All in a Day’s Work - The Life of a Hotel Doctor
By Mike Oppenheim, MD
"She speaks Spanish. I'm not sure what's going on, but she needs a doctor."
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 not far off, and I couldn't resist. I jumped in my car and drove the twenty miles to the Marriott. The freeway moved smoothly, but two blocks before the hotel, barriers and police cars blocked traffic. A dead body had been found on the street. That I was a doctor making a housecall did not persuade the guard.
I parked and walked toward the hotel. A policeman hurried over as I passed the barrier, but he accepted my explanation and escorted me past the tent concealing the body.
The visit was easy, and official approval arrived while I was in the room. When I finished at 7:00, my sigalert revealed a solid red line of jammed freeway for my return. So I returned to my car, tilted the seat back, and went to sleep.
In his regular column "The Life of a Hotel Doctor", Mike Oppenheim shares remarkable stories around visiting hotel guests as a doctor. When he began as a hotel doctor during the 1980s, only luxury hotels had a “house doctor,” usually a local practitioner who did it as a sideline. Nowadays, in a large city even the lowliest motel receives blandishments from a dozen individuals plus several agencies that send moonlighting doctors if they can find one.More from Mike Oppenheim