My Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Every five years or so, the Los Angeles Times discovers the housecall and publishes an enthusiastic article that doesn’t mention me, the nation’s leading housecall doctor.

Another appeared two days ago. As always, I wrote the reporter to point out his error. To my surprise, he phoned yesterday, interviewed me for half an hour, and wrote another article in today’s Times. You can find it at:

http://www.latimes.com/business/hiltzik/la-fi-mh-is-the-house-call-really-dead-20160202-column.html

A Dog-Eat-Dog Business, Part 12

On September 3 I wrote about a new housecall service that charged up to $2000. On September 7 I described one that charged $99. Clearly these are extreme. 

So what about $250? That’s painful but, in a pinch, suffering a stomach virus or bad case of flu, many of you might pay. 

What are the alternatives? Several concierge doctors pop up on a Google search, but they may charge triple this. Veteran Los Angeles hotel doctors visit private houses if asked; they charge around double. Call Heal, the $99 service, if it’s still in business. One side-effect of a low fee is that it pays doctors less than the going rate, so many are residents in training. This does not mean they don’t know their business; in fact, being residents, they take every illness very, very seriously. Of course, you could always ask for Doctor Oppenheim. 

The founder of the $250 service, SOS Doctor Housecall, contacted me first because I already work for her. She is the French lady who sends doctors to Frenchmen in Los Angeles. I mention her in posts from February 28, 2011, September 2, 2014, and January 4, 2015. 

She is putting together her app and hopes to launch soon. If she’s successful, my colleagues will feel the strain, but I’ll be making visits for her.

Be Careful What You Ask For

He had been coughing for several days, a guest explained, adding that he probably needed a Z-pak. When a patient suggests he needs an antibiotic, a doctor feels one of two emotions.

(1) Pleasure because this guarantees an easy visit. Give the antibiotic, and the patient will make it clear that the doctor has done what a good doctor does. I doubt most of you realize the importance of your gratitude. No matter how you try to conceal it, if you’re disappointed, we feel depressed.

(2) Depression. In an otherwise healthy person, the only common illness with a cough that antibiotics cure is bacterial pneumonia which is not common. All others are viral infections. These affect fifteen percent of everyone who consults a doctor, so they are no trivial matter.

Over the phone, I quizzed him about his symptoms and then explained that he was suffering a self-limited illness requiring only over-the-counter remedies. When he insisted that he needed a doctor, I directed him to a nearby urgent care clinic where he would get his antibiotic.

How Doctor Oppenheim Met His Wife

In 1975 I and a friend were fresh out of internship. He had a job at a Los Angeles clinic that remained open during the weekend. Few patients came, so I often visited, and we sat talking. The only other employee, a nurse – really a young woman who wore a white coat and acted as receptionist -- joined us. After a few visits I got up the nerve to ask her on a date.

She was committed, she explained. But she worked at the Woman’s Building, a flourishing feminist arts center. She offered to give me some phone numbers.

I declined. I was too shy to call women I didn’t know.

“Then what’s the solution?” she asked.

“Maybe they could call me.” I meant this as a joke and forgot about it until a week later when a woman phoned. I did my duty by asking her to dinner, and it proved an excellent decision.

There is more to it. It turns out that she and the nurse were candidates for a college art teaching position in Oakland. Both flew up for an interview. My future wife later learned that the nurse had already sewn up the job, so there was no point in the interview. During the plane ride, she had given me an enthusiastic recommendation, perhaps as a consolation prize. 

When we discussed how our lives and the nurse’s had progressed over the years, we agreed that my wife had gotten the better deal. 

Good News. Or Maybe Not.

2 a.m. calls rarely thrill me, but this was from the Beverly West, a boutique hotel that never calls. Happily, I threw on my suit and drove off. Traffic was light. Parking was easy.

Afterward I introduced myself to the desk clerk.

“I remember you from the Beverly Garland,” he said. “I’ve only been here two months.”

It’s flattering that employees continue to call when they change hotels, but it also meant that the Beverly West was probably not switching doctors.

“So you got my number from the Beverly Garland?”

He shook his head. “You’re on the computer. I picked you because the name was familiar.”

That was good news. Sort of. I’m probably on every hotel’s computer.

As the wee-hour desk clerk, he had little contact with veteran employees, but they would soon clue him in. After caring for a guest, the Beverly West’s regular doctor gives a “referral fee” to the employee that called. This is illegal but a hotel doctor tradition as well as a superb marketing tool.  

Not Again!!!

“I have the European plague. I need a doctor.”

“Excuse me?...”

“I have the European plague. I need a doctor for the American plague.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. What’s the American plague?”

“My child is in the bathroom with the European plague. Can you bring the doctor for the American?”

What was he talking about?.... The exchange continued for some time until the light dawned. This was the fourth occasion this has happened in over thirty years and 30,000 phone calls. The guest had phoned the front desk because his electrical devices used European outlets which are different from ours. He needed an “adaptor.” The clerk, not listening carefully, had heard “a doctor” and forwarded his call to me.

But I was also not listening carefully. It’s human nature to hear what you expect to hear, so I assumed that the caller had a medical problem.

I had heard “European plague” when he had said “European plug.” He had not said “my child is in the bathroom” but “my shaver is in the bathroom….”

Christmas Season

In the Pasadena Sheraton last Sunday, my phone rang for a visit in Irvine. Pasadena is twenty miles from home, Irvine fifty miles. I would miss supper by several hours, but the month before Christmas is slow, so I was pleased at another visit.

I often drive to Irvine but not from Pasadena, so I consulted Siri from my I-Phone. She directed me toward the nearest freeway but told me to turn off as I reached it. That didn’t seem right, but disobeying Siri is usually a bad idea. A drive through city streets to the Long Beach Freeway saved several miles but probably not much time.

I settled down for the trip before realizing with a shock that she was directing me toward the Santa Ana freeway. No one takes the Santa Ana freeway. It’s always jammed. Sure enough, as soon as I drove on, traffic slowed to a crawl.

I arrived after 1½ hours to face another irritation. The address, 2120 Waterbury, wasn’t a street address but suite 2120 at the Waterbury Apartments. Siri found the complex but getting to 2120 among the buildings was my job.

It was night. The guest was a traveler and unfamiliar with the area. There was no parking except in locked underground garages, so I couldn’t wander far from my car. Also (and I’m not making this up) it was raining. In the end, she came out and searched the streets until we encountered each other. The visit, as usual, was the easy part.

Leaving, I drove to the San Diego freeway, the sensible, if not the shortest, route from my house to Irvine. To my dismay, traffic was crawling. Weekends are usually OK, but I should have remembered that this was the Sunday before Christmas.