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.
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