This is my fourth post about my sexual assault by a doctor. The posts do not necessarily go in chronological order, but it’s helpful if you first read my post on healing , Vignette #1 , Vignette #2, and Vignette #3.
I went to talk with a female lawyer, based upon a referral. I sat in a big conference room in her office building in downtown Indianapolis, and waited for her to enter. With warmth and ease, she greeted me, and told me that I could take my time and she would be taking notes.
She noted every comment of sexual harassment, the assault itself, and any detail about the setting and the doctor’s demeanor that I could remember. Then came the dreaded question, that I knew was going to be asked, although she pulled it off well.
“Did you tell her to stop?”
“No, I didn’t. I told her I was in pain, but I didn’t tell her explicitly ‘No’ or ‘Stop.'”
“I knew that she wouldn’t. Two sessions before, I told her that she was using too much pressure when she massaged my leg, but she ignored my comment and kept using the same amount of pressure. She didn’t seem to have too much consideration for the amount of pain I happened to be in.”
Before I was left, I was told that they would contact the clinic for my medical records, especially from that session, and that I would be getting a letter stating whether or not they would take my case.
I waited several weeks. No letter. I knew that the lawyer’s assistant, who was a nurse, had research to do about whether or not what was done to me was a “legitimate” medical procedure. So I waited some more.
Finally, it came. About a month later. She would not take my case.
I remember just staring at the letter for about 5 minutes wondering,
What do I have to do to be believed?
How do you live and heal with a lack of justice?
I felt in my body extreme tension, especially in my jaw and shoulders.
The weight of being a victim.
The weight of feeling powerless.
The weight of knowing that choosing to tell my truth would be an uphill battle.