I’ve been somewhat off the radar for the last few days. I needed time to get myself together, to deal with the aftershocks of the stupid, thoughtless, selfish acts of one person.
I’ve explained the situation too many times of the past couple of days, to family, the police, detectives…I don’t want to rehash it any great detail here now. The less I think about exactly what happened, the more I can almost sort of deny that it did. I’ve been bombarding my conscious mind with TV, internet, sleep..short of drugs and alcohol, anything to keep my unconscious mind from reminding me what happened. Not that I really the reminder, since I can’t get the feeling of that motherfucker’s hands out of my head and off my body.
I don’t know what part of this whole thing bothers me more – the fact that I was violated, or the fact of who it was. When you choose a doctor (not the doctor I blogged about before – this is a specialist I’d been seeing) there’s a level of trust implicit in the very fact that you’ve chosen them. You sign paperwork to protect your privacy, you’re seen in a private treatment room, your medical history isn’t discussed openly in front of others. These things are all part and parcel of the whole trust thing we, as patients, are supposed to have with doctors. They’re not supposed to violate that.
But, as I’ve come to find out firsthand, apparently those violations happen. I’d rather have had my medical history discussed in front of people or my medical file shared with the entire world than have to go through this. At least those things I could maybe chalk up to negligence or a filing accident. But how to you explain away an egregious act like this – how do you make sense of the fact that someone you’re supposed to be able to trust with your health can’t even be trusted to keep his hands to himself?
I don’t blame myself for this. I know it’s not my fault, and that he’s completely in the wrong. But I still want to know why. But instead of going out and looking for answers, I’ve been shut away in my apartment for three days because I’m too scared to leave. His office is right around the corner, and I have to walk right by to get on the train to go to work. He parks on the street next to mine, the same street I walk up everyday. I don’t know what I’ll do if/when I see him. The thought makes my physically ill.
I’ve filed a complaint with the NYPD. I talked to an SVU detective (no Benson or Stabler in sight – pity.) Nothing has happened yet. I was told that it’s very difficult to make charges against a doctor stick, especially a doctor whose primary method of treatment involves the use of his hands. But they tell me that they’ll be “checking him out” to see if anyone else has filed a complaint against him, and as soon a detective is assigned to my case, I’ll be contacted.
So in the meantime, I have to sit in limbo. I’m still afraid to leave the apartment, I don’t feel like myself anymore, my voice doesn’t sound like mine – it sounds timid and weak, I haven’t really laughed or smiled in days, and there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’m looking for a counselor, but can’t seem to find one (yet) who 1) isn’t aimed at treating children victims and 2) who can see me on the weekends, the only time I have free. I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I’m scared out of my mind. Not sure how I’ll deal. I guess we’ll see. For now, I get my thoughts out of my head and into black and white, and then back to the assault on my consciousness. Hopefully tomorrow’s a better day.
