The building is what you would expect for a top-rated post-acute rehabilitative facility with seemingly endless funding streams. Floors are cleverly arranged in order of the body: brain injuries at the top, spinal issues providing a middle column, and beneath followed by muscle, bone, and limb damage. There is a pediatric ward, a cafe, and a visitor's lobby with a stunning conference room opening up a vista of the city. Dozens of parking floors are beneath that, and on the ground floor a flustered security team in a windowless, cinderblock cell complains that they were not informed that I would be needing my ID badge. The woman steps out from behind the counter with a small digital camera, complaining that someone must have been messing with the settings. I'm a photographer, I offer - I might be able to help. Someone had adjusted the switch on the top to change the camera from auto mode to long exposure, bleaching out my headshot. Why such a low-quality device would even offer long exposure is beyond me. There's a caste system here, and security comes dead last. My manager appears later to inform me that "she will take care of this", even though the issue had already seemed to be resolved.

The orientation is helmed by an HR representative with thick eyebrows and a suit with a car salesman fit. People come here to grow, he says, and the organization's mission is "maximizing human ability." Although the presentation appears to cater to nurses and physical therapists, attendees truly span every career option: security, cafe workers, medical residencies, an executive, and even a public school teacher. It employs more people than students at my college, or residents in my husband's rural hometown.

I complete many trainings on my phone so I can head home a bit faster. I am educated on topics such as code silver, the name for an active shooter event. We are instructed to "run, hide, fight" - we must become the predator rather than the prey. Later, I tell my husband that there is nothing to worry about. The interior is designed like a vertical fortress - disorienting, maze-like, and filled with doors that only open with certain keys or seal behind them. There could very well be traps and minotaurs if you let your imagination wander - I take a photo of what I think might be a smoke detector that can detect nicotine vapor connected to a fire curtain, only to discover it is a paper towel dispenser. One training elucidates the procedures for cleaning supplies, and we are tested on the properties of chlorine compounds on blood spills. Another defines culture as integrated patterns of human behavior that may have different ideas about disability and healthcare.

Because it is a rehabilitative hospital, each floor has an expansive jungle gym designed for rehabilitative growth. I have yet to enter one of these, but I have seen images reminiscient of a funhouse, with pop color blots ambered in clear laminate flooring. You may be in pain walking with a missing limb, but there's no reason you can't have the appearance of fun while doing it.

Years ago, my husband and I sat outside in their rural hometown next to the forest. The sound of insects filled the air of the deep night, and I remarked that the number of calories contained in them must have been staggering. Sitting in the conference room, looking out onto the city and the luxury developments that filled the skylines, I felt the same way as I did then if you replaced nutritional value for capital. This place feels both hospital and resort in equal measure.

What does it mean to heal or recover? We were played several video testimonials, soundtracked by emotional violins, that served as a testament to the great work we would be doing. Children were overrepresented in these videos despite representing only a fraction of those served. This is likely because in children, we can't help but see growth and the future - even when their two arms are robotic. One father describes how he hopes that one day he will be the guinea pig for the latest bionic upgrades and that he can walk with his son. A lay perspective sees these clips as uplifting, while a critical view might see it as exploitative. Like many things, it probably falls somewhere in the center. Money makes the world spin, and emotionally resonant content opens the pursestrings. These people do need help, but I wonder if these opulent hospital settings are a large contributor to Americans' overwhelming medical debt. Despite this, I am largely aligned with their philosophy of care: understanding what the patient wants their recovery to look like, and rooting a solution in what is feasible. But there is nothing truly grounded in a concept like hope. It works, or it doesn't. We know that a positive attitude does not change a person's odds of survival with illnesses such as cancer. It can, however, influence one's readiness to approach rehabilitative care - a case in which speed actually is of the essence.