Historical Diseases

Standby MD asked me to see a guest at the Doubletree – in Santa Ana. That’s fifty miles away, but it was Sunday morning; freeway traffic was light, a perfect time to go to Orange County.

The guest was an elderly Canadian man suffering diarrhea and vomiting. He mentioned that half a dozen members of his tour were affected; several had gone to the emergency room.

That brought back memories of a guest in 1991 with the same symptoms. Stomach viruses are the second most common ailments a hotel doctor encounters. They’re miserable but short-lived; I had delivered the usual advice and remedies, but when I called to check the next day, I learned that he was in the hospital with cholera. I remembered that he had flown in from Peru.

Cholera also causes diarrhea and vomiting. It’s extremely rare in the US. In fact, if an American patient turns up with any of the major historical diseases (cholera, malaria, rabies, leprosy, typhoid, typhus, plague, even tuberculosis) it’s almost certain that the American doctor will get it wrong on the first visit.

The Canadian gentleman was already recovering, but my phone rang before I left with a request to see another tour member. She was sick enough to send to an ER where she stayed until the evening. There is little cholera in Canada, so this was a stomach virus.

Colic

I saw a young Australian couple traveling with an infant. A placid sleeper in Australia, the infant had been screaming off and on since arriving six days earlier, attracting complaints from other guests, driving the poor parents to desperation. They wanted to go home.

It was colic, a surprisingly common affliction of healthy infants. In theory, they are suffering abdominal pain, but all tests are negative, and none of the innumerable treatments work well. It disappears after a few months. I wrote them a note. 

Another Death

When I arrived at the hotel, a father explained that his daughter was under treatment for leukemia. They were visiting relatives when, a few hours before, she had refused to speak.

Except that she was bald from chemotherapy, the daughter looked fine. She was sitting up in bed, arms folded, looking glum. When her parents appealed to her to talk to me, she obviously heard but merely shook her head and remained silent. She did not resist when I examined her, and nothing abnormal turned up. I was faced with a sullen teenager who didn’t appear sick.

This was another occasion when, for no obvious reason, things didn’t seem right. I told the parents she needed to go to an emergency room. They obeyed, and the daughter died soon after being admitted. 

A Death

A guest at the Park Sunset complained of the flu. His temperature was 101; my examination was normal, but patients with influenza have a normal exam.

He looked miserable, but he was forty-one and in good health, and everyone with the flu looks miserable. There was no reason not to give the usual remedies and check back later. This happened long ago, but I still remember the inexplicable feeling that something was not right. I couldn’t bring myself to leave him in the room.

Leaving after extracting a guest’s promise to go to an emergency room is a bad idea. If the guest decides not to go and something dreadful happens, I’m the last doctor he’s seen. Calling paramedics was another option, but they might not share my unease.  

Explaining that he required further attention, I drove him to the nearest hospital. The next day I phoned. He had been admitted and died a few hours later. The doctor who cared for him was as mystified as I. We theorized he was suffering an overwhelming infection from an unknown source. Perhaps he took drugs. This was early in the AIDS epidemic, and victims sometimes died abruptly when their immunity vanished. We never found out.

Not Hitting the Jackpot

“Our client had a heart attack,” explained the dispatcher from Universal Assistance. “He wants to go home, but the specialist says he needs a doctor. We have hired a medical flight, and we want to know if you can go to New York. You come back the same day.”

Experts advise waiting a week or two after a heart attack to fly, but no one knows the risks of flying earlier because no one does. An expert who suggests that a physician go along is covering his ass, not delivering advice based on evidence.

Still, the insurer had agreed, no minor matter when an air ambulance coast to coast costs about $40,000. I had no idea what I would earn; nor did the dispatcher, but it would be breathtaking. Hiring a doctor for a day to testify in a malpractice trial runs to $7000.

I still remember with pleasure the single occasion I flew first class. Flying in a private jet while earning the price of a European vacation might leave an even better memory.

But would the patient require a doctor’s skills? It was unlikely, but I could not dismiss the possibility. Like most doctors, I can perform basic CPR, but I and most doctors have long since forgotten advanced CPR: complex drugs and techniques required for various cardiac malfunctions. Emergency room doctors, paramedics, and ICU nurses deal with these.

Wistfully, I informed the dispatcher that those were the appropriate escorts. 

The Perks of Age

Getting old is a nuisance although there are benefits. Police in passing patrol cars no longer eye me suspiciously late at night. Lone women in elevators have stopped looking uneasy when I join them. 

As a college student in 1965, I wrote a play that won a national award. It was never produced, but in 2006 a theater group in New York chose it for a staged reading. This was not a big deal, but I wanted to attend.

As soon as I entered the small theater, everyone perked up. I became the center of attention; people introduced themselves; they sat me in the place of honor. For reasons I still puzzle over, the group boasted that its public readings were cold (i.e. unrehearsed). The performance made this only too clear.

Later I realized why everyone treated me so well. No one in that theater appeared older than forty. Since I was past middle-age they assumed I was an agent or producer – an important person. They did not forget their manners on learning I was merely the writer.

A Dog-Eat-Dog Business, Part 2

“Doctor Lusman is out of town. Could you speak to a guest at the Fairmont?”

That was a jolt. Lusman was an ambitious young doctor who had phoned months earlier to introduce himself and offer to cover my hotels when I wanted to get away. I declined but suspected he was poaching. For Lusman to instruct his answering service to send me to one of my regulars showed immense gall or perhaps immense confidence.

In private practice it’s unethical to solicit another physician’s patients, but hotels are a grey area. Established hotel doctors who want to remain on friendly terms do not step on each other’s toes. I had made hundreds of visits to the Fairmont.

After the visit, I stopped by the concierge desk to mention that a guest had called another doctor.

Her eyes widened. “Gosh, I don’t know what happened, Doctor Oppenheim. The guest never talked to me.”

I felt better. Maybe it was an innocent mistake. This feeling lasted until I passed the front desk, and a bellman called out.

“Doctor! My name is Andre. I’m glad to meet you.” He hurried over, holding out his hand; we shook. “It was me that called you for the guest. Is he doing OK?”  I knew what this meant.

“Who do you think I am?”

The bellman cocked his head. “Aren’t you Doctor Lusman? People say I should call Doctor Lusman.”

“I’m Doctor Oppenheim, the hotel’s doctor.”

He looked confused. “Where’s Doctor Lusman?”

“He’s not available. You should call me in the future.” I walked away, pleased at frustrating the bellman who clearly expected a payoff. Bellmen were hopeless, I told myself. Concierges were the key to a hotel’s loyalty, and it looked liked they were still in my corner.

But this happened some time ago, and I haven’t heard from the Fairmont since.