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A Piece of My Mind
February 16, 2011

The Pavilion

JAMA. 2011;305(7):653-654. doi:10.1001/jama.2011.112

About 10 years ago, my hospital remodeled a floor for elite, paying customers. It is called the Pavilion. Located on the top of our tower, there is a cost differential to stay there. No one asked my opinion about this decision, but I was not pleased.

I love the place where I work. I came here to train and I’ve never left. One of the things I loved about our institution was that it was, somehow, egalitarian. I liked that my marginally housed, alcoholic patient with cardiomyopathy shared a room with a family member of a senator. I liked it even more when they brought each other coffee. I liked being able to tell residency applicants that we didn't have a tiered system. I made the usual wisecracks too. “The Pavilion,” I would say, “is near a hospital.” On my first tour of the space, I scoffed with a colleague at the security and made fun of the bidet, the huge bathroom, and the room service.

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