The Mayo Clinic: a patient's musings

As I pull into Rochester, Minnesota, for the third week in a row, I feel a little less disoriented than I did the first time, I've been here before and I recognize many of the stores and landmarks coming into town: the local feed store advertising livestock food, the John Deere dealer selling his famous green and yellow tractors, the Walgreens corner store, and the tall, imposing Mayo buildings blocks down the road. Although I am more comfortable here because I know my way around, I still have a pit in my stomach knowing why I am here, away from my family whom my heart aches to be near.  I am in Rochester this week for my first chemotherapy infusion, to visit a slew of doctors and to have Gamma Knife brain radiation.

The Mayo Clinic is an interesting place.  It seems like someone teleported some of New York City and dropped it right in the middle of a small, midwestern town.  Inside those big city blocks, you have marble clad sky scrappers, towering steel and reflective glass, quaint churches, trendy restaurants and, of course, Starbucks.  Most of the buildings are connected by skyways, to protect the people from the freezing Minnesota winters with biting winds. There are underground tunnels, called the "subway," also connecting the hospitals, offices, hotels, restaurants and shopping malls.  It is a city in a city committed to healing the sick.

I typically visit the Gonda building on the Mayo Clinic campus. The main hall is imposing and majestic, high ceilings with marble and travertine clad floors and walls, the ceiling is accented with Dale Chihuly art glass, sculptures suspended from the walls, and my personal favorite is the outdoor terraced gardens.  I walk through such beauty, hoping to find healing on the tenth floor, oncology. You step off the elevator to a breathtaking view of Rochester, tall windows framing the beauty of the world around you.

When I go to check into the doctors, the waiting room feels like a resort hotel check in desk, complete with wood paneling and nice furniture. The diversity of patrons and languages makes me wonder if I am actually sitting in London Heathrow waiting for my flight, rather than in Rochester, Minnesota being treated for cancer.  Last week while waiting to see my oncologist I "spoke" with a woman from Saudi Arabia through my phone, as we showed each other our children whom we longed to be with; we both have four year-old boys.  She was there with her sister and husband.  Me with my sister and mom.  I try to communicate  an American hello with my eyes and a warm smile to the many women I see in a full length black burkas.  There are always dignitaries of some sort being treated here, the Dali Lama was here for one of my weeks, but unfortunately I didn't see him or else I would have asked for his blessing.  Although, I did speak with the body guards protecting the President of Indonesia.  I asked one of the nurses how they communicate with so many people in so many different languages.  She told me many of the patients have personal interpreters, or the Mayo Clinic has a phone number they call and they speak to an interpreter over the phone.  Mayo is apparently in need of foreign language speakers, if any of you need a job!  :)

And so, in this place of physical beauty, I seek healing.  I seek a miracle.  I seek strength to endure and overcome.