Spin doctors call getting sick an adventure. Is not.

The last time I got on a plane for a vacation, for fun, was over three years ago. I didn’t get to visit California, whose shores I adore. Nor Rome, where my husband and I lived for a while.

And yet, they tell me, I made a journey. Two trips, actually: First, a “traumatic brain injury trip,” which I experienced at Johns Hopkins Hospital after hitting my head and having trouble with my balance and gait. Most recently, I was a fellow traveler on my husband’s “cancer journey” at Memorial Sloan Kettering, New York.

These are two of the highest rated hospitals in the country. The care was excellent at both places. But none of these trips were anything like our bike ride in Ireland or our wine tasting trip to Sonoma a few years back.

So much so that being seriously ill has been rebranded in American health care as a kind of adventure. Experts talk about traveling with a stroke. Hospital systems invite people on kidney transplant trips. The language has passed into advertising: Go on a hair loss journey or a weight loss journey (recently popular because of Wegovy and similar drugs). The heart failure journey even comes with a map.

A map? But on these trips, you can’t go anywhere – except maybe the hospital or doctor’s office, which is also likely to have been part of the idea of ​​the trip. Over the past two decades, American hospitals have gone into the business of hotel-like hospitality (sickness can be fun!) rather than being reduced to the business of disease (how disastrous). And while care may remain stable, the focus on luxury amenities and the fancy new buildings that house them is one of the factors that has helped drive costs for patients much higher, at prices far higher than in other developed countries. .

In this version of health care, I am no longer a patient. I am a client, customer, or (worse) guest, regardless of the fact that I did not choose this trip due to illness. I appreciate a little luxury and privacy as much as the next person. But at a time when American life expectancy is shortening and 4 in 10 adults say they have delayed or gone without needed care because of cost, is it worth it?

In recent years, tight budgets, staff shortages and burnout have plagued America’s hospitals. At the same time, many health centers in the US — including the most prestigious and even some community hospitals — have been transformed into seven-star hotels. New hospital buildings, such as recent projects at the University of Michigan Hospital System and Valley Hospital in Paramus, New Jersey, offer dedicated private rooms, in many cases with couches and flat-screen televisions. A hospital can now pride itself on its views, high-thread-count sheets or food provided by a Michelin-starred chef.

Those who commission and design these booths cite research showing that private rooms are better for treatment because they offer a better chance of sleep and less chance of infection. (Actually, the evidence is pretty murky.)

But we’re squeamish about that sort of thing, and the industry knows that even small comforts can make us feel better, regardless of whether we’re actually getting better. In 2008, researchers at the National Bureau of Economic Research estimated that a hospital investing in amenities would increase demand by 38%, while a similar investment in clinical quality would lead to only a 13% increase. More recently, hospital executives told The Boston Globe that the main reason hospitals have moved in this direction is that “people’s expectations have changed” and it creates a “competitive advantage” that can be marketed to potential customers.

And so Mayo Clinic now offers free concierge services that can help you recommend nearby restaurants and find pet care. I think this is the hospitality version of what was called a hospital ‘help desk’ whose function was simply to explain to visitors how to get to patient rooms. Cleveland Clinic, which employs a team of curators, owns one of the largest collections of contemporary art in the region, and its leaders see this collection as a tool to “positively impact patient outcomes.” Patients at Cedars-Sinai can experience the “healing art collection” of Chagalls, Picassos and Oldenburgs.

Hospital food has become so good that in some areas people go to the local hospital for haute cuisine rather than medical needs. And when you look at the numbers on your hospital bill, remember that it all adds up. For what American patients (or their insurers) pay for some luxury hospital trips, they could sign up for a Virgin Galactic suborbital joy ride.

This hospital-to-hospital transformation has filled hospital C-suites with chief experts whose job it is to “manage patient experiences throughout their healthcare journey,” as described by the publication HealthTech . Cleveland Clinic was the first major academic medical center to add one, in 2007. Now some health systems are hiring for it and similar positions directly from the hospitality industry, choosing people who were previously managers at a Ritz-Carlton or Trump hotel.

The American Hospital Association recognizes and champions transformation. “These are not just ‘nice to haves,'” Nancy Foster, the AHA’s vice president for quality and patient safety policy, wrote to me in an email. “The actions that hospitals can take to reduce stress and provide other psychological support can have a significant impact on someone’s physical and behavioral health, including the ability to recover more quickly.” But pretending illness is an Abercrombie & Kent safari is harmful. These amenities come at a cost and are not worth nearly what we pay for them as we are billed for $100,000 joint replacements and $9,000 CT scans. Room charges at many hospitals can exceed $1,000 a night. And “facility fees” for outpatient procedures and even office visits can run into the hundreds of dollars, and simply don’t exist elsewhere. The function of a hospital is to diagnose and treat, at a price patients can afford. I dream of a nursing hospital like Target or Ikea sans grooming.

This does not mean that hospitals should look like prisons. Hospitals certainly have room for improvement when it comes to breakfasts that include midget plastic cups of orange juice and rubber eggs. But to understand one of the many reasons why Americans pay so much for health care, consider this: The best hospitals in Europe are utilitarian structures that look more like urban high schools. When I got stitches for a deep cut on my forehead at the Gemelli hospital – where the pope receives health care – I sat in a garage in a large, dark room with other patients.

Instead of providing free coffee and a piano in a marble lobby filled with art, how about focusing on the very basic things that health systems in the US need to do, but – in my experience – in many cases they don’t like to do. do they make it easier for patients to schedule appointments? Shortening long wait times to see doctors who take insurance plans? Paying for adequate staff on nights and weekends so that patients are not needlessly bedridden for two days until the social workers return on Monday? Or end those two-day ER stays when all the beds are full? (Hotels aspire to operate at full capacity to maximize revenue; hospitals, I would argue, should not.)

This winter, I’m planning a trip I’m looking forward to for good food and art. We haven’t determined the exact destination yet, but it won’t be a US hospital.