The Most Difficult Calls

I stopped chopping an onion when the phone rang. A young man at the Airport Hilton was vomiting.

For a hotel doctor, a difficult call refers not to an illness but to traffic conditions. It was four o’clock, so I would drive eight miles both ways during the freeway rush hour, returning hungry and with no dinner prepared. I delay some visits but not for acutely miserable symptoms.

Before I left, the phone rang again. I yearned to hear that it was another airport hotel, but the guest was downtown, fifteen miles in the opposite direction. Worse, she had a migraine, so I couldn’t delay.

Delivering medical care is sometimes challenging. Always challenging and the mark of a seasoned hotel doctor is the ability to remain serene in gridlock.

Certain rules apply. Unless lanes are closed, leaving the freeway for city streets is a bad idea. Another rule is that blocking a lane at any hour stops traffic cold. Steady movement, however slow, is simply a sign of congestion.

“I wonder if there’s an accident,” I thought a dozen times after several minutes of immobility, but I never saw one. So much for rules.

Two housecalls which normally take two hours took four and a half, but I maintained my serenity, sucking on the hard candy I bring along to dull my hunger and listening to a novel on my CD.

Traffic

Bending over, a guest at the Georgian felt stabbing pain in his back. He could barely move.

Acute back pain usually doesn’t last long, so, over the phone, I assured him that he would be disabled for a day and then gradually improve. I was not anxious to make this visit because it was 4 p.m. I would be driving to Santa Monica and back during the rush hour, a tedious experience. But he wanted a visit.

It was a tedious drive, not improved by the sight of immobile traffic on the opposite side of the freeway. The guest answered the door himself, always a good sign in someone with back pain. I examined him, repeated what I had said over the phone, and handed over pain medication; it was an easy visit.

Returning, I settled into the rear of a nearly motionless stream of cars. I was in no hurry; it was suppertime, but I wasn’t hungry. After ten minutes, my phone rang. A guest at the Crowne Plaza in Beverly Hills asked for a doctor. His wife was vomiting.

I often delay visits, but people who are vomiting hate to wait. This would normally be a quick drive because the Crowne Plaza was only five miles away, and I was headed in that direction. But it was the rush hour. I left the freeway and crept for thirty minutes along Pico Boulevard to the hotel. The visit went well, and the drive home was tolerable.

Frustration

I drove to care for a woman with a respiratory infection at the Georgian, a boutique beach hotel in Santa Monica. My phone rang as I pulled up at the entrance. The caller was JI, a Japanese travel insurance agency with a patient in a downtown hotel. Ten o’clock is perfect for driving downtown. Freeway traffic dips until noon when it begins a steady climb toward the evening rush.

“I can be there within the hour,” I said only to hear that the patient wanted someone between 4 and 6. I explained that people don’t realize how quickly I arrive. I could be there in 45 minutes. She checked but informed me that the guest wanted to go on a tour. Disappointed, I agreed to arrive at 4, a very inconvenient hour.

The phone rang soon after I returned home, a lady at the airport Westin whose husband was coughing. Did I accept Blue Cross? I didn’t. American insurance pays skimpily for a housecall, and billing requires skill and patience; foreign insurers do better. I gave directions to a walk-in clinic a mile away. Many Americans decide that paying for a housecall is preferable; she assured me she’d call back if she wanted a visit.

A Hotel Doctor's Christmas

I’m the only hotel doctor who loves to work on Christmas. Freeway traffic is light, always a bonus but more so on Christmas because my competitors, including those in Orange County, prefer their holidays undisturbed, so I make some distant visits.

Guests who fall ill are especially grateful to find a doctor. Employees, apologetic when they phone, are impressed when I make an appearance. Visiting a hotel that doesn’t call provides an irresistible opportunity to point out the superior service I deliver.

The only person not delighted by all this is my wife. Long ago, receiving a second call while engaged in the first, I missed the family Christmas dinner. I won’t do that again, but that’s only a matter of juggling a few hours.