Tales of a Shrink

My phone rang this morning at about 9:30 am. I answered it, and a man introduced himself as "Paul," but his thick accent betrayed that this is just his nom-de-call-center, and that his real name is more likely along the lines of "Sanjay."

"Hello. I'd like to speak to someone in the billing department," he asked.

"Well, that's me," I said.

"No, I need speak with someone in billing," he repeated.

"I am a solo practice clinician," I said. "I'm the only one in this office--I do everything."

"OK," he paused for a long time, and I began to think that he had hung up when he spoke again: "We need your treatment records for Dick Grayson(1)."

Well, I'm not in the habit of giving out confidential information to strangers on the phone. Call me crazy, but "Get sued for malpractice" just isn't on my To-Do list. So I gave Paul/Sanjay the standard response: "I can neither confirm nor deny that I have ever seen such an individual, but if you can send me a release of information, I would be happy to discuss this with you."

Now, between y'all and me, I had never even heard of Dick Grayson, and since I'm all there is in this little private practice, I can say with definite certainty that Dick Grayson has never been a client of mine. However, due to confidentially laws, I can't just come out and tell Paul/Sanjay this. I have to give the standard response and play dumb. And man... am I good at playing dumb.

Paul, however, was not going to be deterred: "No. We need these records. You have recorded information for Mr. Dick Grayson?"

"I'll need a release of information signed by the client if you want to discuss this further," I said, wondering how long this will take.

He responded: "I represent an insurance company, and Mr. Dick Grayson is seeking further treatment for his bipolar disorder. It says here you treated him for that from 1996 until 2005. So, it is necessary that we have these records for billing."

"Send me a release, and we can talk." I repeated.

"OK." He pauses. "Your address is 1697 Campau? In Detroit?" he asks.

"No," I say. "That's not my address."

"Is this Dr. Matt Swetalski?" Paul/Sanjay asks.

"No, this is Matt Sweet," I replied. Suddenly it is all very clear--he has the wrong number.

"Oh." Paul/Sanjay pauses for a moment, perhaps now realizing that by tell me, the wrong person, that Dick Grayson was treated for Bipolar disorder by Dr. Matt Swetalski from 1996 until 2005, Paul/Sanjay has just committed a blatant violation of federal law, which could result in fines costing the insurance company many times more than what they saved by moving their billing department to India. Or, maybe he's just confused.

I however, know exactly what to do. "What company did you say you represented?" I ask, all innocent-like.

"Big Fat Insurance Company(2)," he replies. "So I have wrong number?" he asks.

"Yes, you do. Have a nice day." I hang up with Paul/Sanjay.

Now it's time to place a little call of my own. "Hello Department of Health and Human Services, Office of Civil Rights? I'd like to report a violation of confidentiality. Sure, I'll hold."

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1) Not the real name, obviously.
2) Not the real name, obviously.