Cleveland Clinic: Best Hospital In The US & Expensive As Fuck.

My doctor's appointment in Cleveland was interesting. I stayed at the InterContinental Hotel, a $300 mistake. There were only about 5 restaurants within walking distance, and 4 of them were $15-$30 a plate. (More about my walk around Cleveland below).

During my appointment, I was required to go through my medical history with the nurse, surgery by surgery, diagnosis by diagnosis, test by test, so that she could enter it into the computer. It took 2 hours. Since it's a teaching hospital, 4 residents listened in awe to my extensive history, just salivating at the chance to study my case and discuss it over coffee.


Soon the surgeon forced his way through the looky-loos burning holes into my fabulous vintage outfit (cashmere sweater, 60's tan boots, 50's pearl necklace). "Why do you want to have surgery?" he said as he leaned back in his chair. "Are you kidding?", I ask. "No. Why do you want to have this surgery?" he asked again. "Because I hate my life" I quipped. "Well what about your life do you hate?" he asked, trying to get to the point. "I'm not going to talk about my personal problems with them in the room," as I motioned towards the staring gallery.


They filed out the door, and I replied, "Every part of my life is painful. I cannot live another 60 years in chronic pain. I cannot work 8-12 hour days when I desperately want to go home and lay down. I cannot avoid dating because it would create future, and most likely heart-breaking, problems for me. I have given up on life. I no longer have creative juices to fuel my art, which is my existence. I no longer want to leave my house. It's too much work."

"OK. Let's go over your history". Without blinking, he took my entire 4 page spreadsheet in and asked a few questions. He understood. He understood without any explanations about my 27 years of health problems. Suddenly it was done. All done. I was elated that our exam was over and my search for the perfect surgeon had been fulfilled. He was incredibly busy and tried to answer my questions without going into long speeches. When he left, I tried to shake his hand but he was already onto the next patient.

And that didn't even bother me. He was to the point. He was blunt and honest. There was no bullshit, just answers to my questions. And that's what I want in a surgeon. Someone with extensive skills, enough empathy to take care of me the proper way, and someone that conducts himself in the most humble way possible (he's a 70% humble, 30% cocky ratio). I also expect him to have impeccable attention to detail in understanding of my history, my feelings, and the surgery.

I made an appointment for Dec. 30th, his next available. Suddenly a warm feeling of happiness rumbled through my body and I wanted to cry. This was the first time I've felt this emotion in many many years.

A life without pain. A life where surgeons no longer dictate what I can, and cannot do. A life where people's mistakes do not hold me back from the feeling that I can DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT.

December 30th will be the day I'll remember for the rest of my life.
At least I hope it will be. There are no guarantees with surgery and I cannot have unrealistic expectations that my life will do a 180.

My Cleveland Clinic experience cont'd: I wandered around the Fairfax area and ended up at MOCA, a delightful surprise. This was absolutely the best part of my visit. It was small but beautiful. They were showing Jorge Pardo's instillation which MOCA describes as, "Arranged according to use and function, and displayed within the context of various rooms of a house, the instillations, sculptures, and paintings in Jorge Pardo: House highlight the artist's ability to consistently traverse the boundaries between art, design and architecture".
I am coming to Cleveland a day early before my surgery for pre-op appts, and I'll be making my way to the Coventry area. It's the lowbrow indie part of Cleveland, a place I would never expect in a town that is bombarded by doctors and residents, and Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame visitors.

*Photo #1 is of a a note scribbled on a napkin in a weird 'Praying Room' at the hotel. There were stacks and stacks of bibles next to the oils.
*Photo #2 is of the clinic building my exam was in.

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