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 Dog-Eat-Dog Business, Part 10

My last post reported a housecall service that charged an unbelievable fee. By an odd coincidence within a week I came across another new service with an even more unbelievable fee: $99.

A high-tech startup similar to Airbnb, Uber, and Lyft, Heal is clearly the wave of the future. You download its app. If illness strikes, you click on it, enter information, and (according to the web site) a doctor arrives within an hour. Business was brisk, its medical director assured me.

With a “medical assistant,” driving, Heal’s doctors care for acute illnesses, performing complex procedures that I don’t do such as suturing, injecting joints, and even complete physical exams.

Paying the doctor, driver, staff, and investors at $99 per housecall seems impossible, especially since the web site emphasizes that there are no extra charges. On the other hand, taxi companies complain bitterly about Uber, and hotels denounce Airbnb, yet both are prospering. Financial acumen is not my strong point, so it’s possible that Heal will drive me and my more expensive colleagues out of business.

If so, I might to work for them. Pay is low for a doctor but acceptable to me. Having a driver would relieve a major stress, and I might enjoy not being on-call 24 hours a day. This blog would vanish, but you could read Heal’s. It lacks my whimsy, being mostly earnest medical advice and public relatoins, but $99 will not include entertaining literary diversions.

Let me know if it works for you.

Lost in Translation, Part 2

5:30 a.m. Saturday is an ideal time for a call. I had finished writing and was sitting down to breakfast. I told the dispatcher I would be at the hotel in an hour.

The freeway was clear. Parking, even downtown, would be easy. My phone rang as I drove. It was the guest’s travel insurer warning that there was no answer when he phoned to tell her when I’d arrive. When guests call directly and then vanish, I don’t get paid, but this is not the case with travel insurers, so I drove on. It was unlikely she had left the hotel.

At this hour, I check at the desk to make sure I don’t knock at the wrong door. The clerk confirmed the room, called, and reported that someone had answered and then hung up.

It was good news that she was present, not so good that she had immediately hung up. That’s a sign that a guest’s English is not good. 

A young Japanese woman greeted me at the door, ushered me inside, consulted her Ipad, then announced in triumph: “......stomach!!....”

One advantage of travel insurance is that dispatchers will interpret. Despite my admonition, they prefer to edit, abridge, and summarize rather than simply translate; their English is often rudimentary, and passing the phone back and forth makes for a long, tedious visit.

On the plus side, hotel guests usually have uncomplicated problems. It worked out fine. 
  

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.

Another Wee-Hour Call

It was midnight when the phone woke me. An Emirate flight attendant at the Hilton in Costa Mesa needed a doctor.

That Hilton is in Orange County, a 46 mile drive. The agency that serves airline crew has an Orange County doctor but calls me when she doesn’t respond.

After I’d dressed and filled out the necessary forms, the phone rang again. The Orange County doctor had checked in and wanted to make the visit. Was that OK?... 
 
I’d received a similar call last month when I was already on the freeway. At that time, when the agency announced that my visit was cancelled, I made a fuss, so it promised not to do that again.

Did I want to spend two hours driving plus twenty minutes delivering medical care in the middle of the night? I boast that, not having an office, I can sleep late, but I enjoy getting up early to write. In any case, my body automatically wakes at the same time.

Returning to my cozy bed seemed extremely attractive; I gave my consent.

As soon as I hung up, I remembered that the agency pays generously for long drives in the wee hours. That thought gave me a touch of insomnia, so I still passed a sleepy morning.

Trusting the Guest to Take Care of Things

A guest at the Crowne Plaza was feeling under the weather.

The guest spoke poor English but, through the bellman, asked if I took his insurance: April Assistance. I did, adding that, unless he wanted to pay me directly, he must call April and ask for a doctor. Then April calls me.

After giving April’s 800 number to the bellman who passed it on to the guest, I hung up and immediately regretted it. I should have asked for the guest’s insurance I.D. and then sent him to his room. Then I should have phoned April to tell them a client wanted a housecall. They would have phoned him and then approved. I’ve done this in the past; when I’m lazy and trust the guest to take care of things, I often never hear back.

I called an hour later, but the bellman didn’t remember the guest’s name.

Sometimes This is a Thankless Job

A one year-old at the Ramada was fussy and congested, but my exam was normal. She had a cold, I explained. It was not serious but might last a few days. Staying in bed wouldn’t make it go away quicker. The parents should encourage the child to drink, but it was OK if she didn’t eat. They were already giving Tylenol for the fever, and that was fine. They should try to enjoy themselves.

“So she doesn’t need anything,” said the father. I assured him she didn’t.

I gave them my phone number and promised to keep in touch. They thanked me effusively as I left, but I was not fooled.

Understand their point of view. They were in a strange city on an expensive vacation, and their child was sick. Naturally, all fun was cancelled and the doctor summoned fix things.

Had I written a prescription, I would be doing what a proper doctor does. They would have given the medicine and waited. Not giving “anything” meant that I considered the illness trivial. That was clearly wrong.

Mind you, obeying long and sad experience, I had carefully explained that the child might feel under the weather for several days. They had listened and nodded, but their yearning took priority.

I intended to call in 24 hours, but the following morning their travel insurer phoned to say the parents were requesting another visit. I explained that that wasn’t necessary. I would call.

“She’s the same. The fever hasn’t gone away,” said the mother.

I repeated that this was to be expected and that she should wait. She agreed and thanked me for calling.

No one answered when I phoned the next day. The insurance agency dispatcher explained that the mother had called earlier to demand another visit, so he had sent her to an urgent care clinic.

The child had barely swallowed the first spoonful of Amoxicillin when she began to improve. By evening she was fine, and the parents were congratulating themselves. Who knows what might have happened if they hadn’t found a competent doctor?