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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.

Not Again!!

“I need a doctor.”

“I’m a doctor.”

“No. I need a doctor.”

“This is Doctor Oppenheim. You’re speaking to a doctor.”

“No! No! I need a doctor!!”

Like most of you, I hear what I expect to hear. It turned out the guest didn’t need a doctor but an adaptor for American electrical voltage. He had made the same request – in a foreign accent – to the hotel operator who immediately connected him to me.

It’s the fourth time in about 30,000 phone calls that I’ve had this dialogue.

A Real-Life Stereotype

A diamond dealer from Israel, a guest at the L.A. Marriott, fell violently ill with a stomach virus. He went to an emergency room, remaining overnight for IVs and tests. Returning to the hotel, he felt better except for some diarrhea. I examined him and reassured him and handed over anti-diarrhea pills.

“Are you Jewish,” he asked.

“I’m a doctor,” I said.

He thought for a while and then asked “Would you give me a discount on the bill?”

I gave him a discount.

After another pause he asked “Would you keep the old fee on the invoice that I give to my insurance?”

I told him I’d already made the change.

“But the insurance charged too much: $90 just for a week in America!” he complained.

“Are you kidding?... You should kiss the feet of whoever sold you the insurance. Wait till you see the bill from the emergency room. It’ll be about $5,000.”

He didn’t believe me.

The Reward of Virtue

I did something admirable last week while reviewing my credit card statement. 

I keep receipts until the charge shows up on my monthly bill and then discard them. I noticed that a $137 restaurant bill from October still hadn’t appeared. Had the waiter mislaid it?....  What to do…. No one would object if I kept waiting. But when I ordered the meal, I was obligated to pay for it.

After some agonizing, I e-mailed the restaurant to remind them. Then, since no one was around to praise me, I praised myself.  

As I turned that honorable action over in my mind, a memory took shape. Didn’t the restaurant mistakenly decline my credit card? And didn’t my wife pay with her credit card for which I reimbursed her?

I examined the receipt.  Sure enough, it revealed the last four numbers of her credit card, not mine. So I had paid the bill! I sent another e-mail to the restaurant, cancelling the earlier one. Honesty had cost me nothing. Who says virtue is its own reward?

Screwing the Guest

A February 13 Craigslist ad is recruiting hotel doctors.

If you read this blog, you know that I keep track of new arrivals and offer to work for them. They often take me up on it because it’s not easy to find a doctor on the spur of the moment. 

A few hours after my response, the phone rang. The caller introduced himself, adding that he knew me, admired me, and was certain that I was a perfect hire.

He operated a concierge hotel doctor service in big cities, he explained. Clients were busy businessmen who absolutely could not interrupt work to be sick. His doctors made sure this happened through aggressive treatment and powerful drugs, perhaps more powerful than a doctor would use in an office. He asked what injectables I carried and suggested others. His doctors sutured lacerations, drained boils, administered IV fluids and breathing treatments, incised hemorrhoids – whatever a guest need to keep going.

The charge was $3250.

“They pay that?” I asked.

“Just about everyone,” he responded. “Because there’s NO OUT-OF-POCKET EXPENSE!” (I write in caps because his voice grew loud). “We deal mostly with foreign businessmen. They have travel insurance that pays whatever we bill, so I promise they’ll have NO OUT-OF-POCKET EXPENSE, and no one has complained.”

This was probably true. Aware of the rapacious American medical system, foreign insurers may be inured to spectacular bills.

When I asked about American guests, he segued seamlessly into another monologue. American insurers are less generous, but his service was vastly superior, effective, convenient, and cheaper than the five or ten thousand dollars charged at an emergency room. Hearing this, many paid and express gratitude afterward.

Unlike the previous harangue, this was not true, but I encounter it on web sites and publicity from competing hotel doctors. It puts me in a bad mood.

“So you’re not screwing the guests, you’re screwing the insurance companies.”

“Why shouldn’t I? They screw us!” he exclaimed, adding that many of his doctors are forced to work for him to make ends meet because of piddling insurance reimbursement. Surgeons who once made $1500 for repairing a hernia are now getting $1000.  

This did not improve my mood although I share his low opinion of American health insurers. Foreign insurers give me little trouble, but I’m not billing them $3250. 

“You’re selling yourself short,” he exclaimed after learning what I charge. I responded that I have no complaints about my income.

“You do realize you’re running a business,” he added on hearing that I don’t charge for phone calls. That’s probably true, but I’ve noticed that every doctor who announces that medicine is a business is an asshole.

He is not the first entrepreneur to discover that sick hotel guests, trapped in a strange city, are an easy mark and that foreign insurers are even easier. You can read about another on my September 3 post. 

A Perfect Housecall

On Sunday I wrote for a few hours and then ate breakfast. My routine is to go to the gym afterward, but as I was leaving the phone rang. A travel insurer asked me to see a guest in Anaheim, near Disneyland, forty miles away. 

That was good news; not only did I have a visit but I could skip the gym. I don’t mind long drives provided the freeways move smoothly which is the case on Sunday morning, and the insurer agreed to pay extra for the distance.

Sure enough, the drive went quickly. The patient was a five year-old with an itchy rash on his legs, obviously atopic dermatitis. I informed the parents, explained how to care for his skin, and handed over a tube of hydrocortisone cream from my bag. They were pleased. I didn't hurry, but I doubt I spent ten minutes in the room. Sometimes this is an easy job.

A Wee-Hour Call

Two nights ago the phone rang at 3 a.m. An insurance agency wanted me to see a client with a sore throat at the Torrance Residence Inn. At 8:30 the following morning.

“Why did the agency call now?” I asked.

“I don’t know. They hung up.”

The operator gave me the patient’s information. The Torrance Residence Inn is fifteen miles away. I do not like long drives during the rush hour, so this was already a problem visit. If I went back to bed, I’d probably lay awake and fume.

Patients who phone for my services during the wee hours usually feel bad, so I took a chance and called the hotel. The guest was awake and feeling very bad. When I told her I could be there in 45 minutes, she was amenable. I threw on my clothes. The drive was easy. I gave her the necessary medicines. Everyone was satisfied.      

The Pinnacle of Success

Walking toward the entrance of the Viceroy, a luxury Santa Monica hotel, I noticed half a dozen parking valets gathered around their supervisor who was giving instructions. As I passed, he paused and pointed: “Look at him. That’s our hotel doctor. You let him park wherever he wants.”

This happened in July of 2003, but I still remember the pleasure it gave me. When the parking valets grant you a free pass, there are no more worlds to conquer.

My Best Customer

I’m the doctor for scores of Los Angeles hotels, but even the largest (the Bonaventure) rarely generates five visits per month.

National housecall agencies and international travel insurers provide more business. My leading client is Inn House Doctor, a national agency run by an entrepreneur based near Boston. You can google it.

He solicits hotels, including mine, but they are not an important source of business. Since Inn House collects a cut of the fee, guests who call hear a large quote.

Many travel insurers use Inn House Doctor for their clients in America. It would make more sense for them to call me directly, but I earn my usual fee, so I don’t care. I prefer Inn House when guests live far away, because insurers often refuse to pay a larger fee. Inn House understands.

Its biggest clients are foreign airlines who need doctors for sick crew. In the past some airlines called me, but I’m happy to work for Inn House because it handles many more.

I don’t solicit distant hotels, but airlines, always searching for the best deal, may house crew fifty miles from the airport. I make half a dozen very long trips every month, but airline crew make excellent patients – not demanding and rarely very sick.

Free Medical Care

When guests ask my fee, I tell them and then steer the conversation to their problem. Half the time, they don’t need a visit. If so, they’re grateful for the advice, especially after learning that I don’t charge for phone calls. It’s good public relations, but I also don’t like to make a housecall and collect money for a trivial service.

If you google “house call doctor” plenty of eager individuals and national housecall services turn up but not me. None deliver free care, so the caller has the choice of a paying visit or nothing. A doctor (sometimes me if you call a national service) may come, hand over a prescription for a medicine you accidentally left at home, and then collect several hundred dollars.

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….”