“What’s this chaos going on here?” bellowed the chief physician, Dr. Michael Thompson, as he saw a crowd of nurses buzzing in the corridor of the county hospital. They were gathered around a young woman lying on an old wooden bench, writhing in pain. She couldn’t even utter a word from the agony. “What kind of circus is this?” Michael pressed, glaring sternly at the staff.

“Why is this woman in labor still not in a room? Why is she lying here?” Emily – that was the name of the unfortunate woman – had been on that bench for nearly forty minutes, hoping someone from the medical staff would notice her. But the midwives passing by only cast indifferent glances and hurried on – they had enough on their plates already. Who cared about the fate of a penniless woman, picked up by an ambulance on the streets of some small town in Ohio? No money, no ID – who was she to them?

A few passersby had called 911 when they saw Emily collapse from contractions right on the sidewalk. But the medical staff didn’t seem to care. One of the midwives, learning that the woman had neither documents nor money, unceremoniously kicked her out of the room where she’d initially been taken. “Where are you sending her?” a young nurse, fresh out of a community college in Dayton, cautiously tried to object.

“She needs help! We’ll deliver the baby, and then we’ll figure it out.” “We’ve got a full ward of patients on the list already!” snapped Linda Carter, a midwife with twenty years of experience, not looking up from her paperwork.

“If we take in every homeless woman, we won’t have enough hands. We’re already working non-stop, pulling double shifts without sleep. Don’t you know there are only two maternity hospitals in the whole county? And these women have taken to giving birth like cats – a litter every month!”

“There’s no space. When someone gets discharged, we’ll see. For now, get moving and do as you’re told!” The nurse sighed but didn’t dare argue. Who would go against Linda Carter? Hardened by years of work and human tragedies, she saw patients as mere “cases,” and convincing her otherwise was futile.

Grabbing Emily by the arm, the midwife dragged her into the corridor and, ten minutes later, was already rushing to the delivery room. Three more women in labor awaited her – and that was just for the next few hours, assuming no complications. And if there were? The workload in this hospital was indeed overwhelming, and deep down, you could almost understand them.

Sometimes, the staff had to stay on their feet for two or three shifts in a row. Dr. Michael Thompson tried to hire new workers, but who would come to work in a rural county for a measly $2,500 a month? All the young professionals fled to Columbus or at least Cincinnati, where salaries were triple that.

In this town, few could afford to pay for childbirth or care. Where would locals get the money? So the midwives had to carry the load day and night, earning little more than cynicism and exhaustion for their years of service.

“Take her to a room!” Michael ordered sharply, assessing the situation. “I’ll check in a few minutes.” He’d long forgotten the last time he personally delivered a baby.

In his thirty years of practice, it had only happened occasionally, when there was no other choice. Often, the hospital received women from the streets or those not registered for care. The midwives physically couldn’t attend to everyone.