I didn’t clock out the next night.

At 12:40 a.m. the last patient had been discharged and the hallway lights dimmed to night mode. I walked straight to Dr. Hale’s office. The door was open. He was at his desk, reviewing a chart under the lamp. When he looked up, he simply pointed to the examination table in the corner of the room.

“Clothes off. All of it. Then lie back.”

My hands moved automatically. Scrub top. Sports bra. Pants. Underwear. I climbed onto the table. The paper cover crinkled under my bare skin. Dr. Hale stood, locked the office door, and pulled on a pair of blue nitrile gloves...