The Doll Hospital I took my daughter to the Doll Hospital on Stoney Creek Road in Bexley where an almost alive old man repaired almost alive old dolls. His shelves were replete with antique porcelain and plastic nostalgia— Kewpies, cabbage patches and gollywogs, hand-stitched teddy bears and clowns, faces so human, you could not tell the difference, and those you would not turn your back upon in fear that they might stab you with a knife. Behind the counter lay the parts of his profession—disembodied heads guillotined second-hand bodies, arms and legs, hands and hair, glass glazed eyes that showed…