If you read my last blog… this goes along with that topic.
I want to tell my mother the feelings of that it was my fault and that if I had said something it could have been done differently but I'm scared to do it.
I just want you all to know that the doctor didn't…rape me because she didn't have her hands on that end… this is a really disturbing topic that I haven't told anyone that didn't know about it… but I want someone to tell me that what she did was wrong but even people on here are telling me it is her job.
And you know what? I know. I know it was her job. I got that. Okay? Thank you. Thank you so much for telling me that. Because that's the answer…isn't it? That's the answer someone and everyone will give me, that it was her job. She can live behind her title saying that for the rest of her life that it was her job… but I don't care.
The feelings I get don't make me feel…right. I feel like if I could have gone through life without having that done and been a lot better. I know it was her job. I got that. But what no one is understanding is I feel…violated? If that's the right word?
I know she was just trying to help, but… my REAL doctor should have done it, not her. She was just some doctor there, and you want to know what she did? I'll tell you:
I was sitting in the hospital bed, in my sweatpants and night shirt, and this blonde curly haired woman walks in. She says something and then starts to pull on gloves. She says something about wanting to get sample of blood. I'm thinking…needles. Great. So it's when my mother tells Dad to leave that I know she isn't just going to do something with needles. So I'm sitting there when the doctor asks me to roll over. I roll onto my side and my mother grabs my hand.
The 'doctor' pulls down my pants and I squeak. I'm going what the heck?! and she says this is going to feel like cold jelly and I'm like where is she going to put that?! and she sticks her hand straight to my…backside? if you know what I mean, and I squeak again and I'm trying to yank my hand from my mother's grip but all she does is squeeze my hand harder and I start crying because she's shoving her fingers inside me and it's not just me, my mom, or the 'doctor' in the room. No there's a nurse, off to the side, just standing there, and I'm still trying to get up to speed on what's happening.
My mind isn't comprehending what's happening and I'm freaking out. So her hand leaves and she starts to pull up my pants which sets me off. I yank my hands free of my mother's grip and pull up my own pants. So then the doctor takes off her gloves and one of them has blood on them. And she hands it to the nurse and then… you know what she does? She smiles at me. She freaking smiles at me.
So I'm screaming profanities at her in my mind so fast that they jumble together. And she's still smiling when she starts to ask me questions. And you want to know something else? This 'doctor' didn't even introduce herself, explain what was going to happen, or anything. And then she has the idea that 'hey now i'm going to try and talk to her' no. Hell no.
So I stare at her, well glare is better and my mother is standing next to me petting my hair and I so desperately want to jerk out of her touch but stop myself. The 'doctor' finally realizes that I'm not going to answer her questions and leaves. And when she does I break down again and start begging my so called mother to just let me go home. and she tells me everything will be alright and that the 'doctor' was just doing her job.
then my dad finally comes in. and I hug him and shun my mother and cry into his shirt and beg and plead for him to take me home. but he says we can't. other stuff happens and then i'm admitted into my own room.
this doctor comes in and introduces herself and i'm on the scared side, but i know i look pissed. so she smiles and professionally tells me what she thinks is happening. so then she comes to stand to my side and ask me if she can see the 'area' and I shake my head.
My mother goes, "yes you can."
and the doctor, bless her heart, says, "No it's okay if she doesn't want to that's fine."
and I'm staring up at her like she's an angel and then my mother goes, "Well she just needs to get over it."
and the doctor tells her that she'll look when i have surgery and i instantly start loosing my love for this doctor. and then she pulls out a clipboard and looks at me and pokes and prods and then she says, "okay, i'm just going to check your development." and then me with my slow as hell reflexes watches her pull up my pants and look down them at my… front area and then she sets them back down.
i hate my mother. while typing this, i've realized i don't want her to meet my children, i don't want her to see my boyfriend, or my husband… i realized i really really really hate her.
and i just don't care.
i hate her.
what happened to me there is partly why i think i'm depressed… i think that and some other stuff but i'm done going down memory lane, i think i'm going to go take some sleeping pills and go to bed… at 1:00 in the afternoon.
i'm such a mess up.