My first travel review: The vacation spot to avoid
I have been privileged to stay at some of the finest and most scenic hotels/lodges/resorts in the world. For the record my favorites have included the majestic mountain lodges of the Banff Springs Hotel in Alberta, Canada and Hotel Alpenhof in Zermatt, Switzerland; the distinguished Broadmoor in Colorado Springs and the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, N.C, the ocean-hugging Atlantis Hotel in the Bahamas and Westin Ocean Resort Villas in Maui; the cozy Wickaninnish Inn in Tofino, British Columbia; the cool Ambassade in the world’s coolest city of Amsterdam; literally ANYWHERE in Paris, and the place with the best personal service ( and best rooftop balcony drinking and eating establishment)- the quaint nine-room Hotel Pellegrino run by the incomparable 6 foot 6 Luigi and family in Praino, Italy on the Almafi coast.
Admittedly, these were mostly over-the-top indulgences and I candidly felt some guilt about spending that kind of $. But I viewed it as a reward for those rare times I was able to get away from the stresses of a busy litigator at a large law firm over the span of three decades. And each one delivered a unique experience that justified, at least in my mind, their hefty price tag.
But then there’s my most recent stay for the past six days at a local high end place in what I consider the Lou’s finest neighborhood. While I haven’t seen the bill yet I’m pretty sure that the costs of this visit will massively exceed the cost of ANY of my prior exotic diversions from reality – perhaps by TEN times!
Ok enough preliminaries. I spent my latest “vacation” at a place commonly called by the locals here as simply “BJC” – which stands for Barnes, Jewish, Christian (I suppose that’s just to hedge their bets?). It had some great reviews. Indeed, it was listed among the biggest and best health and healing places in the entire world. Their facility in the Central West End, one of 15 facilities they own and operate, has over 1200 beds, is usually close to capacity and has generated revenues of over $2.3 Billion. So clearly there must be a whole lot of folks who really like to stay there. And when I saw that they have nearly 10,000 employees at that location alone I figured that the service must be excellent as well!
But after spending nearly a week (that frankly seemed more like a month) there I’ve got to tell you that I was more than a little disappointed with the place – especially given its likely six-figure price tag!
I’ll start with the sleeping accommodations. In place of the plush king size bed with soft Egyptian-cotton high-thread sheets that I had come to expect when paying for luxury, there was merely a twin size bed on a cheap plastic mattress with torn very thin sheets. To be fair, though, their beds can at least move up and down from pressing a button on either side of the bed. And the bed is equipped with handrails to protect you from falling out of it while squirming from excruciating pain (to be discussed later).
Then there was the food. Simply a disaster. In lieu of the exquisite cuisine typically offered at other fancy resorts – often from a multitude of varied restaurants with different genres – this place starved me literally for four days. I was provided absolutely nothing to eat or drink including even water, unless you count a saline drip as food!
I thought to myself well, this must be part of a deliberate tactic to build up my hunger to an absolute crescendo before they present me with the best meal I have ever savored – perhaps a veal chop with pasta linguini from an authentic chef from Roma, or a perfectly cooked fine French-cut rack of lamb? Nope. It turns out the BJC specialty after breaking the fast was none other than “chicken broth.” And the chicken part is really a misnomer as there was no recognizable indication that a chicken had ever graced the pan in the kitchen. Nor, frankly, was there any other flavor that I could decipher. Despite my insatiable hunger at the moment I had zero inclination to call upon the Oliver Twist impression that I had been rehearsing over the previous 100 hours: “Please sir, I want some more.”
To its credit, the “menu” itself was quite colorful with a wide spectrum of offerings for breakfast, lunch and dinner and all to be delivered directly to your room. But I never got to see if the items advertised matched the expectations for a premium resort because I was told that NONE of these things were available to ME. It wasn’t that they were all sold out due to high demand but rather that I had been expressly excluded from partaking in their dining experience by my doctor (I knew I shouldn’t have told him I was a lawyer. And I probably really blew it when I said that I couldn’t believe that any man of science, especially the vast majority of doctors, could possibly vote for Trump.)
But there was some good news after all I was told: I was welcome to select as much as I wanted from their generous selections on the “all liquid diet” menu. This cuisine consisted of a choiec of three juices, two different flavored popsicles and jellos, coffee or tea and even their specialty soups – and not just the chicken broth mind you, but there was also beef broth AND vegetable broth. So much to consider and so much time to do so!
When I inquired further about the intriguing beef or vegetable broth with the Executive Chef (or perhaps the nice lady answering the phone after a 10 minute wait was merely a receptionist) I was told that although she hadn’t got up the nerve to try it herself, that almost everyone seems to prefer the chicken broth. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. But there is a positive to be drawn – and I have been told like a mantra by my wife, children, siblings, friends and people who I meet for the first time that I’m a pinch too negative and need to focus more on the positive. I was able to truly learn something important about myself. I had previously thought I didn’t care all that much about food. Boy was I f ***ing wrong!
The activities and entertainment at BJC also left a lot to be desired. Instead of tennis golf, snorkeling and the like, the daily activity offerings included blood extraction, IV re-positioning, vitals measurement and urinary collection. And when I said “no thank you” to all of these options (and I even used my very polite voice – and, yes I do have one of those), I was informed by a Zell-like nurse (wielding a needle and the ability to impose further pain) that these are not actually choices but requirements. On the plus side, whereas the pool and most of the activities at even the finest establishments close at a certain hour, BJC offers their activities 24 hours day and seem to actually prefer waking you up in the middle of the night after you are finally were able to get a little shut-eye.
As for the health and healing part of the stay, which I had assumed was what BJC had become famous for, that proved to be a major disappointment as well. Instead of a Swedish, deep tissue, hot stone or aromatherapy massage, (with or without seaweed, salt-water or therapeutic mud), there was no soothing body treatment of any kind available. And nurses looked askance at me, and then appeared to be talking to investigative authorities after I made such inquiries.
However, to be fair, you are treated initially to a deep-tissue assault on your body at the beginning of your stay. But you should know that these are not hands but rather very sharp instruments handled by folks who seem very comfortable showing off their craft (think a Japanese chef at a teppanyaki-style table at Bennihana’s steakhouse). And they also drug you for the exercise, so that you will continue to endure their thrashing and hacking without the ability to resist.
Another one of my favorite parts of any vacation (at least one not involving hiking the mountains where bears or snakes are lurking) is closely observing other people and creatures. Criticize me if you like for getting a charge out of watching other more interesting folks over living my own damn life, especially if they are wearing stylish garb or little garb at all (and I find them attractive).
But from my jaded perspective, BJC’s demographics left a lot to be desired. Just about everyone of the vacationers I saw looked older than me (although they may have thought the same thing looking back at me) and I didn’t find any of them to be attractive (though in fairness they probably hadn’t taken a real shower or done their hair in days). Worse, everyone wore ugly identical poorly designed “gowns” that tie in the back awkwardly and don’t even fully cover their privates. Watching them stroll the hallways with their IV poles in tow trying to get their mandatory daily walks in (especially from behind) was, needless to say, an unwelcome visual from which I may never fully recover.
I’m also someone who really enjoys good music on vacation – be it listening to a solo classical guitarist or jazz trio at a hotel bar, some upbeat dance music at the pool or the beach, or attending an actual concert. Yet, once again, there was none of that. Indeed, the only sounds that could be heard throughout the day and ALL NIGHT were steady beeps from machines along with grunts and groans and the occasional scream of a fellow human in great distress. Or perhaps that was me?
And for those who associate vacation with more sex, you should know that there is none of that going on at BJC as far as I could tell. Well, at least among the patients. What happens in Room 6969 behind closed doors between a willing nurse and an eager resident is, of course, none of my business. And in my defense, I only opened the door to make sure it was working properly for the next patient. As for me, I doubt that even a truckload of Viagra would have provided a rise in my interest (though having never taken it I can’t say that with certainty). But even if it were to work, logic dictates that the catheter thing would undoubtedly prove to be a major impediment. And by the way, wearing one of those things for four days is NOT recommended for patients – whether they chew gum or not.
Perhaps the most appalling deficiency for a highly expensive vacation locale was that there was NO damn alcohol served. You mean to tell me they cut you open from side to side and then ask you to sit up, turn and walk when you feel like your organs might just drop out of your side, and they give you no libation? Sure they give you some narcotics, but they make you beg for them like you’re a wimp that just can’t handle a little discomfort – unless you were one of those liars who are not too embarrassed to claim that their pain is a 9 or even a 10 out of 10 when there are soldiers who have literally had their legs blown off in war without any anesthesia. And they limit the quantity of pain-killer to an amount that will merely provide a modicum of short-term relief but always leave you begging for more.
So, in case I haven’t been sufficiently clear I DON’T recommend BJC for your next vacation getaway. I will say the people are very professional and really nice and absolutely deserve our admiration and appreciation. But unfortunately that’s just enough for me to give it my endorsement.
{P.S. For those wondering why I decided to go there in the first place – and at the risk of a HIPPA violation and suing myself for this massive breach – I was having a part of my left kidney removed. Why? It’s actually a pretty crazy medical history. But I will share for those interested or find themselves in a similar predicament:
Drs found a minuscule tumor in my kidney by accident as part of a CT of my abdomen done for a completely different reason and even body part. The characteristics of the tumor made the little guy ripe for “Trump” classification (sorry, the word I use, and wish everyone would, for a “malignant tumor”). But there was no way to know for sure without taking it out and removing part of my kidney.
Adding to the perplexing dilemma – and making this something other than a no-brainer- was that even if it was a Trump, this type of tumor was likely one that had an extremely low chance of metastasis ( i.e. actually spreading outside the kidney into the blood stream or to other organs) based on the literature to date – some suggested as little as 1% or so. On the other hand, if it did decide to progress beyond the kidney or into my bloodstream my life prognosis would not frankly be good.
With no clear direction from my assessment of these mathematical risks, much depended in my mind on how difficult it would be to remove. I was told that the procedure would be laproscopic, meaning that there would be four tiny surgical holes, the procedure would actually be performed by a robot (though directed by a highly skilled surgeon in case the robot got bored and launched into a game of Counter-Strike: GlobalOffensive). Bottom line was that the surgery was expected to be minimally invasive and cause limited pain (no pain medication was even likely after surgery) and result in a brief hospital stay (at most 2-3 nights). Of course, there was always the chance that they could not perform the procedure laparoscopically and thus a regular surgery would become necessary but that was remote and the details omitted.
As luck would have it I hit the jackpot. They could not “get in” through the robot (perhaps he was more intrigued by an upcoming chess match against Elizabeth Harmon of the Queen’s Gambit ). I was later told by the surgeon that I was “just too muscular” there. Anyone who knows me personally can stop laughing now. So mid-operation they called in the cavalry and I got the highly unlikely full-out assault.
Please know that I’m not trying to do the “woe is me” thing. I know there are millions of folks dealing with shit far worse than my measly predicament with far more serious real life and death situations. But it was a big surprise when I was just coming back to life and was quickly beginning to think that someone must have taken a chain saw to my abdomen and run it to my back and separated me in two and then sewed me back together with giant staples. Only then was I told about the “unfortunate” “unexpected” and “small” incision they had to make.
In truth, my incision looks like something the Illinois-Central could ride over. It was, and continues to be, very painful. More importantly, my budding tennis career has probably been impacted – along with my chances to finally capture a Wimbledon crown. But them’s the breaks.
The basic facts are true, but this contains a significant dose of sarcasm and is intended to be humorous for those not familiar with these concepts. To be clear, I am very grateful to be alive and to the BJC surgeons and nurses, and to be blessed with a great wife, family and friends who have been a big source of support along the way.
