Who Stole My Heart?

1979 was perhaps the lowest point yet, in my life. I couldn't have been more vulnerable....

That September, I had an appointment to see my Gynecologist. This would be my third visit, since the first one back in January. Sharona didn’t have one that day. She came along anyway, since we were going to be running some errands afterwards. The receptionist took me to a room and handed me a gown and sheet: the same procedure as before. I got up on the examination table, put my feet in the stirrups, and draped the sheet over me while I waited for the doctor.

Within a few minutes, he came into the room. We exchanged some greetings; he was pleasant as before. He first went to the end of the table and stood between my legs, and then he slightly backed up. He was standing at the right side of my foot, just to the side of the stirrup. He bent his head down, as he reached inside his white knee length medical coat. All the while, I was watching him. He removed his partially erect penis, and then positioned himself back between my legs. This all took place in a matter of seconds.

I knew immediately what he was going to do. I felt his penis go inside of me, as he began to rock back and forth. He kept one hand on my leg, and I could feel his body pushing hard against my upper thigh. He never said a word, yet I felt threatened by him.

My thoughts went back to when I was 12 years of age, and to the year before, when Gina and I had taken the rape prevention class. Along with that, I was too emotionally weak to fight back; I felt absolutely powerless. I had turned my head away and was starring at the bare wall. There were no pictures or posters that I could focus on. I was in disbelief as to what was happening. Oh, I knew what was taking place, but, my God, why? What were the chances of this happening twice in my lifetime? A Doctor at that—someone I had trusted.

I turned back only once to look at him. He was looking right at me, with the most sickening-looking grin on his face. When he was finished with me, I continued to lie there, as I watched him go to the sink to wash himself off. He readjusted his jacket, as if nothing had happened. He told me to get dressed and come into his office.

When I started to get up, I could feel all the dripping wetness inside of me that this horrible, sick man had left behind. I must have gone into some sort of shock at that moment, as I vaguely recall going into his office. I have no recollection of the conversation with him. I just knew I wanted to get out of there, and the sooner, the better.

I opened the door to the waiting room and walked right past Sharona to the door leading out to the hall. I pushed the elevator button, and then I heard Sharona say, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

At that moment, I began to come back to reality.

“Sharona, you’ll never believe what that son-of-a-bitch just did to me.”

By that time, the elevator door had opened. I proceeded to tell her on the way down.

“Well, you are going to the Police, aren’t you?”

“For what, Sharona? They’ll never believe me. He is a Doctor.”

(As I write this now, I think about the women I could have prevented this from happening to had I gone right to the Police Station that day.)

I still had most of the evidence inside of me, that which I hadn’t wiped away. The Police Department was only a mile from the medical building. Plus, there was already a report of rape that had been filed against him. (That I wouldn’t learn about for another two years.)

So, I wasn’t his first, and I would, by no means, be his last.