Another Celebrity Injection

A VIP was flying in from San Francisco. He was under the weather and needed a shot before the night’s performance. 

Someone else has the Los Angeles franchise on celebrity injections, but I handle the occasional request.

There were the usual inconveniences. I was told to be at the hotel at 2 p.m. but his flight was delayed. The new time was 3 p.m. I waited at home. It was 3:20 when a phone call announced that he was on his way, so I drove off.

He was a singer but not an A-list. I’ve long since forgotten his name. I met him in a suite at an upscale (but not luxury) hotel on the Sunset Strip accompanied by only three assistants. Unlike international stars, he shook my hand, thanked me for coming, and allowed me to ask about his illness and examine him. Major celebrities nod a greeting and then resume communing with their entourage, pausing momentarily for the injection. 

He had a cough, and his doctor had recommended cortisone. Unlike B12, the traditional celebrity injection, cortisone works but probably not by the time of his performance in a few hours.

A Glamorous Job

A five-year-old was coughing and congested.

His parents were guests at Loews in Hollywood, nine miles away through city streets. Nineteen miles on the freeway would take less time provided traffic moved smoothly, but this was unlikely at 4 p.m. on a Friday. I told the mother that it sounded like a routine virus, but she insisted the child needed attention.

Sometimes being hotel doctor to the stars is not so glamorous. Then I recalled a pediatrician colleague who had expressed interest in helping out. I phoned his office. He was finishing his last patient and, to my delight, agreed to make the housecall. I was so relieved that I forgot to tell him a few things.

That evening he phoned to let me know the visit had gone well. 

“But it took over an hour to reach the hotel, and they charged me fifteen dollars to park.”

Caring for Celebrities

Searching my housecall database (over 18,000 visits) for “celebrity” turns up 92 hits although that includes wives and children.

You recently read about my encounter with a famous person. I mentioned him by name because I was never his doctor, but I’m sure you don’t expect stories about celebrities I cared for. Unfortunately, literary agents do expect it. News that it’s forbidden has proven the kiss of death for my memoirs.

Most celebrities are nice, but over forty years I’ve cared plenty of misbehaving luminaries including several who died under dramatic circumstances. Agents have assured me that “you can’t libel the dead.” This turns out to be a legal fact, but the dead’s loved ones have been known to sue after reading unflattering remarks.

A Creepy Frat Guy

The Andaz Hyatt had given my number, explained the caller. Could I see a member of their cast who was suffering an earache? Unfortunately, he was on location and wouldn’t return until evening.

She was delighted at my suggestion that I come to the film shoot, and I’m as eager as anyone to mingle with movie people. On the downside, I live six miles from the Hyatt; the film was shooting at the far end of the San Fernando Valley, twenty-five miles away, and I’d quoted my fee before learning this. 

The producers had taken over a run-down motel, painted it pink, and restored the coffee shop to its mid-twentieth century interior. I drove past warning “closed to the public” signs and parked among the cabins and scattered 1950s cars.

Several dozen people stood around, none over forty. You should realize that shooting a movie is boring. Filming takes up perhaps two percent of the day. The remainder involves setting up, technical changes, errands, and waiting around. Everyone looks forward to lunch. I attracted attention, being far older and much better dressed.

Earaches are easy. I followed a young man into the empty 1950s diner, made the diagnosis, handed over medicine, and took my leave.

As usual, one aspect of the experience seemed strange. The assistant who had phoned and greeted me on my arrival was a young, attractive woman. Other attractive women were carrying messages, answering phones, setting up the lunch buffet. Almost every actress in costume was beautiful; there were no exceptions for those in street clothes.

Somewhere in Los Angeles there is a creepy frat guy who handles hiring for film sets.

The Celebrity B12 Franchise

Many singers and celebrities insist on a vitamin injection before a performance. That vitamin is almost always B12 because of (don’t jump to conclusions…) its color. Most drugs resemble water, but B12 is vivid red. Since everyone knows that injections trump pills, the same reasoning suggests that a brightly colored injection works even better.

My B12 experience impresses me with how closely celebrities resemble royalty. Arriving, I approach in stages – passing through rooms containing bodyguards, groupies, publicists, media, dressers. When I finally reach the room containing the celebrity and his intimates, he turns and drops his pants (women hold out an arm). I give the injection and depart. No one makes a move to pay, but I can expect a lesser person to come forward as I retrace my steps.

These requests don’t arrive often, so I wonder who owns the franchise on celebrity B12 shots in Los Angeles. It’s a gold mine. I also carry a vial of B complex – half a dozen B vitamins not including B12. It’s colorless, and I can’t remember anyone requesting it.

A Few Celebrities

A famous actor at the Four Seasons showed me a pimple on his eyelid. This was a sty, I explained, a blocked gland. It wasn’t serious. There was no treatment except hot compresses. It would go away in a week or so.

He needed it to go quickly, he said. He had a television interview the following day. A previous doctor had stuck a needle into an earlier sty, and he’d be grateful if I did the same. He endured it stoically.

“You wouldn’t have any Oxycontin?” asked a guest. He was consulting me for a rash.

“I’m the doctor you call when you feel sick,” I said. “For Oxycontin you need a different sort of doctor.”

We parted on good terms. My refusal did not offend him; from his point of view there was no harm in making the request.

It’s wrong to divide celebrities into upstanding citizens and the drug-addled exceptions. They are a cross-section. Many work hard at their careers but enjoy the occasional drug if it’s available, and they move in circles where scoring requires only a modest effort. Wrecking your life with drugs, as with alcohol, takes persistence.  

Why Doctor Oppenheim Isn't Rich

Being a fulltime hotel doctor isn’t fulltime work, so I have plenty to leisure during which I’ve become a successful writer. I’ve written five popular health books plus several hundred magazine articles – 35 for Woman’s Day, for example, more than any other doctor. So why haven’t you heard of me? More important, why aren’t I rich? Part of the answer is that I’m not a media personality. Doctors who write make big money only if they appear on TV and radio regularly. I did this a few times long ago and hated it.

But I still hope. I wrote a novel about a hotel doctor. Fiction is a hard sell, and it’s still making the rounds. Everyone who learns I work in Los Angeles insists my memoirs would be a gold mine. So I wrote memoirs. Every time I contact an agent, he or she is thrilled.

“That sounds like a great book. I bet you’ve seen plenty of celebrities.”
“So I have.”
“I bet you have great stories about them.”
“I do.”
“Tell me one.”
“I’m a doctor. I can’t do that.”

That ends the conversation. Agencies are still considering “Hotel Doctor to the Stars,” but my inability to include celebrity scandal seems to be a deal killer.