Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes and I pull it from my pocket.
I press accept and dump myself in the chair behind my new desk.
“How is it?” my mum asks.
“I just walked in,” I reply.
“Are you excited?”
“I’ve only been here for five minutes.” Fact is, I’m not excited. Maybe that’s what’s off. I’m starting my private practice, just like a lot of my colleagues who just became consultants. This is a chance for me to be out on my own, out from underneath all the paperwork and political bollocks of a hospital. It’s a chance to make some real money and forge connections with my patients over the long term rather than seeing them for five minutes and then never again. I’m hoping this change will mean I can enjoy my job more.
But I’m not excited yet.
“How’s your assistant? I can’t believe you hired someone without meeting them.”
“I spoke to her on the phone, and anyway, she’s temporary.” And available at short notice. Her CV was a little weird, but during the telephone conversation she’d seemed enthusiastic. One of us had to be.
My father bellows in the background.
“Okay, John,” my mother says. “Your dad wants to know how you’re marketing yourself. He saw an article about it in some magazine. I don’t think you’ll need it. People get to know who the good doctors are.” There’s a pause. “Have you done all the usual things though?”
She’s presuming I know what the usual things are.
“You’ve let people know,” she follows up. “Just colleagues at the hospital and friends from medical school. Those kinds of people.”
That would be no.
“I’m in the midst of it.” I swing my chair around and notice the whiteboard behind me. That might be useful. One by one, I open the three drawers in my desk. They’re empty. We should get some stationery. “People at the hospital know. And some mates from med school.”
“Have you got an email address and website?” she asks.
I suck in a breath. I haven’t even thought about a website. “I’m going to have a meeting with my assistant when I get off the phone. I need her to do some research.”
“Branding,” my father shouts in the background. “He needs to brand himself.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Mum says. “Just focus on getting yourself settled. The work will come. You don’t need to worry.”
I’m not worried. That’s part of the problem. Dad isn’t wrong. I’ve seen other consultants launch themselves in the private sector with websites and logos and a pocket full of branded stress balls to give out. They’d all been more organized than me.
“Yeah. It’s early days,” I say.
“Have you gotten your insurer recognition through yet?”
I wince. I know enough to know that without the major medical insurers awarding you formal approval, their patients won’t be allowed to see you. Without the insurer recognition, I have no practice. “Not yet. You know how these things take time.” Given I’ve not yet sent off all the information to apply for recognition from the insurers, approval was unlikely to arrive. But that really should be top of the list, along with a website. And some whiteboard markers.
I can hear voices outside my office. I’m definitely not expecting patients. It’s probably someone who’s got the wrong office.
“Anyway, I’d better go,” I say. “I’m meant to be having a meeting with my assistant.”
“I’m proud of you, darling.”
I nod. She says it all the time, to all of her sons. She wouldn’t be half as proud if she knew how lax I’ve been about this new start.
I stand and move toward the door. The voices are getting louder. “Love you, Mum. I’ll call you later if I can.” I hang up and open the door. A clown carrying four helium balloons is demanding to see me.
Standard Thursday morning stuff.
“How can I help?” I ask, trying to stay neutral about the fact I’m addressing a literal clown.
“Are you Zach Cove?” He’s got a broad cockney accent and I can’t help but think that if this was a Harlan Coben thriller and I answered yes, he might pull out a gun and shoot me.
Here goes nothing. “Yes, I’m Dr. Cove.”
“Finally,” he says, exasperated.
“Congratulations. And celebrations.” He starts to sing the Cliff Richard hit my grandmother sang at every opportunity and now my mother sings instead.
What did I do to deserve this?
He’s holding four balloons. I hate all four of my brothers right now. I’m thinking this is Beau’s idea, and that Nathan paid.
I stand there, allowing the clown-guy to do what he’s been paid to do.
When he finishes, he looks at me and I look at him and then he hands me the four balloons—one for each of my siblings. They’re star-shaped in different colors. “He said you’d know who it was from.”
I nod and he shrugs before turning and leaving.
“Let’s have that meeting,” I say to Ellie, who’s sitting behind her desk, staring at the door where the clown just exited. We might as well get some prep done. I head back into my office, the balloons bobbing and creaking behind me.