British? or American

It's interesting to sit in the waiting room of a foreign country, watching as they take care of you and the people around you. I suppose because American citizens used to be British citizens, the process of care is not all that different. (We learned it from them). 

I have been inside the waiting rooms and hospitals of several British cities, starting with delivering a baby in a British labor and delivery ward. It was 1983, and not only did I give birth there, I got to spend the previous nine months being examined and cared for by an outstanding obstetrician . They called him Mr. Milton.

They use 'Mr', and not 'Doctor' because... well, I can't exactly remember why they used 'Mr' and not 'Doctor'. I only know it is the title they gave their highest skilled physicians. And how did I get to have a baby on the British economy, you ask? I got to because at that time women in the military (I was a military dependent) could choose to have their baby either in the base hospital, or in a British hospital.

Of course I chose British! I was pretty sure it would be lovely, start to finish. And it was. I mean, it isn't comfortable giving birth. It is hard. But if it must be done, you might as well do it while surrounded by Sisters (nurses) who give you confidence and answer your questions and joke with you gently as that child makes his way into the world. And then after it is over, they give you cup after cup of the most delicious British tea, and (you won't believe this) CINNAMON ROLLS WHENEVER YOU WANT ONE!

                                     

The SconeLady with mother-in-law, sweet little daughter, and British-birthed baby

Cinnamon rolls were a new experience for me in a British setting. They were great! Warm, and accompanied by butter and either coffee or tea, whichever the young mother wanted. I could get used to this.

And then because I had a C-section, my son and I stayed in the hospital for 11 days! Eating rolls, drinking tea, and having what seems to be 6 meals per day! Breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper. Really!

Today as I waited my turn in a British surgery (doctor's office), I thought back to those halcyon days of being waited on hand and foot, living the life of Riley. The nurse who saw me this morning had that same look of excellence in her eyes, where you get the feeling you are in the hands of an expert. I wished I had the time to tell her about the 6 meals a day I ate, and all the cinnamon rolls I, and the other new mothers in the ward, had enjoyed. I'm sure none of us ever forgot it. 

Wouldn't it be fun to meet some of those moms from that year of 1983? Oh, the stories we could tell!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady