
Two podiatrists, three treatment rooms, a book that's mostly regulars every six weeks — and a phone that rings while everyone's gloved. Stella answers, books routine care and new assessments into each podiatrist's real day, reminds, reschedules, and keeps the six-weekly rhythm going.
Good morning, Southgate Podiatry, this is Stella — how can I help you?
It's not that you need another practice module. Someone has to pick up, know both diaries and every room, and keep the rhythm alive.
Recognised, greeted by name, no ceremony. Her usual podiatrist, her usual rhythm — one sentence and it's done.
The universal six, and two that matter when the book is regulars and the patients prefer to phone.
No menus, no “press one”, no hold music, no disclaimer wall. Place, first name, how can I help — in one breath. Then she listens instead of interrogating. And she's there at 7:40 in the morning and 9 at night — when the parent thinks of it, not when you open.
She searches actual availability — who is where, doing what, for how long, in which chair or room — and never double-books. If she offers 2:20, 2:20 is free.
Reminders go out ahead of time. When someone can't make it, she handles the flustered call with warmth and finds the next time without drama.
A cancelled four o'clock is the one slot you can't sell tomorrow. The moment it frees, she offers it — by text — to the people who've said they'd take short notice, who wanted earlier, or who owe a make-up. First yes takes it; nobody else hears about it.
A four o'clock cancels? She asks the five o'clock if they'd like to come earlier. Nobody is obliged, and it cascades — you finish at five, not six.
Someone turns down a 9am; she stops leading with mornings for them. Preferences, never rules — and when she checks, she uses very few words.
Six weeks, eight weeks, quarterly — a standing arrangement with the same podiatrist and the same slot. She books the next one before this one's over, reminds the way each patient prefers (a call, not a text, if that's them), and moves one visit when life intervenes.
Slowly, warmly, one question at a time, and never “please hold”. She recognises the number, uses the name, and rings back rather than texts when that's what someone prefers.
She takes the cancellation the moment it comes, whatever the hour — nobody waits for the desk to open. Runway is money: the earlier she knows, the more people she can offer the slot to once your outbound hours open, and the likelier it fills. Your policy — notice period, deposit, fee — is yours; she states it plainly, applies it the same way every time, and stays kind about it.
Everyone on the short-notice list asked to be on it. Nobody is nagged; nobody hears another client's business.
Rain, a burst pipe, a birth, the autoclave, the hall double-booked — the whole block moves, and it's your call, not the client's. You say it once; she works out who's affected, offers each person the right alternative in their own words, waives the fee, logs the reason, and reports back. When it's an overrun rather than a closure she works by who can still act: the people who haven't left home yet get the call and the choice; the people already in the room get the honest ETA and a coffee; nobody further out is touched until the delay is still growing. Nobody hears why; nobody rings the desk.
I'm at a funeral tomorrow. Clear my day, offer Dr. Osei where patients are happy, and ring the ones who don't text.
A regular's routine care is a standing arrangement: podiatrist, cadence, preferred slot, and how they like to be reminded. Stella projects it forward, spots collisions early, and only ever moves a single visit.
The regulars phone. Somebody has to pick up — and know them.
A panel at reception: who's next, which room, what changed. One button to say “move Mr. Patel to two.” Supply reps and scam calls never make it past the door.
Nothing clinical lives on the panel — first names and times, like a whiteboard. Your notes stay where they are.
No “press one”. No “your call is important to us”. No recorded disclaimers before a human word. Warm, short, present — and honest if you ask what she is.
She offers what's in your catalogue and staff profiles. She won't crown a “best” anyone or promise an outcome. A time she offers is a time that's free.
A moved client hears “we need to move your Tuesday — let me find you another time.” Never who, never why. And once moved kindly, they're not yo-yo'd back.
She doesn't lead with it and doesn't apologise for it. Ask, and she'll tell you plainly: she's the assistant. She helps; that's what people remember.
Your visit types and lengths, your podiatrists and rooms, your hours, how each regular likes to be reminded. She's configured by hand for the first practices — a few at a time.
Stella is in early access with a small number of practices and salons. Tell us about your phone and we'll tell you plainly whether she fits — and when.