The Hospital Morgue And The Newborn Baby: The Circle Of Human Life

My wonderful baby son was born last Friday.  I'm partial to him and he's awfully cute.  From the OR my wife went into a recovery room on the 5th floor of the hospital for about 2 hours.  Finally it came time to move into her room in the maternity ward.  The primary 5th floor maternity ward was full.  We had to go down to the auxiliary (and much nicer) maternity ward on the 3rd floor, which itself was close to full.  Apparently there was an dramatic uptick in births among people who wanted their child to be born on 10/11/12.  It's a large hospital with a lot of construction going on so we had to take a rather convoluted lengthy route.  We rode a freight elevator finally to get our procession down to the 3rd floor:  my wife in a hospital bed, me in front pulling and steering the bed, a nurse in the back of the bed by my wife's head pushing and steering a separate IV monitor stand on wheels, and then a second nurse pushing our newborn in an incubator.   Exiting the elevator I heard a gasp from my wife.  I feared something was wrong with her.  I turned to look at her face and then followed her stare.  There across the way were 2 very large metal doors with a 3 foot high metal sign attached to one door.  There was a single word on the sign in bold large black print:  "Morgue."  Not what we wanted to see on the scenic route to her hospital room.  Freaky.  The nurses laughed nervously.  I pulled that bed as hard as I could to move beyond and away from that word as fast as possible.  Fortunately given my wife's state it went out of her mind quickly and has stayed out, I think.  I don't want to remind her.