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.”
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