I answered a call from a woman at a youth hostel suffering stomach virus.
Wearing a bathrobe and looking off-color, she met me in the lobby. I followed her through a large, open-air restaurant which, although it was midnight, echoed with chatter from a youthful clientele.
She opened a door into one of the dormitories, half a dozen connected rooms crammed with bunk beds. There were no chairs, tables, or dressers, and the communal bathroom was off a distant room. Clothes and luggage littered the floor. The only difference from a male dormitory was absence of the smell of unwashed bodies.
Most beds were occupied; the inhabitants stirred when we turned on the light but did not complain. Since the patient slept in an upper bunk, I had to perform my examination while she lay on the floor, but one occupant moved aside so she could lean over for an injection.