It was a ritual, of sorts. Shower before bed. Clean t-shirt. Jeans over the footboard. Sneakers pointing toward the door.
A phone, ringing in the dark. Sometimes, a general surgeon. “The Saturday night knife and gun club is back in business.” More often, the nursing supervisor. A section for failure to progress. Or fetal distress. Moms 12 or 13 years old. Really.
Not one of them ready to be there.
First year in college. Mid ’70’s. A gym teacher. Extra credit for women students who had a GYN exam and brought a signature from the doc. (I suspect she had a story of her own.)