The Housecall Doctor

  A few years ago, Quantas abruptly cancelled flights after an engine exploded. Other airlines followed. Their passengers were stuck in hotels. Within days calls began arriving from guests running out of heart or blood pressure or diabetes medication. 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 call for ongoing medication. 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 touri

  I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID, and when I heard “This is Adele from L’Hermitage” I nearly dropped the phone. L’Hermitage never calls. I serve many luxury hotels but the hard core Beverly-Hills-area establishments (Bel Air, Four Seasons, W, Montage, Beverly Wilshire….) as well as L’Hermitage pay me no mind. I don’t market aggressively, and plenty of doctors are eager to serve them. The guest needed to speak a doctor, Adele informed me. Was I available? I was. “I hope you can help me,” 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 had demanded that the staff find someone else.   Recovering from my dashed hopes, I explained that I could not accommodate him.

  This was from a 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 patient was an Argentine 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?

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 travel insurance agency. 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. As I walked down the hall, I was aware that I couldn’t disinfect my phone which the guest had handled repeatedly.  

  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. I told her that she should continue to improve and advised her to suck on ice chips. I went to the ice machine and brought back a tub full. 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 patient 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 re

  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. . 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 he 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

  An eight year-old’s eyelid revealed a small bump. My diagnosis was a sty. As I explained, the mother held out her cell phone. “I e-mailed our doctor,” 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 are irrelevant. 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 ha

  An Israeli diamond dealer, violently ill with stomach flu, remained overnight at an emergency room. Returning to L.A. Marriott, he felt better except for some diarrhea. I 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: $200 just for a week in America!” he complained. “You should kiss the feet of whoever sold you that. Wait till you see the bill from the emergency room. It’ll be about $5,000.” He didn’t believe me.

A Craigslist ad was recruiting hotel doctors. 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 query, the phone rang. The caller introduced himself, adding that he knew me, admired me, and was certain that I was a perfect hire. He explained that he operated a concierge hotel doctor service in our largest cities.. 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 they would use in an office. His doctors sutured lacerations, drained boils, administered IV fluids and breathing treatments, incised hemorrhoids – whatever a guest needed to keep him 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 vo

  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 paid 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.

  The phone rang at 3 a.m. The operator at the Torrance Residence Inn announced that a guest with a sore throat wanted a visit. At 8:30 the following morning. “Why did she call now?” I asked. “I don’t know. She hung up.” The operator gave 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. Getting back to sleep was unlikely. I’d probably lay awake and fume. Guests who phone for a doctor late at night often feel bad. so I took a chance and called. The guest was awake and feeling 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.      

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.    

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, so they often refuse. 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 crew. In the past airlines called me, but I’m happy to work for Inn House because it handles many more. I don’t solicit d

  Every five years or so, the Los Angeles Times discovers the housecall and publishes an article extolling it that doesn’t mention me, the nation’s leading housecall doctor. The latest appeared in 2016. As always, I wrote the reporter to point out his error. To my surprise, he phoned a few days later, interviewed me for half an hour, and wrote another.   You can find it at: http://www.latimes.com/business/hiltzik/la-fi-mh-is-the-house-call-really-dead-20160202-column.html  

  “This is Doctor Oppenheim,” I repeated several times before hanging up. Caller ID identified the Doubletree in Santa Monica, so I phoned to ask if someone had requested a doctor. Someone had. “You answered, but you couldn’t hear me,” said the guest. “So I called the front desk again, and they gave me a different number. Another doctor is coming.” That was upsetting because the Doubletree is a regular. When asked, the guest gave me the 800 number of Hotel Doctors International, a service based in Miami. “How much are they charging?” I asked. “I don’t know. They just asked if I had insurance.” That was a red flag. Many hotel doctor agencies charge spectacular fees and then assure guests that travel insurance will reimburse them. Forewarned of our rapacious medical system, foreign travelers rarely make a fuss – and foreign travel insurance generally pays outrageous fees. But American insurance doesn’t. I told the guest, an American, that my fee was $300 and that he should ca

  “She speaks Spanish. I’m not sure what’s going on, but she needs a doctor.”  The caller was the night manager at the Torrance Marriott. The hotel rarely calls, but I go regularly for crew of LAN, Chilean Airlines. An LAN crewperson who falls ill is supposed to call her supervisor who calls the central office who calls Federal Assist, a travel insurer, who calls Inn House Doctor, a national housecall agency who calls its answering service who then calls me. The guest hadn’t followed the procedure. If I made a housecall at her request, getting paid would be a major hassle.  I phoned the answering service which had no idea what do. I phoned Federal Assist who insisted it wasn’t responsible for arranging visits. I phoned the director of Inn House Doctor to alert him to the problem. Then I waited.  It was 5 a.m. It’s dangerous to make these housecalls before official approval because it may never arrive. But the rush hour was about to begin, and I couldn’t resist. I jumped in my car

  “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.” “My child is in the bathroom with the European plague. Can you bring the doctor?” 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 “adapter.” 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….”

Here's the story. I began making hotel and housecalls in Los Angeles in 1978. By the 1990s I was doing it full time. Ultimately I made over 18,000, and no one will ever match that because there was little competition in the early days. Today there’s plenty. I began a blog, The Hotel Doctor (thehoteldoctor.blogspot.com) in 2009. I posted regularly and enjoyed a good response until something weird happened. My page views dropped almost to zero; after a few months a post might acquire a dozen clicks. At the same time, cryptic E-mails from the “Google Search Console Team” began arriving. They   had detected “mobile usability issues” or that they were “validating coverage issue fixes” and would inform me when they had finished. I had no idea what was happening. Google has no blog customer service, but I appealed to several support groups and learned that Google apparently had stopped indexing my posts. They had plenty of suggestions for fixing this, many I couldn’t understand, and non