Commentary : There’s a Doctor in the House, but He Might Not Make House Calls
Doctors seldom show up at social events with the intention of practicing medicine. Yet the average victim of ailments, ranging from buzzing in the ear (always a great favorite of mine) to silent gallstones, seems unable to resist confiding in us in odd places.
Many times I’ve seen a suave Givenchy-bedecked museum lizard change into a cringing supplicant quietly sharing her “personal” health problem over the punch bowl.
And not everyone is so mercifully discreet.
Once, in the middle of a pretentious little cafe jammed with a summer afternoon crowd of Beverly Hills types, I found myself gazing over a luncheon plate of endives bisque at an infected appendectomy incision. Those at nearby tables had their expectations of Laguna Beach charm fulfilled in rather startling fashion.
Most of us in the profession don’t really mind. I suppose we expect this behavior to a large extent, but the fellow who pulled me aside from the checkout line at Albertson’s recently must understand that since I rarely carry my otoscope to the market, I could hardly provide a proper evaluation of his earache.
You see, we are in a bit of a fix when asked to perform curb-side consultations. In the first place, to do it right, the doctor must get an adequate history of the problem, which can prove quite a challenge in the din of a UC Irvine-Cal State Fullerton basketball game in the cheap seats of the Bren Events Center.
The next step is a proper physical examination. Both my marriage and that of a couple we know were seriously threatened one summer Sunday afternoon behind the backstop at Riddle Field in the course of an impromptu lymph gland evaluation I performed as a quickie favor for the wife of my son’s Little League coach.
No great harm done, but at other times I have resorted to various ploys to spare myself and the suddenly symptomatic from many a dark laundry room. I might reach into my wallet for a card or make a suggestion that they catch a business-class flight to Rochester, Minn., in the morning. There, at the Mayo Clinic, one can find an array of scientific savants talented enough to properly diagnose that lifelong eyebrow twitch.
I once turned to a veterinarian who happened to join an acquaintance and me at the bar and asked her for a second opinion. Of course, my favorite rejoinder is: “Take two aspirins and call me the morning after I return from my six-month sabbatical at the Pasteur Institute, where I am scheduled to study a series of similar cases.”
So when you run across a doctor at your next wedding reception or real estate opening, think about these suggestions for a moment before seeking that free medical advice:
Make sure that the doctor is as sober as you are.
Try to take him aside in order not to make a spectacle of your condition.
Don’t hike up your skirt or pull open your shirt in view of the other guests; both of you may not be invited back.
Start out by saying, “I’ll never hold you liable in a court of law for what you are about to say to me.” This puts the doctor and his malpractice insurance carrier at ease.
Never believe a word he says unless it is followed by a proffered professional card and the suggestion to see him in his office. As in any field or profession, free advice is generally worthless.
Following the above suggestions will offer you a good shot at a free medical opinion at your next party. If you are extremely fortunate and bump into an attorney and accountant as well, you may even score the scrounger’s triple. To be prepared, always carry a copy of last year’s tax return for the accountant and $10 in cash for the lawyer--unlike doctors, they need a few props to guarantee instant diagnoses.
