small town

I was reminded again how small-town southwest Minnesota we really are.

When our kids were born - at least Sam and Anneka - we were the only ones on the birth wing of the hospital (except for the man and 20 of his closest relatives who was suffering from consumption or pleurisy who they moved next door to us because the regular sick wing of the hospital was full). There are a few halls in the hospital - one to get to that wing of the hospital and one connecting it.

Armed with a plant, a gift bag and three children, we headed from the parking ramp toward the wing of the hospital where we thought we'd find the long-awaited addition to the family. In the lobby, there was a big poster of a couple gazing longingly at their new infant. Surely there must be babies in this wing. Nope, after searching several creepy dimly lit hallways, I think we found the ICU and oncology and endoscopy. We met three or four employees as well - unless scrubs and name tags are now en vogue for street clothes - who must have assumed we were out for a Sunday afternoon walk. In retrospect, the wall across from the elevator would have been a fabulous place to put a large clearly marked sign directing visitors to the various wards.

The kiosk with the monitor where lost (in our case) or smart (not our case) visitors can type in the name of the person they are visiting or the room number must be the replacement for signs, that is if you happen across one of them before you get lost.

The big city is fun....to visit. But give me the hospital where the nurse on duty has time to chat and the hall only goes two directions in one straight line.

And while we try to keep hospital visits with our tribe of small children at a minimum, we left on our own accord AFTER our small children met their new cousin and BEFORE they had a chance to organize foot races with the bassinet. It sure was a good reason to visit a hospital. No, let me rephrase that - the best reason to visit a hospital.