"You're going to need to call the medical examiner," said the woman in the Office of Decedent Affairs (a very restrained name they've given to the Death Office).
I have seven patients who are still alive, six notes to write, orders to enter-- so calling the medical examiner to find out if she wants to investigate the extremely un-mysterious circumstances of my patient's death went to the bottom of my list.
Three hours later, the woman calls me back. "Have you talked to the medical examiner yet?"
"No, I haven't had a chance."
"Well, we can't move the body until you do, and unless you call them in the next fifteen minutes, we're going to be wheeling another patient into that room and she can lie there, right next to the corpse."
So I called. And, of course, the medical examiner had no interest in a guy who died of a massive heart attack ("no murder, no intrigue, no interest"). But transport didn't get there to move the body for two more hours anyway, so we had a patient in the hall for half the afternoon, while a corpse was waiting in her room for removal.