A year and a half ago:
- I blacked out while running up the stairs
- I fell and bled all over the floor
- Ina & Co. stuffed me on a wheelchair and ran to the ER
- I gained consciousness and heard the Head Nurse scream at the mass of friends who suddenly popped up to get out of the crowded ER
- ER people strapped me on a hardboard and I cried for thirty minutes because my wound was scraping on the plastic
A doctor came. He was nice (too nice) and he asked me odd questions and paid me even weirder compliments but I was too out of it to answer clearly. Then he shut the curtains and told me that he’d have to check me for breaks.
After I was thoroughly groped for purely medical reasons, the b@stard touched my boobs. Mashed might be a better word.
I kept quiet because I wasn’t sure if I should do anything. Later, I told a few friends about it and one of them, Rob, said: “Hell, there’s nothing to break there!”
I made mistake. Perhaps I should have said something (or brained him with my stilettos on the spot). It was not traumatic for me but it could be for other girls. Who knows how many women he had harassed before or he might harass later?
And what kind of doctor would dare feel up a patient who’s too weak to hit back?! That f#cked up turd!!!
Moral of the story? We shouldn’t be embarrassed to complain or speak-up. Harassment isn’t something that should be ignored.
Officially, I didn’t complain because I don’t live in a free country and any statement would have to be on paper and would have to go through several layers of bureaucratic red tape and it would take ages.
But I know where he lives.
Postscript: Eventually, I was diagnosed with epilepsy. I didn’t faint, I had a seizure, which explained the disorientation for almost an hour after gaining consciousness.