‘Twas the Night Before ICD-10
By Luke O’Cyte
‘Twas the night before ICD-10, when all through the payer
Not a claims engine was stirring, not even a benefits layer;
The mappings were hung in the systems with care,
In hopes that St. Remediolas soon would be there.
The coders were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of F30.2’s danced in their heads;
And the CTO in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out in the data warehouse there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the office I flew like a fiend,
Tore open the laptop and threw up the screen.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to my screensaver though,
When, what to my wondering H54.2’s should touch base,
But a miniature claim, and eight tiny 278s,
With a little old coder, so lively and fast,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Remediolas.
More rapid than eagles his W55.39XA’s they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Procedure! Now, Diag! Now, Surgical and Provider!
On, Vendor! On Member! On, EPM and Auditor!
To the top of the pend list! to the top of the queue!
Now adjudicate! adjudicate! adjudicate do!”
As invalid claims that before the wild eligibility fly,
When they meet with a benefit rule, mount to the sky,
So up to the mainframe the W55.39XA’s they flew,
With the sleigh full of ICD-10 codes, and St. Remediolas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the servers
The prancing and pawing of each little W55.32XS.
As I threw down my mouse, and was turning around,
Down the office hall St. Remediolas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his S00.93 to his T69.02,
And his clothes were tarnished with rejects and errors too;
A bundle of claims he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a payer just opening his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like 284.81, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the E869.4 it encircled his head like a T59.81;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was 278.00 and E66.3, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a W50.2 of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to remediation,
And ICD-10 coded all claims; then turned with attention,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the elevator he rose;
He sprang to his claims, to his team gave a 271,
And away they all flew like a mainframe batch run.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he migrated from sight,
“Happy Remediation to all, and to all a good-night.”
….with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore