Today, the phone company guy was working in our office. I was having a conversation with a fellow worker when he emerged from the storage room to hear this tidbit "yeah, there would be no sex going on that night."
He had to visibly recompose himself before updating us on his progress. Rather than be embarrassed, I figured that anyone who walks into a sexual assault service agency outta expect to hear a few things they don't normally hear.
But, that got me thinking about they lighter moments with clients.
Once, I was assisting a woman in her 80s who had been raped by an intruder in her home. She was very petite and feisty. We were progressing along with the form in which the victim is asked to give details about the assault so that the nurse and doctor can look in the appropriate places for evidence. The nurse looked at me with dread in her eyes. I knew exactly which question was next. I turned to my client and asked as sweetly as possible (I was in my mid-twenties at the time) "we need to know when was the last time you had sex before this assault?" The client popped up on the examination table and smiled and said "My Birthday, 1964." In response to our rather stunned silence, she turned to face me and said "my husband died the next year." And she wasn't a bit ashamed or embarrassed.
Another time, more recently, I had a young woman (I'm now a 30-something and can pull off the "adult authority" act more convincingly) who had been raped by a man she'd sought to buy drugs from. This isn't that uncommon. Women who use drugs are especially vulnerable. Drug dealers assume that they wouldn't dare report it because they'd have to admit what they'd done too. (For those of you who want to frown and think "tsk tsk" - imagine how you'd feel if you agreed to pay the neighbor child $25 to mow your lawn - and then were forced to perform oral sex after paying up?) Anyway, this young woman was in pretty sad shape. She clearly had put herself through the wringer. She kept falling asleep while we were asking her the necessary questions. I suspected she was "playing 'possum." I noticed she had a rubber band on her wrist. So, when she'd "fall asleep" on us, I started reaching over and giving the band a bit of a snap. It worked several times. Then, she looked in my eyes, and said "you're harshing my buzz."
There are lots of stories - but I'll just tell one more - and save others for another time.
Years ago, we had a woman who called several times a day. Often to rant about the subjects of various talk shows. We finally had to put limits on when she could call us. (Feeling upset about her own sexual abuse okay -- feeling upset about the Montel show, not okay.) Anyway, one day she was told me that her sister had been abducted many times by aliens, and she even had an alien baby. (I couldn't help but think - man, that must be one ugly kid.) Then, without even taking a breath - she said "and I never get to go anywhere." I couldn't stop myself before I said "maybe you should hang out with your sister more." She got very upset with me and chided me for not taking the abduction by aliens and alien babies more seriously. I know, my bad. Especially since I've recently read that 4 million Americans believe they have been abducted and molested by aliens. That's roughly half the population of the state I live in.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Disgraceful to say the LEAST
If you click on the title, you'll find one of the articles I'm referencing in this entry.
The media seems to LOVE to report cases of adults - often women - preying on school children. I read somewhere that for every female teacher/school worker who sexually abuses children, there are 12 male teachers/school workers who are also sexually abusing children we never hear about.
In recent weeks, two specific cases in the media have caught my attention. One, in NYC, a female day care worker was convicted of raping a 4 year old boy. Her defense was that the boy touched her breasts and that seduced her into having sex with him. She was powerless over his manly and masterful charms. The other article is about a 10 year old child who was raped by two men. One, 24 years old, raped her in a park - and the other, 34 years old, took her to his home and raped her. The judge in the case gave exceptionally light sentences to the men because he says he heard that the child - who had been in foster care much of her life and was roaming the streets alone when these men preyed upon her -- was dressed provocatively. He says that at the time of the rape, she was wearing a "frilly bra and thong" and was known to wear high heels and "sexy" clothing.
Beyond the obvious issues of THEY ARE CHILDREN and YOU PEOPLE AREN'T - when exactly did adults abdicate all their self control to children? How can an adult truly claim a 4 year old child seduced them? How did these men KNOW this particular child was wearing "frilly undies"? And, since when are children of 10 capable of earning the money, driving to the store, picking out frillies, and then traipsing around on their own?
I'm an adult. I can tell the difference between an adult and a child - regardless of their underpants. Because I'm an adult, I know the difference between right, wrong, and criminal - and frankly, I care about those differences.
Shame on the adults who blamed their victims for their own criminal lack of control or outright meanness. And SHAME on those adults who bought that bullshit.
The media seems to LOVE to report cases of adults - often women - preying on school children. I read somewhere that for every female teacher/school worker who sexually abuses children, there are 12 male teachers/school workers who are also sexually abusing children we never hear about.
In recent weeks, two specific cases in the media have caught my attention. One, in NYC, a female day care worker was convicted of raping a 4 year old boy. Her defense was that the boy touched her breasts and that seduced her into having sex with him. She was powerless over his manly and masterful charms. The other article is about a 10 year old child who was raped by two men. One, 24 years old, raped her in a park - and the other, 34 years old, took her to his home and raped her. The judge in the case gave exceptionally light sentences to the men because he says he heard that the child - who had been in foster care much of her life and was roaming the streets alone when these men preyed upon her -- was dressed provocatively. He says that at the time of the rape, she was wearing a "frilly bra and thong" and was known to wear high heels and "sexy" clothing.
Beyond the obvious issues of THEY ARE CHILDREN and YOU PEOPLE AREN'T - when exactly did adults abdicate all their self control to children? How can an adult truly claim a 4 year old child seduced them? How did these men KNOW this particular child was wearing "frilly undies"? And, since when are children of 10 capable of earning the money, driving to the store, picking out frillies, and then traipsing around on their own?
I'm an adult. I can tell the difference between an adult and a child - regardless of their underpants. Because I'm an adult, I know the difference between right, wrong, and criminal - and frankly, I care about those differences.
Shame on the adults who blamed their victims for their own criminal lack of control or outright meanness. And SHAME on those adults who bought that bullshit.
The Moment
Many years ago, when I was still fairly new to this work, I had THE MOMENT. That flash in which you realize that the moment you are in matches the picture you hold in your mind's eye as to what your work is about.
I was in the emergency room with a 16 year old girl who had been raped by a neighbor who broke into her home. She was home from school because she was sick. Her mother had gone to another neighbor's home for a few minutes. Her mother thought that the combination of the girl sleeping, the girl's age, and the mom's close proximity made leaving her alone for a few minutes okay. After all, the girl was a good student, active in her church, held down a part time job, and was a virgin.
I asked the girl if she wanted her mother in the examination room while the medical staff gathered the samples needed for the evidence kit. I remember the girl saying no, that her mother "couldn't handle this." The nurse and I exchanged a look in which we understood each other to be thinking -- "and you can?"
We had myself, a female nurse, two female student nurses, a female doctor (which is extremely rare) and a female detective assisting this girl. (The detective was standing outside the door while the actual evidence gathering was being done.) While I held one of the girl's hands and whispered soothing things, I realized that the picture of that room that night was exactly what I imagined this work would be like. A team of women quietly, efficiently, compassionately coming to the aid of woman harmed. Each of us doing our jobs so that this girl might find comfort and justice.
In all the years I've done this work, I've never had another call in which I saw that exact picture again. I've seen remarkable demonstrations of human compassion and caring - but never that exact grouping of all women responding.
I was in the emergency room with a 16 year old girl who had been raped by a neighbor who broke into her home. She was home from school because she was sick. Her mother had gone to another neighbor's home for a few minutes. Her mother thought that the combination of the girl sleeping, the girl's age, and the mom's close proximity made leaving her alone for a few minutes okay. After all, the girl was a good student, active in her church, held down a part time job, and was a virgin.
I asked the girl if she wanted her mother in the examination room while the medical staff gathered the samples needed for the evidence kit. I remember the girl saying no, that her mother "couldn't handle this." The nurse and I exchanged a look in which we understood each other to be thinking -- "and you can?"
We had myself, a female nurse, two female student nurses, a female doctor (which is extremely rare) and a female detective assisting this girl. (The detective was standing outside the door while the actual evidence gathering was being done.) While I held one of the girl's hands and whispered soothing things, I realized that the picture of that room that night was exactly what I imagined this work would be like. A team of women quietly, efficiently, compassionately coming to the aid of woman harmed. Each of us doing our jobs so that this girl might find comfort and justice.
In all the years I've done this work, I've never had another call in which I saw that exact picture again. I've seen remarkable demonstrations of human compassion and caring - but never that exact grouping of all women responding.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Despite it all . . . .
Many many years ago, I was an abused child. Once, my mother tried to kill me. I have this weird mix of very specific and non-existent memories of the event. I was five years old at the time. I was a very small child. I have a dress that I wore in the 4th grade that a cousin was able to wear when she was in kindergarten.
I remember playing army men in the planter box with my younger brother. I remember my mother was wearing her goggles she wore when she was cooking foods prone to splatter. I remember walking away from the planter box. The next thing I remember is my mother clutching me by both arms and holding me in front of her like a shield. We were lying on my bed and my father was coming towards us and my mother was yelling for my grandmother (my father's mother) to help her because my father was going to hurt her.
The next thing I remember is being in a hotel room with my grandmother. She was on the phone with my Grandfather and very upset. I was upset because the china doll she bought for me that had a suction cup on it wouldn't stick to the head board.
The next morning, my Grandmother and Father had a serious talk - I don't remember anything that was said. I remember my father driving me home in his VW and buying me one of those sandwiches that comes from a machine and is packaged in a triangular plastic container. I remember it tasted terrible. I remember my Mother opening the door for us, my Father standing a couple steps behind me. I remember feeling very small and feeling like my Mother was also giant.
In my adulthood, my Grandmother told me that what I don't remember includes my Mother trying to kill me. My Grandmother says that as my brother and I were walking away from the planter box, the bookshelf that had been over our heads came crashing down to where we had just been playing. She says that my Mother was convinced I'd some how pulled the shelf down in an attempt to harm my brother. Both my Grandmother and Father were in the room and they both say that they never saw me pull or tug on anything near the shelf and that they both saw my brother and I walk away. What is strange is that this event is one of the reasons I believe that children do have guardian angels. I have no other explanation as to why we both managed to walk away just before we both could have been seriously hurt.
I have no memory of my Mother harming me that night. My Grandmother says that I don't need to know more than "She tried to kill you."
My Grandmother says that after she and my Father got me away from my Mother, they took me and my siblings out for ice cream. This gave them a chance to discuss what needed to happen in response and got us all out of the house. She says that my younger brother was just a baby and slept. She says that my older brother was wide eyed and frightened. She says that I skipped and played as if nothing were wrong.
Some time last year, I spent much of a night in the Emergency Room with a family who had just discovered that their darling 5 year old girl was being sexually abused by her father. The mother cried and wept. She said that she'd been abused herself as a child and she'd promised herself that her children wouldn't suffer the same. The child's grandmother was practical and attended to the details of reporting the crime and securing help for the child. The child - an apple cheeked, adorable thing -- skipped and played as if nothing were wrong. We made rubber glove puppets. We played word games. And finally she fell happily asleep in her mother's arms.
That night, I realized I was seeing what my own Grandmother had seen so many years ago. I knew that I was in the right job. I KNEW that all the experiences in my life - good and bad - had led me to this place and this moment. And, I know that this child will be resilient and grow up okay.
I remember playing army men in the planter box with my younger brother. I remember my mother was wearing her goggles she wore when she was cooking foods prone to splatter. I remember walking away from the planter box. The next thing I remember is my mother clutching me by both arms and holding me in front of her like a shield. We were lying on my bed and my father was coming towards us and my mother was yelling for my grandmother (my father's mother) to help her because my father was going to hurt her.
The next thing I remember is being in a hotel room with my grandmother. She was on the phone with my Grandfather and very upset. I was upset because the china doll she bought for me that had a suction cup on it wouldn't stick to the head board.
The next morning, my Grandmother and Father had a serious talk - I don't remember anything that was said. I remember my father driving me home in his VW and buying me one of those sandwiches that comes from a machine and is packaged in a triangular plastic container. I remember it tasted terrible. I remember my Mother opening the door for us, my Father standing a couple steps behind me. I remember feeling very small and feeling like my Mother was also giant.
In my adulthood, my Grandmother told me that what I don't remember includes my Mother trying to kill me. My Grandmother says that as my brother and I were walking away from the planter box, the bookshelf that had been over our heads came crashing down to where we had just been playing. She says that my Mother was convinced I'd some how pulled the shelf down in an attempt to harm my brother. Both my Grandmother and Father were in the room and they both say that they never saw me pull or tug on anything near the shelf and that they both saw my brother and I walk away. What is strange is that this event is one of the reasons I believe that children do have guardian angels. I have no other explanation as to why we both managed to walk away just before we both could have been seriously hurt.
I have no memory of my Mother harming me that night. My Grandmother says that I don't need to know more than "She tried to kill you."
My Grandmother says that after she and my Father got me away from my Mother, they took me and my siblings out for ice cream. This gave them a chance to discuss what needed to happen in response and got us all out of the house. She says that my younger brother was just a baby and slept. She says that my older brother was wide eyed and frightened. She says that I skipped and played as if nothing were wrong.
Some time last year, I spent much of a night in the Emergency Room with a family who had just discovered that their darling 5 year old girl was being sexually abused by her father. The mother cried and wept. She said that she'd been abused herself as a child and she'd promised herself that her children wouldn't suffer the same. The child's grandmother was practical and attended to the details of reporting the crime and securing help for the child. The child - an apple cheeked, adorable thing -- skipped and played as if nothing were wrong. We made rubber glove puppets. We played word games. And finally she fell happily asleep in her mother's arms.
That night, I realized I was seeing what my own Grandmother had seen so many years ago. I knew that I was in the right job. I KNEW that all the experiences in my life - good and bad - had led me to this place and this moment. And, I know that this child will be resilient and grow up okay.
The First Post
A little about me.
I work with sexual abuse victims. I've done this job for a long time. This blog is a place for me to unload what I absorb as well as spout off my opinions on a variety of happenings and issues.
I'm married. I think my years of working with abused women makes me appreciate what it means to be a "good man." I have quite a few very good friends. I don't have children by choice. I tend to take people in as well as critters.
With the exception of my job, I think I live a pretty quiet life. In fact, when I find myself in loud, crowded places I really am reminded just how quiet my life is. I also think that the years of dealing with other people's crises has made me calmer in the face of the world turning upside down. However, that doesn't mean that I don't have my moments of being utterly irrational or spastic.
I like dialogue and hope that people will feel free to interact with my posts. However, I will warn you that if you post comments that are mean in nature, not particularly well thought out, or advertisements - I'll block them.
I work with sexual abuse victims. I've done this job for a long time. This blog is a place for me to unload what I absorb as well as spout off my opinions on a variety of happenings and issues.
I'm married. I think my years of working with abused women makes me appreciate what it means to be a "good man." I have quite a few very good friends. I don't have children by choice. I tend to take people in as well as critters.
With the exception of my job, I think I live a pretty quiet life. In fact, when I find myself in loud, crowded places I really am reminded just how quiet my life is. I also think that the years of dealing with other people's crises has made me calmer in the face of the world turning upside down. However, that doesn't mean that I don't have my moments of being utterly irrational or spastic.
I like dialogue and hope that people will feel free to interact with my posts. However, I will warn you that if you post comments that are mean in nature, not particularly well thought out, or advertisements - I'll block them.
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