Non-urgent emergency

OK, so yesterday I had to rush my daughter to the maternity unit of our local hospital as what the midwife described as `A non-urgent emergency’ . . . Weird but true!


Finally arriving at the said marvel of modern medicine and Child Production Agency, Mother Nature was by now making her own urgent calls upon my body. I jigged frantically in front of the parking pay meter while hunting for the change I knew I had but could not find, finally managing to feed the evil cash monster the required sustenance that allowed my vehicle to rest in the space provided, I then rushed into the maternity building seeking relief.

Up and down corridors I searched, in and out of wards, up and down stairs and even behind the half empty drinks and snack machines I peered, but alas it was all in vain. Desperately I sought the assistance of a stern looking nurse on her way to terrorise yet another newborn, but the reply I received shocked me to my core. I was curtly informed there were NO male toilets in the maternity block!

Well! I almost relieved myself in shock! So what was a poor simple man supposed to do? I realise a maternity unit is for the purpose of infant arrivals and the female of our species was the priority of that unit, but what about the males unfortunately present? I understand that most women at this stage of the reproduction cycle wish all men castrated or shot, which ever makes less mess, but males are involved as well. Not all involved are in the position of a potential new father, some males are those other members of the male species that help and support these women in their hour of giving birth. What about males such as husbands, partners, boyfriends or one night stands? And should not consideration be given to the members of the expectant mother’s family? Such as fathers, brothers, grandfathers, uncle or even son’s? What hellish mind contrived to remove all forms of male bladder relief from the building?

Still jiggling frantically I saw my daughter onto the appropriate ward before dashing out to seek a toiletry refuge. At last my prayers, incantations and other assorted words of choice were answered, a hundred yards away stood the main hospital building and I knew there I would find sanctuary and escape from my most pressing problem. Screaming past fellow visitors, patients, nursing staff and the odd lost doctor, I ran straight for the men’s room resembling a tortured banshee seeking to escape a rabid banker!

When at last the deed was done, I returned to my bemused daughter as she awaited to attentions of a doctor, which she duly received some four and a half hours later! Good job it was only a non-urgent emergency!  However it did turn out to be an emergency for me!