Another Spiked Drink

 It was one a.m. as I drove Santa Monica Boulevard, but crowds packed the sidewalks in West Hollywood, lining up to hear the latest band. A few blocks beyond, I parked at the Ramada.

A guest led me to the bathroom where her companion lay in the empty tub, clutching a towel and moaning. This was not the first time I cared for a patient in a bathtub or even the tenth.

“We’ve been out drinking,” explained the guest. “But not more than usual, and she didn’t have more than me. Do you think they put something in her drink?”

This was not the first time I heard that – or the tenth. I’m puzzled at how often guests suspect foul play when someone becomes violently ill after drinking.

I examined the patient as best I could without moving her because she insisted she could not move. Afterward I explained that alcohol is a toxin that messes up the brain, usually in pleasant ways but occasionally not. After delivering medication for vomiting, I told her to suck on ice chips and phone if she wasn’t better in a few hours. So far everyone has recovered.     

Burned

A guest in a hotel restaurant asked a waiter to light her cigarette. When he complied, her forefinger burst into flame. She had recently put on acrylic nails, and the fresh cement is very flammable. Drunk and enraged, the guest refused to go to an emergency room. By the time I appeared, she had grown tired of hurling abuse. Head resting on the table, she was sobbing. Spilled drinks and broken glass littered the area.

Security officers had cleared the room. Near the entrance, a crowd of clerks, patrons, and the night manager parted to allow my passage and observe my performance. Although not a master at handling drunks, I understood the soothing effect of an old man with a grey beard and carrying a doctor’s bag.

Patting her shoulder until she looked up, I introduced myself and suggested we go to her room. After dressing the burn, I stayed long enough for her pain to give way to the effects of alcohol, and I could assure everyone she would cause no more trouble.

Hotel Visits I Don't Make

I try not to make housecalls for shortness of breath, chest pain, loss of consciousness, or severe abdominal pain.

Treating asthma, the leading cause of breathlessness in the young, takes hours. Giving a shot and then leaving before the guest improves is risky.

Breathless in older people usually means heart or lung disease. No doctor in his right mind treats this with a prescription, although possessing a mind is not a legal requirement for practicing medicine.

No one ignores an elderly person who faints, but this doesn’t happen often. The young seem to faint regularly. They collapse, wake up, and call me, frightened. I’m happy to make a housecall, check blood pressure, do an exam, and ask questions. By this time he or she has recovered, and I’ve never discovered something alarming in otherwise healthy young people. “Everyone is entitled to one faint,” a wise old doctor told me. If it keeps happening, a doctor should investigate.

Chest pain is a serious sign, but serious chest pain is not subtle. Niggling discomfort does not qualify. Textbooks warn that heart attacks can occur with no symptoms although these are usually in people with other problems, especially diabetes. Since a doctor cannot diagnose a heart attack by listening with a stethoscope, a housecall isn’t helpful. If you phone because you’re worried, it’s unlikely the doctor will tell you not to worry because if he’s wrong, you might sue him.

As I’ve written before, when a guest suffers abdominal pain, I feel reassured when there’s diarrhea or vomiting. That usually indicates a stomach virus, miserable but short-lived, and I get the credit when the guest recovers. Pain alone can also be a stomach virus but plenty of serious conditions (gallstones, kidney stones, blood clots) come to mind. 

Medical science has no cure for drunkenness, but hope springs eternal, so my phone continues to ring.

Hotel Visits I Don't Make

I don’t make housecalls for certain symptoms: shortness of breath, chest pain, loss of consciousness, and severe abdominal pain.

Treating asthma, the leading cause of breathlessness in the young, takes hours. Giving a shot and then leaving before the guest improves is risky.

Breathless in older people usually means heart or lung disease. No doctor in his right mind treats this with a prescription, but possessing a mind is not a legal requirement for practicing medicine.

No one ignores an elderly person who faints, but this doesn’t happen often. The young seem to faint regularly. They collapse, wake up, and call me, frightened. I’m happy to make a housecall, check blood pressure, do an exam, and ask questions. By this time he or she has recovered, and I’ve never discovered something alarming in otherwise healthy young people. “Everyone is entitled to one faint,” a wise old doctor told me. If it keeps happening, a doctor should investigate.

Chest pain is a serious sign, but serious chest pain is not subtle. Niggling discomfort does not qualify. Textbooks warn that heart attacks can occur with no symptoms although these are usually in people with other problems, especially diabetes. Since a doctor cannot diagnose a heart attack by listening with a stethoscope, a housecall isn’t helpful. If you phone because you’re worried, it’s unlikely the doctor will tell you not to worry because if he’s wrong, you’ll sue him.

As I’ve written before, when a guest suffers abdominal pain, I feel reassured when there’s diarrhea or vomiting. That usually indicates a stomach virus, miserable but short-lived, and I get the credit when he guest recovers. Pain alone can also be a stomach virus but plenty of serious conditions (gallstones, kidney stones, blood clots) come to mind.  

Medical science has no cure for drunkenness, but hope springs eternal, so hotel staff continue to call.