I was the nurse on duty that Sunday morning when four large bikers walked into the maternity ward at six a.m. — leather vests, boots, tattoos, the whole biker look. For a moment, I thought we were about to have a problem. Hospitals aren’t exactly where you expect a motorcycle club to show up unannounced.
The largest of them — a mountain of a man wearing a red bandana and sporting a beard that reached his chest — walked straight up to my desk and said, “We’re here to see Mrs. Dorothy Chen. Room 304.”