It is possible, I learned, to put on a hospital gown the wrong way.
My limited experience with such suggests that it’s not only possible, but likely.
Of course, she can still bring out stuff like this:
I have an appointment with my tiny Scottish doctor tomorrow and he’ll likely turf me out to some gastrowhatchacallit and then the real fun will begin and oh yeah, babies, more riveting “I puked like Pat Robertson at a Courtney Love roast” stories.
Not so subtle, perhaps, but I defy anyone to paint a more vivid picture, even with twice as many words.