

“It’s going to be so great, I can’t wait for summer. I’m gonna work from home, and I’m gonna have a dog on a leash and my baby in a stroller,” said Jillian. Megan glanced over her shoulder and confirmed that, yes, Jillian did have a faraway look on her face.

“Yep. This summer’s gonna be the best,” said Megan.

Megan started filing the images from the colonoscopies performed the day before. The large volume of documents suggested a kind of drive-through approach to the procedures that Megan found tactless. The images in the folder were the same as they always were. Each patient was represented by a grid of two by two inch photographs of twisting, ribbed tunnels which were sometimes pink and slick, but sometimes filled with crust, sludge, blood, or little hangy-balls of bowel-skin. The one thing she never saw in any of these photos was waste, but sometimes she came across a report with no images and the ghastly description “patient failed to empty completely, reschedule procedure.”

“Hi,” said Jillian. “I’m calling about the software package I saw on your website. Yuh-huh. Yeah, I’m really, um, really interested in it. Yes, ma’am, I am starting my own coding business. Yes, ma’am, medical coding. Yes, I will. Ok. You want me to give you my number?”

Jillian hung up the phone and sighed, thrilled. “Oh, dude, Megan, this is going to be so awesome!”

“Huh?” said Megan.

Jillian gasped. “Oh, I almost forgot! We have twelve patients this afternoon, so get ready! I made up some new registration forms.” Megan could feel Jillian approaching her.

Jillian opened a manila folder under Megan’s face and said, “It’s basically the same as the last one, except for here.” She double-tapped. Jillian’s fingers seemed to get a great sensory thrill from the paper, judging by the way they touched it.

“And this is the new confidentiality agreement.”

“I got it, Jillian,” said Megan. “Thank you. Thank you for doing this.”

“Oh, and since you were late again today, I took your missed calls. You had lots. Let me get those notes for you.”

“Thank you very much,” said Megan.

The doctors arrived ten minutes later, and Megan gave them both a curt, non-verbal greeting. Jillian showed them both the dog.

Later, Jillian received a phone call. Megan observed an immediate shift in tone. Her ears perked.

“No, I’m sorry but that’s not fair,” said Jillian. “It’s not fair, and it’s incorrect.” Pause. “No.”

Megan shifted the weight off her left butt cheek and jiggled her mouse, miming work, but alert to the conversation.