For forty years as a surgeon, I learned that a telephone ringing at three in the morning usually meant someone needed calm judgment more than anything else.
That lesson guided me on the night my sixteen-year-old granddaughter, Brooke, called my private number at 3:17 a.m. from St. Augustine Medical Center.
Months earlier, I had quietly given her that number after noticing changes in her behavior that I could not easily explain. She seemed increasingly withdrawn after an unexpected family visit the previous autumn, and although I did not want to jump to conclusions, I had begun keeping careful notes whenever something troubled me.
By 3:39 that morning, I arrived at the hospital knowing that my first responsibility was not to make accusations.
It was to make sure Brooke was safe.