Doctors Are Always Late

At 6 p.m. on a Friday, I learned that a flight attendant in Costa Mesa had a cold. I prefer not to drive 46 miles during the rush hour, so I promised to be there between nine and ten. That was acceptable. Airline crew are not demanding.

Five minutes later a guest at the downtown Doubletree asked for a visit. This was a bad juxtaposition. Scheduling it for after Costa Mesa meant an arrival time near midnight.

Reluctantly I told her to expect me at around eight. I gave myself over an hour for a 25 minute drive, but traffic was not so bad, and I arrived early, but she was there. The freeway to Costa Mesa was also not so bad, and this time no one answered my knock at 8:30. The front desk was unhelpful. 

Airlines have strict rules about sick crew, so this guest required a visit. If I waited an hour and then left, I might get a call on the way home. If she was out partying, I might get it several hours later. I did not acquire my peerless reputation by refusing calls, so I’d have to make the return trip.

As I fumed and paced, the guest returned. I expressed relief, but she did not apologize. She was present at the appointed time, and no one expects a doctor to be early.

 

Good News, Usually

A flight attendant with diarrhea is usually good news. Airline crew are young, so they suffer uncomplicated medical problems, and diarrhea qualifies. Her hotel in Costa Mesa was 46 miles away, but it was Saturday morning, so traffic was light, and I’m paid extra for the distance.

To my annoyance, this was one of those inexplicable weekend days when the freeway was jammed although it wasn’t a holiday, and I never saw an accident.

After caring for the guest, always the easiest part, I got back on the freeway and its creeping traffic. Five minutes later my phone rang. This was bad news because freeway driving is more tiring than practicing medicine, and I had had enough. The caller was a national housecall service, and, to my surprise, the patient was in Costa Mesa, a half mile from where I’d been.

Unaware that I was nearby, the service quoted its usual fee for a long drive, so I retraced my route, cared for the guest, and returned to the crowded freeway. I was weary when I finally arrived home, hours past lunch time, but it had been a lucrative day in the fascinating life of a Los Angeles hotel doctor.  

Being Awakened Twice

 "How quick can you be in Costa Mesa?” asked the dispatcher for Expressdoc, a housecall agency. The call had gotten me out of bed at 11 p.m.

“In about an hour.” 

“Can’t you make it earlier?”

“Costa Mesa is forty miles away. How sick is he?”

“He has back pain. He wants to go to an emergency room, but we said we could send a doctor. Let me see if he’ll wait.”

After fifteen minutes had passed, I phoned the agency.

“I’ve been trying to reach him, but it looks like he’s gone to the hospital. If he comes back, is it OK to call you?”

“No. If he comes back, tell him I’ll be happy to see him in the morning.”

I have no objection to being awakened to make a housecall, but I don’t want to be awakened twice. After breakfast, I phoned the guest. He hadn’t gone to the emergency room, but he was feeling better.