Last week, I had fun.
I manage my husband’s forensic psychological practice, and last week he had a deposition. He loves depositions. Really.
The data he needed to review, however, was oppressive; he had performed five Fitness for Duty evaluations over 18 months on a professor not well enough to teach three out of those five times. Between each visit were innumerable telephone calls alternating between anger and accusations, anxiety and fear.
Five charts to organize, papers to shuffle, and “where did I see that?” I surprised him with the same work I have provided my attorneys for years – a medical chronology. Five charts became a five-page table arranged in SOAP format– Subjective, Objective, Assessment, and Plan. I was a hero.
Deposition Day: the attorneys arrive with their respective armload of records, between them producing twenty exhibits. In short order, my husband had distributed a copy of my chronology to both attorneys and ten minutes later, no one referenced their paper charts. My chronology was now Exhibit #21 and provided the focus for the next 90 minutes. The defense and plaintiff attorneys huddled together and swore they had never seen such a wonderful document.
How is that even possible? How do attorneys enter a deposition without this organization? These attorneys specialize in employer law, human resources, EEOC and civil rights violations, and chronologies were not part of their repertoire.
I really should not repeat the inappropriate comments from my husband during deposition. A few were on the record; more were off, and all produced peals of laughter that emanated down the hallway. Work should not be this much fun.
The reward for my chronology could well be a notice of deposition to testify as a fact witness. That is perfectly okay – I can just reference my own chronology.