meandering down memory lane and whiling on nostalgia avenue
Barcelona’s Hospital Sant Pau (below) is an impressive example of Catalan Modernisme, an architectural style popular at the start of the twentieth century. It was designed by architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner and was recently awarded World Heritage status by UNESCO.
More significantly, it was where the Little One (daughter of Our Lady of the Asanas and erithacus) made her world debut a few years ago.
Despite the hospital’s pleasant brickwork and cheerful and colourful trencadis (broken ceramic tile) design, are-to-be mothers with contractions who arrive in the middle of the night often find the reception rather cold and uninviting. Nothing, however, including the sergeant major-like welcome from the Stalag 17-trained duty nurse and her denials of basic comforts such as water and a blanket, would impair the joy of the new parents upon the birth of their daughter, the most beautiful baby in the world.
Our Lady’s drawn out labour relegated erithacus’ contribution of nine months earlier to an act of lesser importance and her superhuman effort rendered his whining cowardice an insignificance. Little One popped out and the cord was cut. “Hände hoch!” ordered the nurse a split second later. erithacus raised his hands, only to be passed a bawling, purple, slime-covered bairn whose piercing wails he thereupon accompanied with a rousing rendition of “If you could see her through my eyes.” We were shortly frogmarched out of the delivery room. Our Lady was whisked off to the maternity ward while the gibbering erithacus was asked to sign the delivery note; one copy for me to take to the registre civil for the Little One’s naming rigmarole and the duplicate copy for the Hospital to keep as a souvenir. No money back guarantee; but then again who needed it?
More significantly, it was where the Little One (daughter of Our Lady of the Asanas and erithacus) made her world debut a few years ago.
Despite the hospital’s pleasant brickwork and cheerful and colourful trencadis (broken ceramic tile) design, are-to-be mothers with contractions who arrive in the middle of the night often find the reception rather cold and uninviting. Nothing, however, including the sergeant major-like welcome from the Stalag 17-trained duty nurse and her denials of basic comforts such as water and a blanket, would impair the joy of the new parents upon the birth of their daughter, the most beautiful baby in the world.
Our Lady’s drawn out labour relegated erithacus’ contribution of nine months earlier to an act of lesser importance and her superhuman effort rendered his whining cowardice an insignificance. Little One popped out and the cord was cut. “Hände hoch!” ordered the nurse a split second later. erithacus raised his hands, only to be passed a bawling, purple, slime-covered bairn whose piercing wails he thereupon accompanied with a rousing rendition of “If you could see her through my eyes.” We were shortly frogmarched out of the delivery room. Our Lady was whisked off to the maternity ward while the gibbering erithacus was asked to sign the delivery note; one copy for me to take to the registre civil for the Little One’s naming rigmarole and the duplicate copy for the Hospital to keep as a souvenir. No money back guarantee; but then again who needed it?
posted by Bob @ 5:41 pm
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