Despite the attention aroused by the unusual presence of a foreigner, the women clearly were perturbed to have been pulled away from their chat and, after begrudgingly asking about the contractions, which were then steady at five-minute intervals, sent us off and told us to come back when the contractions were three minutes apart.

After walking around the block with our mom-to-be for about an hour, the "angel" of mercy who turned us away at the beginning reluctantly agreed to admit my friend, who at that time was so overwhelmed by the pain of labor, she could not walk very far without stopping to lean on a wall or on her husband until the contraction passed.

Despite this state of affairs, she was asked to climb the stairs to the third-floor delivery rooms (the elevator being reserved for other uses) while carrying her own belongings, including her towel and washbowl, which she knew to bring from home. Neither her husband nor I was allowed to accompany her. We were dispatched to wait in a lightless corridor with about five or six other expectant young fathers.

During our wait, those who were not pacing the corridor and smoking endless cigarettes were sitting on the floor for lack of seating and smoking endless cigarettes, as they waited long hours with no word. I can only suppose that the nurses were so busy that they could not be bothered to come and deliver news to these anxious young men.

At 3 am I took matters into my own hands and ventured up to the delivery floor, where I was roundly criticized by the head nurse and sent back to wait until a collective news bulletin came at 6 am, which included the information that our friend had delivered a healthy baby boy.

Two years later, I was to deliver my own child at the Boca Raton Community Hospital in Florida. The contrast between these two experiences convinced me to move forward with an idea that I had been toying with for a while.