By midmorning, the hospital records hall had more workers than chairs. Ning had arranged the requests so refinery workers could arrive at the same hour and use both public counters. Mei kept a line for patients asking for their own files and another for people who wanted help filling out the forms.
“Keep your symptoms low,” Mei said to a clerk trying to call the next person by diagnosis. “Ask for the name on the request, not what’s wrong with them.”
The clerk flushed and corrected himself. Liao came forward with his appointment slip folded into quarters.
“I need the prescriptions tied to my night shifts,” he said. “Every concentration mark, not just the latest one.”
The clerk checked the dates and handed him a receipt number. “We’ll copy the prescription pages and return the originals to the restricted file.”
“Can I see which pages you take?” Liao asked.
“Of course.” The clerk pointed to the numbers on the request. Liao checked them against his slip and corrected one date that had been entered as the day shift. Ning watched him do it himself. The form belonged to him; she did not speak over him. “It may take a few minutes.”
