Our L&D unit is down at the end of a long hallway (I can guarantee you a nurse wasn't asked about that one!). To get there, you must walk past the Post-Partum nurse's desk, then the nursery.
We were sitting around, enjoying a lovely Saturday afternoon in L&D yesterday, when we get a call from one of the nurses in Post-Partum. "Hey! Did you know you were getting a patient?" No. "Ok. Let me know what you think of her bra." She hangs up before I can get another word in. I peek into the strategically-placed mirror, giving me a view of the entire hallway from my seat. A poorly dressed, young, young girl waddles through the doors. Her boobs are hanging down, practically caught in her shoe laces, flopping this way and that with every step. It was hideous. I call Post-Partum. You're a wicked, evil old Hen! and slam down the phone.
The girl walks up to the desk. My "desk assessment" is giving me a blank. Hi! What can I do for you? "Umm... my, ummm, hip hurts." I'm wondering which part of "Labor" and "Delivery" that fits into... Ok. Who's your Doctor? (which really means Why didn't you call your Doctor???) "I don't have one here." Well surprise, surprise! Another (more tolerant) nurse takes the girl to a room. She comes out rolling her eyeballs. Turns out Droopy-Boobs is only in her mid-teens, pregnant with her second baby, alone, and clearly, cannot afford a bra. God, I'm evil.
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