Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

{Yay! My favorite only sister, Jilly, had her baby yesterday. He is a week early--but we are so glad to have Baby M here (name is still under discussion--but my vote is for Carter!).}

Last night, my DH and I went to visit Jilly at the hospital. Security has been seriously upgraded since I had my babies almost 10 years ago. In my day, you walked to the hospital uphill both ways in a snowstorm the only security they had was the volunteer lady at the front desk who would gladly share your personal information with anyone who acted interested.

Needless to say, times have changed. Boy howdy! have they!

At my sister's hospital, upon exiting the elevator--you must approach doors to the wing you are wanting to enter, pick up a phone, give the room number, the name of the patient, and chase it all down with a secret code. At that point, the nurses will buzz you in--if you passed the secret combination test, that is.

When I called my sis and told her we were on our way to see her and the bambino, she informed me of this ritual. Naturally, she didn't know the secret code.

What's the big deal? I thought. We'd figure it out. Then she told me to be sure and park and enter in the South Entrance. Go to the 4th floor. And she gave me her room number.

We entered the South Entrance of the hospital, got on the elevator, went to the 4th floor, found a door with a phone outside of it--and just as my DH picked up the phone to call the nurses station with our info (we were just going to fake it on the code)--I got the brilliant idea to ask some guy sitting on a bench outside of the secret doors--if this was the labor and delivery wing.

"This is the Psychiatric floor," he answered.

He didn't appear to be joking.

What the? {Not to judge or anything--but, I was hoping he wasn't waiting for an evaluation.}

DH and I speedily made our way in the opposite direction of that door mostly because we were afraid we might run into Lindsay Lohan or some other nutty celeb--as Utah is the new hot spot for rehab.

Minutes later, we were stopped by a big, burly male nurse--who asked us what we were doing. I'll admit we were looking pretty ridiculous suspicious at this point.

We told him we were looking for the labor and delivery wing. He chuckled. Yes. Chuckled. And told us we should have gone in the west entrance. Then gave us picture perfect directions.

We finally reached our destination, picked up the phone, called with the room number and still no code--and the nurse proceeded to give my DH a hard time about letting him in {under the direction of my bro-in-law, Rob, who had no idea we had almost been admitted into the psyche ward.}

We told Rob & Jill of the shenanigans

we encountered in the

psyche ward.

Rob said, "Oh, you shoulda gone in the

West Entrance."

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda.