Free Services

A few years ago, Quantas abruptly cancelled flights after an engine exploded. Other airlines followed.

Passengers were stuck in hotels. Within days calls began arriving from guests running out of heart or blood pressure or diabetes medication. They had brought only enough for their trip or the bottles were packed in luggage which the airlines refused to release.

Aware of horror stories about America’s medical system, they were counting their money, hoping to have enough for the necessary king’s ransom. The lucky ones (those in my hotels) were pleased to hear that I don’t charge for replacing legitimate prescriptions.

Most drugs are available worldwide but in different formulations and with different names. Rather than try to figure things out, I tell guests to go to a drug store where the pharmacist will research the matter and phone for my approval.

Guests regularly forget to pack medication, so I do this routinely. My record occurred after 9/11 when all flights stopped, and hotels were packed. Some travelers also fell ill, so my paying business jumped for several weeks. Then everyone returned home, and tourism plunged for a year. That was a bad time for hotel doctors, too. 

Crushing My Hopes

I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID, and when I heard “This is Adele from L’Hermitage” I nearly dropped the phone in my excitement.

L’Hermitage never calls. I serve many luxury hotels (the Langham in Pasadena is the most luxurious of all), but the celebrity Beverly-Hills-area establishments (Bel Air, Four Seasons, Beverly Hills Hotel, W, Beverly Wilshire….) as well as L’Hermitage pay me no mind. I don’t market myself, and plenty of doctors are eager to serve them.

The Beverly Hills Hotel is a borderline exception. I’ve been its doctor four times since the 1980s, making about 150 visits. Each period lasted a few years before a more entrepreneurial physician snatched it away. It’s been ten years since the last call, but I remain hopeful.

The L’Hermitage guest needed to speak a doctor, Adele informed me. Was I available? I was.

“I need help,” said the guest.

I listened, and my heart sank as I realized that L’Hermitage had not seen the light.

You can guess what had happened. His request rejected by L’Hermitage’s regular doctor, the guest was demanding that the staff find someone else. 

Recovering from my dashed hopes, I explained that I could not accommodate him. Going beyond the call of duty, I discussed his options, emphasizing that harassing the staff would not solve the problem. This was stretching a point because there are always a few doctors who would not resist.

Do You Go To Ontario?

“Do you go to Ontario?” asked the dispatcher for Expressdoc, a national housecall agency.

Ontario is in San Bernardino County, fifty miles distant, but this is small potatoes. My record drive is ninety miles to Santa Barbara.

The call arrived at 12:20, so I was not optimistic about missing rush hour traffic on the way back. But it worked out fine; the hour’s drive passed with no significant slowing. I listened to Slaughterhouse Five on my CD; highly recommended.

The patient was a Brazilian lady visiting her son; her upset stomach presented no problem.

The son and I chatted as he accompanied me to the elevator. He told me he was reevaluating his decision to remain in the US because the political atmosphere had grown so shrill.

Did you ever think there’d come a time when Latin Americans considered their governments more stable?

  

A Dangerous Occupation

As I entered the room, half a dozen family members stood and bowed. When Japanese bow, it means no one speaks English, so I phoned the Japanese insurance agency that sent me.

Passing my cell phone back and forth to the patient, I asked the usual questions and listened to the dispatcher’s interpretation. After the exam, I phoned the agency again to deliver my conclusions.

The guest had the flu. 

Everyone gathered and bowed as I left. Even as the door closed, I was worrying.

Doctors are casual about washing their hands. If your doctor skips it, his hands carry whatever infection they picked up from previous patients. Remind him.

I usually come directly from home where I don’t handle sick people, but I always wash my hands before seeing a guest; afterwards I do the same. I do this partly though habit but also to protect myself.

As I walked down the hall, I was aware that I couldn’t disinfect my phone which the guest had handled repeatedly. Over the coming week, I’ll learn whether or not I’ll catch her flu.

An Unsatisfied Customer

A Quantas flight attendant was vomiting, so I drove 49 miles to the Radisson in Newport Beach.

Fortunately, she was already getting better. She hadn’t vomited in six hours but was still queasy. I told her that she should continue to improve and advised her to suck on ice chips. I went to the ice machine and filled a tub. Normally, I would have left antinausea pills, but she was pregnant. She thanked me effusively as I left.

Soon after, a nurse from the airline phoned. Tactfully, she explained that the Quantas crew member had expressed concern. In her original call, the crew member had requested medicine for vomiting. A doctor had come but left without giving anything.

I explained that she was recovering and didn’t need medicine. In any case, she was pregnant, so taking drugs was not a good idea. The nurse expressed complete sympathy.

Later, the director of the housecall agency phoned. Tactfully, he explained that a nurse had passed on some concerns expressed by a flight attendant. I repeated my explanation, and he expressed complete sympathy. The following day he phoned again to assure me that I had done the right thing and that he was working hard to make Quantas see the light.

Medicine is Easy, Parking is Hard, Part 2

Finding a hotel is easy, but some travelers live elsewhere.

I received a call to Marina Del Rey, an upscale beach community. Google maps revealed that the guest’s address was an apartment complex with many buildings, an ominous beginning.

As I suspected, street parking was forbidden. I drove onto the complex and followed directions toward visitor parking. That required the guest to open the gate to the parking garage, but, being a temporary resident, he didn’t know how.

Fortunately it was a business day, so the leasing office was open. Ignoring signs threatening terrible consequences for non-apartment seekers, I parked in the leasing zone. The salesperson was helpful, directing me to a distant building.

After a long walk, I found the address – 4131 Via Marina – over a door, but it was locked, and there was no call-box. I phoned the patient who had no idea where I was. I walked around the building. On the opposite side was a large entrance, but its address was 4135. Completing my circumnavigation found me back at 4131 and the locked door. I suspected that 4135 was the proper entrance, and that turned out to be true.

Too Many Cooks

An eight year-old’s lower lid revealed a small bump. My diagnosis was a sty. As I explained, the mother held out her cell phone.

“I e-mailed our doctor two days ago,” she explained. I saw a photo of the child’s face and the doctor’s message which diagnosed an eye infection and prescribed antibiotic drops.

“The drops aren’t working, so I might need something stronger,” she added. The photograph was not too revealing. I offered to discuss matters with the doctor, but he wasn’t available.

Most stys go away without treatment although hot compresses are supposed to help. Drops aren’t necessary.

I explained this, being careful to add that the child had a real problem but one that didn’t require medicine.

This often doesn’t work, and it didn’t work this time. She looked uneasy. I knew she was thinking, “The doctor’s not giving me anything. So he must think there’s nothing wrong. But look at the eye…”

She perked up when I told her she could continue using the drops. Everyone knows that when you have an eye problem, you need eye drops.