From Holladay City Hall, straight down 4500 South
City hall sits near 2300 East, just south of 4500 South. The directions fit on a sticky note:
- Get on 4500 South (SR-266) and head west for about 2.2 miles.
- Turn left onto 900 East.
- Go roughly half a mile. Ivy Place, the small plaza, is on your right just before the big junction with Van Winkle Expressway.
Thinking about the freeway instead? 4500 South does meet I-215 at exit 5, inside Holladay, but that one's a southbound-only exit and entrance, so check which way you're headed before counting on it.
Two Holladay roads end up at the clinic's doorstep, in a sense. Murray-Holladay Road comes into that same junction from the east, and Van Winkle Expressway, which forms the Murray–Holladay border for most of its length, begins right there.
Mount Olympus on one side, 4500 South on the other
Mount Olympus rises 9,030 feet directly east of Holladay. Its trail runs about 3.1 miles to the summit, which means about 3.1 miles back down on legs that are already done for the day.
If what you remember the next morning is being slow to stand up from a chair, or not quite able to bend forward to lace a shoe, tell Dr. Cody Mecham exactly that. Those details matter.
Closer to home, Holladay City Park covers 6.5 acres in the historic civic and business district, with a skatepark and the Historic Casto Home, while Knudsen Park fills 7.5 acres down in Knudsen's Corner at the city's southeast edge. An afternoon standing at the skatepark and then hoisting a bike back into the car doesn't feel like exercise. Your back may keep a different score.
The town itself has had a few names and shapes. Settled in 1847 and named for pioneer John Holladay, it incorporated on November 29, 1999 as "Holladay-Cottonwood" and shortened the name to Holladay barely two weeks later, on December 14. The Cottonwood Mall that opened at 4835 Highland Drive in 1962 was torn down in 2008; that site is Holladay Hills now.
One more local wrinkle: the clinic's ZIP code, 84117, is listed for Holladay as well as Millcreek, which is part of why addresses around here get confusing. The Millcreek page untangles it.
Is it the kind of back pain decompression is for?
That question gets answered at an exam, not on a web page. The DRX9000 is aimed at pain coming from a disc, most often low in the lumbar spine at L4–L5 or L5–S1, and pain from the facet joints, the sacroiliac joint or a plain muscle strain isn't what the table is designed for.
When the exam does point to a disc, expect a plan of 20 to 30 sessions over 8 to 12 weeks. Each session runs around 20 to 30 minutes in a pelvic harness, with the table cycling the pull up and down so your back muscles don't brace against it. By treatments 8 to 12, if nothing meaningful has changed, the plan is revisited; what a decompression session is like has the rest.
Is it proven? Not cleanly. Aetna, which last reviewed its policy in March 2026, still calls vertebral axial decompression experimental and names the DRX9000 among the devices, so read the research on whether decompression works before you decide.
Screening comes first too. Fusion hardware, a spinal fracture, osteoporosis below a safe threshold or pregnancy takes decompression off the table, and loss of bladder or bowel control can signal cauda equina syndrome, a medical emergency that needs emergency care, not a booking.
Heading south instead? The Cottonwood Heights page follows Van Winkle Expressway in. Everything else about spinal decompression in Salt Lake City lives on the home page, and when you're ready, book an exam online or ring (801) 590-8615.