A Hotel Doctor's Contract

People ask about my contract with hotels, but there is none. Concierges, operators, and bellmen call because they know me. 

Guests sometimes praise me, and their praise goes to concierges et al. If they decide to complain, usually because I’ve declined to give them something they wanted, they go to the general manager, often galvanizing him into one of several upsetting actions.

Referring the complainer to a competitor is tiresome. Anxious to make a good impression on his first call from Doctor Oppenheim’s hotel, he may relax his standards. 

If the manager consults the hotel lawyer, he always hears that he must never help a sick guest because guests who sue the doctor will also sue the hotel that suggested him. At any given time, about ten percent of hotels are in this my-lips-are-sealed mode, but it’s a changing ten percent because guests persist; employees want to help, and most competing hotels have doctors, so it’s bad public relations. 

Some managers make up a list, instructing staff to hand it to guests but to never recommend an individual. They believe (incorrectly) that this eliminates their liability. The employee who makes up the list mostly confines her research to the internet and in no particular order. As a result, it includes doctors who don’t make housecalls and walk-in clinics with limited hours. Fortunately once the list is made the hotel forgets about it. As years pass, it gradually becomes out-of-date, but my number remains.

Be Careful What You Ask For

“Could you come and give me some penicillin?”

Uh oh.  

The guest had a sore throat. He was fifty years-old. The only throat infection that antibiotics cure is strep, largely a disease of children and adolescents. Strep in a fifty year-old is so rare that I’ve never seen a case.

Doctors who prescribe unnecessary antibiotics claim that patients “demand” them. In fact, after I’ve seen these patients, ninety percent are perfectly happy with good medical care. About ten percent seem puzzled but remember their manners. Only a tiny minority give me a hard time.

But a tiny minority of a minority does not equal zero. Over thirty years, plenty of patients have lost their temper or (in the case of women) burst into tears. While not as mortifying as being sued for malpractice, it’s in the ballpark.

Unlike doctors in an office, I have the advantage of a phone conversation before seeing the patient. If a guest hints that he requires an antibiotic, I discuss his symptoms, suggest that antibiotics might or might not work, and try to gauge the likelihood that he won’t take no for an answer.

In this case, the guest seemed particularly assertive. I didn’t want to take the risk, so I referred him to a local walk-in clinic where he’ll probably get his penicillin.

Converting Two Visits Into No Visits

A man at the Bonaventure was suffering an earache. The pain was not severe and had been present several days, but he wanted it checked. This seemed like an easy visit.

But it was 5:00 on Friday. My traffic app showed a solid red line for the ten mile freeway drive downtown, converting a half-hour trip into… I hated to contemplate it. I explained that I could be at his room between 8 and 9. That was fine with him.

I had barely hung up when the phone rang again. A guest at the Warner Center Hilton had diarrhea. The Hilton is fifteen miles in the opposite direction from the Bonaventure with an equally red freeway. I could have scheduled it for later, but if a third call arrived….

The guest was not terribly ill, so I pointed out that most diarrhea is self-limited. I gave dietary advice and recommended an over-the-counter remedy that was a good as the one I hand out (actually the same), and suggested we talk again in a day. Happy to get free medical advice, he agreed.

At 6:30 the Bonaventure operator called to inform me that the guest wanted to cancel the visit. When I phoned both guests the next day, they were doing fine.

You'd Better Ask How Much

Before leaving on a housecall, I tell guests my fee, but this is not universal among hotel doctors. Guests may learn when the doctor hands over the invoice at the end of the visit.

It’s often a bombshell. I recall a guest who showed me a bill for $1140, and I’ve seen higher. It takes huge balls for a doctor to do this, but it works. People who will quarrel with an unreasonable charge that arrives in the mail may keep quiet face-to-face with a doctor in a room far from home. 

Long, long ago I made visits for a national concierge agency that boasted it would fulfill a hotel guest’s every need. It was a luxury service, but not everyone in an upscale hotel is filthy rich. After collecting an immense fee from several resentful guests, I stopped accepting the agency’s calls.

Calling Paramedics

If you want reach a hospital as fast as possible, get in your car and drive.

Paramedics are slower. They’re essential if a problem might be life-threatening or requires special handling such as a fracture. They sometimes transport even if their expertise isn’t required, but it’s not guaranteed. If you have a bellyache or high fever, they might leave and tell you to take a cab.

Phoned in the middle of the night, some hotel doctors determine that everyone requires paramedics. With no office job I don’t mind getting out of bed and do so regularly, but if the guest sounds like a genuine emergency, I have difficulty persuading the hotel that it has an urgent problem.

“I just talked to a guest, Mr. Elwood, in 435. He’s confused and can’t get out of bed. He needs paramedics.”

“I’ll send a bellman up right away.”

“No, you have to call the paramedics.”

“I’ll call Security. They’ll send someone to the room.”

“You have to call the paramedics.”

“Maybe you should talk to the manager on duty.”

At any hour, the noisy arrival of the ambulance followed by a train of fire engines disturbs everyone, so convincing a hotel to make the call often takes an effort.

Sometimes This Job is a Snap

I saw a man at the Hollywood Roosevelt with a numb arm. That’s an odd complaint but unlikely to represent something serious in a 26 year-old.

He had fallen asleep on the plane, resting his head on his palm with an elbow on the arm rest. On awakening he felt numbness down his forearm. This was easy.

The ulnar nerve that supplies the hand passes under your medial epicondyle, the knob you can feel inside your elbow. It’s a poor design because the nerve is exposed. Hitting it produces tingling down your arm to the little finger. It’s the “funny bone.”

Cab drivers who spend the day with one arm resting on the door often suffer the same symptom. Once they change position, the discomfort disappears in a few days.

Drugs are Cheap

Getting a syringe from my supply closet, I noticed that only a dozen remain. I’d better order more. A hundred syringes costs $12.

I buy from an internet medical supply company. For orders under $200 it charges a fat “handling fee,” so I try to order enough to exceed it. Most of my purchases are drugs, but that presents a problem because they’re so cheap.

I notice other hotel doctors charging $50 to $150 for an injection. I carry seven injectables. The content of a single shot of all seven rarely cost more than a dollar.  

What do I need?..... I stock B12 not because it’s necessary but because guests ask for it. This doesn’t happen often, so my bottle is almost out of date. The price has gone up, but it’s still $31 for a 30cc vial. That’s thirty injections.

I’m down to a few dozen Ondansetron tablets, the best nausea remedy. Ten bottles of thirty will set me back $37.

It never hurts to stock up on loperamide (Imodium is the brand), my favorite diarrhea treatment, but I was surprised to discover the price has jumped to ten times what I paid a few years ago: $104 for five hundred. Many old but important drugs such as penicillin that once cost pennies a pill have skyrocketed to dazzling levels. The weird thing about loperamide: it’s sold over-the-counter. Walmart charges $5.00 for a bottle of 72. That works out to $35 per five hundred. I’ll buy loperamide from Walmart.

I’m not short of many drugs, and buying too many is dangerous. At over ten dollars a bottle, my most expensive is antibiotic drops for swimmer’s ear. Swimmer’s ear has been unexpectedly rare, and I recently discarded five bottles that expired in January. My remaining three expire in May. Should I buy more?  Doctors have to make tough decisions…