A Steady Stream
A steady stream of women walked into Bergan Mercy Hospital as Tiffany and I sat waiting for our tour of the maternity ward Tuesday night.Having arrived early – if you know Tiffany that should not be a surprise – we had just settled onto a serpentine couch in the foyer.
There was a birthing class being held around the same time as our scheduled tour, so most, if not all, of the women who walked through the double set of sliders was pregnant.
Some had their husbands with them, others a friend. Some were dressed in high-end fashion for pregnant women while others were in comfy shorts and a t-shirt.
The women were all in various states of pregnancy, with many, I guessed, being close to the same point that Tiffany is – 28-32 weeks along.
Most carried pillows, or rather their significant other did, and a large purse. Every one of them looked slightly uncomfortable, but still chipper.
And they all did the exact same thing once inside the door: The women each, one-by-one, craned their necks left and then back to the right, searching for the same oasis, the restroom.
Without fail – with the exception of one woman, who I will get to later – they all made that “where the hell is it” look until spotting it off to their right. Once seen, purses, pillows and jackets were thrown aside and left to be babysat by their men.
And every man, every single one of them, knew it was coming. None were shocked to be waiting for their mate. One muttered audibly, “Shocking,” as his wife silently made her way to the lavatory.
But each guy patiently waited, tapping their toes or checking their cellphones; more than one made brief eye contact with me, giving me the “you know, right” nod.
And I do know.
In fact before any of them arrived, I too was waiting for my wife as she hustled from the car straight to the can.
I stumbled down the hall studying the photography of one E. Anderson, or something close to that, for a few minutes. Some nice shots – an aged tractor in fading light, a farmhouse with its white picket fence and horses frolicking about – all were bucolic and serene.
Studying public art is becoming a hobby of mine. Some of it is plain drivel, more suited for a motel room than a business. While other works are far more intriguing.
So far the best bathroom break was at the Harry S. Truman Library in Independence, Mo.
Right outside the bathrooms was an exhibit, so I was able to study Truman artifacts while I waited. As an aside: A man wanted Truman to be his partner in selling Harry S. Truman soap after Truman’s presidency, of course Truman turned it down, but I saw the prototype little individually wrapped bars of soap while waiting for Tiff to evacuate her bladder.
But that is a museum, so you can expect quality. Bergan Mercy’s photos were OK, not great. They looked like they lost some sharpness from the size they were reproduced to, but overall worthy of a glance.
As for the woman that walked by without going to the bathroom, she doubled back later. I remember her because Tiffany commented on her wardrobe the first time she walked by – “Where did she find those fun maternity clothes,” I believe.
Unfortunately Tiffany could not stop her to ask, she had to pee.
There was a birthing class being held around the same time as our scheduled tour, so most, if not all, of the women who walked through the double set of sliders was pregnant.
Some had their husbands with them, others a friend. Some were dressed in high-end fashion for pregnant women while others were in comfy shorts and a t-shirt.
The women were all in various states of pregnancy, with many, I guessed, being close to the same point that Tiffany is – 28-32 weeks along.
Most carried pillows, or rather their significant other did, and a large purse. Every one of them looked slightly uncomfortable, but still chipper.
And they all did the exact same thing once inside the door: The women each, one-by-one, craned their necks left and then back to the right, searching for the same oasis, the restroom.
Without fail – with the exception of one woman, who I will get to later – they all made that “where the hell is it” look until spotting it off to their right. Once seen, purses, pillows and jackets were thrown aside and left to be babysat by their men.
And every man, every single one of them, knew it was coming. None were shocked to be waiting for their mate. One muttered audibly, “Shocking,” as his wife silently made her way to the lavatory.
But each guy patiently waited, tapping their toes or checking their cellphones; more than one made brief eye contact with me, giving me the “you know, right” nod.
And I do know.
In fact before any of them arrived, I too was waiting for my wife as she hustled from the car straight to the can.
I stumbled down the hall studying the photography of one E. Anderson, or something close to that, for a few minutes. Some nice shots – an aged tractor in fading light, a farmhouse with its white picket fence and horses frolicking about – all were bucolic and serene.
Studying public art is becoming a hobby of mine. Some of it is plain drivel, more suited for a motel room than a business. While other works are far more intriguing.
So far the best bathroom break was at the Harry S. Truman Library in Independence, Mo.
Right outside the bathrooms was an exhibit, so I was able to study Truman artifacts while I waited. As an aside: A man wanted Truman to be his partner in selling Harry S. Truman soap after Truman’s presidency, of course Truman turned it down, but I saw the prototype little individually wrapped bars of soap while waiting for Tiff to evacuate her bladder.
But that is a museum, so you can expect quality. Bergan Mercy’s photos were OK, not great. They looked like they lost some sharpness from the size they were reproduced to, but overall worthy of a glance.
As for the woman that walked by without going to the bathroom, she doubled back later. I remember her because Tiffany commented on her wardrobe the first time she walked by – “Where did she find those fun maternity clothes,” I believe.
Unfortunately Tiffany could not stop her to ask, she had to pee.
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