The first dive I can remember calling that made an impression on me was on a cave diving trip to Florida. Early in the dive, I lost a fin, and my buddy had to put it back on me. Then the flow was really strong, and I was leading . . . I got to a certain place where I was going to have to swim hard, and I realized I just didn't want to be there. I felt awful, because my husband was with me, and we had come a long way to do these dives -- but I didn't want to be where I was any more; I wanted to go home. I turned the dive, to the evident surprise of my companions, and we went out. A few minutes rest in the open water, and my composure returned, and we went back in and had a lovely dive.
I've had buddies call dives on me, twice, because they got jellyfish stings and they HURT. My husband called a dive one night because he wasn't feeling well, and thought there was something wrong with his gas. I've called a fair number of dives because I was cold, in the old, pre-heated-vest days. And a funny one was diving a cave called Calimba, which twists and turns like a big boa constrictor. I got about an hour and a half into the dive, and looked in front of me and just didn't have the stomach to sort out how to get through the next complex tight place. When we surfaced, my buddy grinned at me and said, "You called that dive on one too many geometry problems, right?"