I know I’m sitting here on this stool because I can feel it
under me. I see my patient across the room
but I cannot easily take in the image.
My brain feels like it has stopped functioning. I can’t think and all I can feel is the stool
and my heart pounding in my ears. Somewhere
in my brain I hear myself praying for wisdom, for guidance and for composure.
I was called to the ER
at 2:15 am by the nurse manager, “There
is a young woman here that appears to have been assaulted…the only details we
have are disturbing.” A sheriff met me
when I arrived in the ER. “She ran into
the ER half naked, bleeding and disoriented…she has yet to tell anyone anything
and when she was brought to this room she ran to the corner and sat just as you
see her now. We still don’t know her
name.”
My patient is not a child, but yet not an adult. She is on the floor, sitting against the far
wall in the corner with her knees pulled up and her arms wound tightly around
them. Her face is buried in her knees
and her long blonde, stringy hair is cascading down over her low legs. Her dirt and blood-covered, feet
are exposed. She has no shirt on and her
shorts are ripped. Her arms have
scratches, dirt and dried blood on them.
I have been sitting here on this stool for 20 minutes. The clock is loud, each tick annoying
me. She hasn’t moved or even shifted her
position. Shock. When I first entered
the room, I did so very cautiously as not to scare her. I told her who I was and then I sat. I told her I would sit with her as long as
she needed me to and that she could take her time in talking to me. Time has brought me out of my initial fear
fog and I am feeling more myself.
Just as I am about to speak I notice my patient is lifting
her head to look at me. Her hair is
partially covering her face. In a mere
whisper she asks me, “Am I safe here?”
“Yes you are. There
is a sheriff right outside this door and he will NOT allow anyone in unless I,
or you, say it is okay.”
Slowly she edged her legs out in front of her and covered
her chest with her arms. “May I move to
the counter and get you a blanket?” I asked her. A quick nod yes. I slowly retrieve two blankets. “May I cover you or do you want to cover
yourself?” No response. I unwrap the blankets and go to her. I cover her.
She then grabs the blanket around herself tightly. “Thank you.”
“So, once again…“My name is Bobbi and I
was called in to take care of you. When
you are ready I can help you off the floor and you can lie or sit on the
stretcher…or we can talk while you stay on the floor, it’s up to you.”
She again is lost in her mind and doesn’t move or
utter a sound for what seems like an eternity. Finally she again looks at me and asks
me, “Have you ever been raped?”
I take a deep breath and tell her “no, I have
not.” I watch her measure
her words as she shifts her eyes to the floor. A giant tear escapes her left eye and
misses her face altogether and splashes on the blanket, “I pray you never
are.”
I will not share the details of the heinous act that
happened to this young woman. My
exam time with her was 6 hours. Her life touched mine in a profound and lasting
way. She wrote me a letter 2 months after the rape and told me how grateful she
was to me for my kindness and for my nursing skills. (Unknown to me at the time…she
was a nursing student.) She
told me she had moved to another state with a relative and still wasn’t
sleeping, but felt safe. She
asked me to pray for her. She had dropped out of nursing school for now and
wasn’t sure if she would return.
Today is the anniversary of that meeting…4 years ago. I see it in my mind and feel it in my heart
as if it were yesterday.
