I went to visit my sister-in-law this afternoon, who's pregnant and due to be induced in a couple of days. The hospital is quite close to my house, so it was a matter of minutes to get to the closest entrance. Getting the rest of the way to her ward however, was another matter.
There are several tower blocks, all connected by corridors (or tunnels); each has multiple entrances, and the interior of each is, well, clinical. Identically pale plaster walls, pale lino floors; floors which are lettered rather than numbered; arrows which point to a promising location, only to mysteriously lead one to a large sign which says 'Unauthorised persons prohibited'.
The hospital interior would be an excellent site for an orienteering competition. For people like me, who cannot read maps and have no sense of direction, it's an anxiety-inducing exercise. I started to wonder whether it was possible for someone to live at the hospital without anyone ever finding them.
Luckily, I'm not averse to asking for directions. After the third ask, I was able to find my way to the tunnel which connects to the right tower block, get to the right floor, the right ward, and the right cubicle. She wasn't there. She caught my eye from the tv lounge, and my journey was over. My sister-in-law was pleased to see me and my pile of glossy magazines, though they weren't going to give her quite as much pleasure as the one in her hand - a Woman's Idea (or something), the cover of which featured a picture of a starlet in full pregancy-mode puffiness. It's true - we females do enjoy seeing celebrity beauties at their physical worst.
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