We made our first visit yesterday to Cedars-Sinai in West Hollywood to meet with the doctor and get the preliminary tests out of the way. The doctor is pleasant enough and very efficient (no questions until after she finished her lecture to us on the diagnosis and prognosis). She made good use of her little diagrams of girl-ducting to describe the situation. She told us (no kidding) that it's not unlike an Oreo cookie with the colon and bladder being the chocolate cookie on the outside and the uterus being the cream filling in the middle that needed to be removed. Not sure if she's the pull-apart type or the gently unscrew type. And I wasn't about to ask about the milk dipping. She said that there was little to worry about, the cancer is in a very early stage and the laparoscopic surgery would be pretty routine. She also promised that, despite Elizabeth's request, there was no possible way she could fit in the surgery this week. The operation would be scheduled for next Tuesday morning.
After the doctor visit we were sent on a scavenger hunt through the bowls of one of the most famous hospitals in the world (you name the dead movie star and chances are good this was where they made their last curtain call).
First on the item on the list: Go to the Steven Spielberg Hematology Research Center. Find a short woman with a blood drawing kit.
For this first leg we were given a "transporter" named Michael who escorted us through the lower levels, back up into the sun, across Gracie Allen Drive, and into... The North Tower. Another lobby, another check-in, down the hall, up the elevator. We found the vampire nurse who suggested I wait in the waiting room. Waiting room? It looked like the lobby at the Beverly Hilton Hotel only bigger and much nicer. One wall was covered with the names of hundreds of donors, benefactors, and golden circle members. It was a who's who of Hollywood 's most generous. And those just greasing the skids in case they got sick. By the 20ft tall window, sat a beautiful black grand piano. On the other side of the room in a large glass case was a sculpture of 4 foot tall yellow ice bag, donated by some famous hangover sufferer, no doubt. There was a sign on the pedestal it sat on saying if you pressed a little black button on the right the sculpture would move. Next time, maybe.
I found a day-old LA Times and a comfy chair next to the piano. The piano was roped off. Probably to keep the non-union musicians from smudging the keyboard. I could read in peace. And I did until a woman, about 60, a little disheveled and an “off-my-meds” look in her eyes began walking up to each of the 15 people in the room and loudly asking if they would mind if she played a song, "...just one, just one!" on the piano. Elizabeth rescued me before I could find out what or if she could play.
Next on the list... Go to the Steven Spielberg Cardio-Pulinary Pavillion. Find a middle aged man with an EKG machine.
Kurt was in a little room all his own. A man and his machine. It took Elizabeth all of one minute to find out Kurt was a certified cardio-something-or-other, lived in Bellmont Shores, was 54, and went to North Hollywood High School. He explained to her, politely, that he would be putting electrodes on her chest and she would need to remove her bra and she could wrap a towel around her. “Oh, I’m not shy.” she said as she opened her blouse and dropped her bra.
He quickly looked away from her and over at me.
I smiled. “You’re good.” I said. “That took me four dates.”
Next on the list: Go to The Steven Spielberg Radiology Wing.
Find the Chest XRay Guy.
Kurt led us down the hall to the elevator and gave us instructions on where to go. Directions we forgot as soon as the elevator doors closed.
We wandered around for a couple minutes. I found a directory map, found the radiology lab on the map and we wandered around for a few more minutes. The only way out was a door that had at least a hundred signs on it that said, Authorized Persons Only, Medical Personal Only Beyond This Point, Keep Out and Go Away, Dammit!
Elizabeth spotted someone that looked like he might know his way around. He was 6’7”, wore a starched white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. He might know. "Excuse me... Do you work here?" Elizabeth asked. She told him we were looking for Radiology. “Oh, it’s next to the Steven Spielberg Orthopedic Research Tower.” He pointed at the door of a hundred signs. “Just go through there.”
“But the signs...?” I asked.
“Oh..., I never noticed those. I go through here all the time.”
We walked down the forbidden hallway. I knew an alarm would go off and we'd get busted. But the only person we saw was a guy driving the hospital hallway equivalent of a Zamboni. We eventually found our way to the radiologist, Elizabeth got her chest X-ray and five and half hours after entering the facility we picked up our cars at the Steven Spielberg Valet Parking Structure and left.
Today the doctor’s office called. Someone cancelled. Surgery is now scheduled for Friday morning at 10:30am.
Stay tuned.
