Chapter 21 - The Fifth Floor Waiting Room
The prenatal clinic asked whether I wanted my records locked behind an additional verification note. I said yes, then asked for a list of recent disclosures and access requests.
The patient advocate, a middle-aged woman named Rita Alvarez, didn't minimize what had happened. She explained the difference between an authorized provider viewing my chart, a mistaken disclosure, and an outsider obtaining information through an intermediary.
“Will your employer find out?” I asked.
“Only the people who need to investigate will have access,” she said. “And if we discover a breach, we follow the required notification process.”
I sat in the fifth-floor waiting room watching a man assemble a toy giraffe for a toddler beside him. My child wasn't even born, and adults with offices, drivers, and lawyers had already treated its existence like an acquisition target.
Rita handed me a case number and a direct contact. She didn't promise a spectacular outcome by Friday. She promised a documented investigation.
At the elevator, I called Elena.
“How'd it go?” she asked.
“I have a complaint number.”
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“That doesn't sound exciting.”
“No,” I said, stepping onto the elevator. “It sounds real.”
