Getting Help, Part 2

My relations with other Los Angeles housecall doctors are civilized but not close. As a result, when I leave town there’s only one colleague I trust to cover. Mostly this works out. I schedule my trips so they don’t conflict with his.

When I’m in town I’m always available. That includes after bedtime, in the movies and restaurants, and during social events. It includes concerts and live theater, but I sit on the aisle, so I can hurry to the lobby when my phone buzzes. None of this bothers me greatly (my wife is another matter).  

One event causes problems: baseball games. One of my brothers has Dodger season tickets, and we attend a dozen times during the season. We go to a restaurant and then the game: almost the only time we get together; I love it and don’t want to be interrupted. I’m out of commission only about six hours, and occasionally my colleague can’t cover.

I could continue to answer the phone, but crowd noise in the stadium makes conversation difficult. It also reveals that I’m having fun, and patients hate disturbing a doctor during his leisure time. My solution is to change my phone message to announce that I’m unavailable until (whatever time the game ends) and then turn off the phone. Genuine emergencies are very rare in a hotel doctor’s practice, and so far it’s turned out all right. But I’m always looking for help.

Girls Are the Best

 “...allo!!” shouted a little girl from her bed as I walked in, but that was her only English. Her French parents had called because she was running a 101 fever.

She seemed delighted to see me and jumped to sit on the edge for her exam. Smiling happily she waited as I quizzed the parents, opened her mouth widely when asked and made no complaint when I poked my otoscope into her ears.

I found everything normal. She had a virus that might last a few days and required only Tylenol. Staying in bed was not necessary. Everyone seemed pleased, the child most of all; she waved goodbye as I left.

I loved that visit. Readers are familiar with my admirable qualities, but I admit that I am not the sort of jovial physician who enchants young children. Mostly I do fine, but I’ve endured plenty of encounters with apologetic parents and a screaming, struggling toddler.

These are almost all boys. Adult male pugnaciousness has not made the world a comfortable place, and it works equally badly in children. They get the exam regardless, but it’s drawn out and painful. The parents are embarrassed, the doctor relieved when it’s over.

Little girls rarely make a scene. If frightened, they keep quiet. If not, they realize, almost from birth, that charm works wonders. Everyone relaxes and takes care of business. Women should run the world.   

A Medicolegal Housecall

Stepping out of the shower, a Doubletree guest stumbled and nicked his leg. He had paid little attention, but now, two days later, the wound had grown painful.

That sounded like a good visit until he delivered the bad news: the hotel would pay my fee.

I label these “medicolegal” visits and I don’t collect. When a hotel offers to pay, it’s usually because the guest is making a fuss, and management has already agreed to other expenses such as comping the bill.

I don’t want to be part of the problem, and it’s a chance to remind upper management of my value. During the usual visit I never see a general manager. Most are only vaguely aware of my existence, and a few are surprised to learn that the hotel can call a doctor.

The guest’s shallow, one-inch, laceration was healing normally. I doubt he would have called if he had had to pay.

I shook hands with the general manager and assured him that there was no significant problem. I added that, as the hotel’s doctor, I was always available, and he should feel free to consult me under these circumstances. I waved off his offer to pay. He expressed gratitude.

Don’t assume that this guarantees a hotel’s loyalty. It’s been years since Loews in Hollywood and the Adventure hotel called. My last visits to both were medicolegal freebies.