What was needed

Her name was Sandra. Somehow I thought it would be, before I ever got the call, before I ever knew anything about her at all. This was something that would bother me later, for how can I possibly have known? What could that mean about me and about the destiny of this situation to have happened to me, to the both of us? Does this mean that it will change my life in a way I cannot now foresee?1

I got the call on a Sunday afternoon; somehow this struck me as worse, that someone would be raped on a Sunday in the broad daylight of the morning. What hours are safe then- are any? Is there a moment of the day when a woman can walk alone and not fear her safety? This is South Carolina, a fairly small city at that- a city that could hardly be called as such. And still there is a need for people like me, for rape crisis centers and their volunteers. There is in fact such a need that at times back-up has to be called for later in the day…2

It was my first call, and even before I got to the emergency room I knew it would be bad. 3

“Her name is Sandra. She’s 32 years old, and she doesn’t know what happened,” the nurse, Charlotte, told me as she spoke to me on the phone, “she woke up with fire ant bites all over her.”4

She didn’t give me more details than that, and I couldn’t conjure up much of a picture from that. How could she not know what had happened? Was she speaking?5

“Is she intoxicated? Have drug tests been given?” I asked, but Charlotte denied that she was impaired in any way. 6

“You’ll see when you come, Lyn…how long will it take you to get here, are you close?”7

“Right around the corner,” I replied. I wasn’t exactly satisfied with this lack of detail, but I figured that she couldn’t tell me much more over the phone…maybe Sandra was nearby and she didn’t want to upset her. Or maybe she doubted her story or something. “I just go in at the front desk and tell them I’m a volunteer, right? Is she in room 28? This is my first time, so I’m a little unsure if I’m supposed to wait for her there or not. She’s there already?”8

“First time?” Charlotte repeated, and I could hear the wince in her voice even through the phone. “What a one to get on your first time…”9

About then was when I started to doubt that I would be able to handle this. If the nurse herself, who was twenty years older than me and used to this, thought it was a particularly bad case, what in the world was I going to think? What if I couldn’t keep control of myself?10

I told her I would be there in twenty minutes and hung up, hurrying to gather the brochures and the forms I thought I might need. I tried to pick a large purse to put them in so she wouldn’t see all my brochures and pink sheets right away and close down on me. Not that I think in the long run a victim would notice those things, but I was trying to be prepared. I remember thinking I was glad I was dressed nicely, in a striped casual dress and black boots, because I had been prepared to go to church at 4 pm that night. My opinion on my choice of dress was to change drastically in the next several hours, however.11

As I drove the short distance to the hospital from my college dorm, my stomach was clinching from nerves. I had asked my roommate to pray for me and for Sandra before I left, and as I drove I played the Christian channel on my radio. A song by Avalon came on and I sang with it, asking God to give me the right words to say and to help me to help this woman to the best of my ability. I asked for healing for her and for Him to give her the strength she needed to get through her experience. But even as I walked up to the emergency room counter I was still anxious, not sure what I would be encountering.12

I thought I would be going to room 28, the room reserved for rape victims in the hospital, but there was no one in there. Upon checking with the front desk I was directed to the family waiting room, a room they put victims in to be questioned by the police. The police officer was already there questioning Sarah when I arrived, so I tried to slip in with as little notice as possible, only stopping to introduce myself. 13

“Hi, Sandra,” I told her with a smile, “my name is Lyn, I’m from Foothills Alliance. I’m going to be here to stay with you through your questioning and your examination. How are you doing?”14

As soon as that last sentence was from my mouth I was horrified. How was she doing…how was she DOING?! She had been raped, she had been beaten, she was covered with fire ant bites literally on every part of her body… she was doubled over hugging herself, in obvious distress, when I entered the room. And I ask her how she’s DOING?!15

Nevertheless, she looked up at me and mumbled that she was fine before hugging herself again. I sat next to her on the couch across from the officer and Charlotte, eyeing her subtly and not yet speaking as the officer continued to question her. She was wearing hospital scrubs, as her clothes had been taken from her, and I could see all over her face, her neck and her arms and legs, the ant bites, the redness and the swollen state of her hands and lips and feet. The ant bites on her face were so extensive that I had thought at first glance they were pimples. It was hard for me to look at her for the first ten minutes; I only wanted to cringe and look away from their gruesomeness and the itchy pain they must have been bringing her. I noticed two a vertical scar up her left wrist and wondered if it had been a suicide attempt; later I was to hear that she had a rod in her arm, and that the scar was from the surgery. 16

I had good reason to not look at her extensively though at first, and I doubt she noticed. She was concentrating on staying doubled over, her face in her hands, as the officer continued to ascertain the facts of what had happened to her. Her words were mumbled, as few as possible, but she was clearly telling the truth as she recounted the details of what had happened to her. 17

She had been walking in the morning to the gas station to buy candy when two men pulled up to her in a SUV, calling out to her. When she turned around, they jumped out of the car and hit her in the head with something, knocking her unconscious. She doesn’t remember what happened after that, but when she woke up she was naked, covered in fire ant bites, and had been sexually assaulted. There was extensive cuts and bruises up and down her legs and arms, and her purse, phone, and keys had been stolen. I remember mentally taking down the name of the street she had been walking on along with the details of the crime for my later report, and telling myself very coolly that I would never, ever walk down their alone…18

Sandra’s roommates came in towards the end of the description and sat on the floor near her. They were an odd trio, I couldn’t help but noticing; the woman, Misty, was older than Sandra by ten years and very young in dress and hairstyle nevertheless. She left less than ten minutes after arriving and never came back. The man, Chris, was also older than her; he stayed with her the whole time, but he was very quiet, not saying much to her or anyone else. He didn’t seem to know what to do or say. A few times he patted her head or rubbed her back briskly and briefly, but other than that he kept away, mostly just staying in the room with her. I hadn’t expected him to do much more than that. He was a man, and not her boyfriend, and the fact that he stayed with her at all showed that he cared for her.19

At one point in the interview Sandra started to cry, hiding her face in her hands. I didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to do. Other than introducing myself, I hadn’t spoken to her at all, allowing the officer to do all the talking. I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to touch her, if she would be uncomfortable or feel cornered with that, and at that point I also did not know if the man who had come in with her was her husband or boyfriend and maybe wanted to comfort her himself. But when a moment went by and no one made a move to, I put a hand on her shoulder, starting to rub her shoulder and back gently. I had no idea if this helped her or not, since she didn’t react in any manner, but I continued to do so for a few minutes, hoping it did. I felt very young and unprepared, as if my presence was useless. She was twelve years older than me and had undergone an experience I could not imagine- how could anything I did possibly help her?20

When the police officer stood to leave, Charlotte asked Sandra if she would like to have a rape kit done on her. Sandra had already said she didn’t want to press charges, and she repeated this as she refused the rape kit, saying that she just wanted to go home. She didn’t want to be at the hospital for the five hours it would take to do a rape kit. In the end she had to remain a patient for that exact amount of time anyway, an irony that I’m sure didn’t escape her or her roommate’s notice. 21

Speaking to her for the first time since I had introduced myself, I told her that if she changed her mind, she could come back within a week and still be able to collect evidence from a rape kit. Charlotte corrected me, however.22

“Seventy-two hours, sweet pea,” she said kindly, “you can seventy-two hours that you can change your mind. And if you urinate or bathe, sometimes more like 48.”23

I wanted to cringe then; I had been told that sometimes a victim examined within a week of the assault could still have evidence in her body, but now I looked like the inexperienced clueless child I felt like.24

“ I was told that in some cases even up to five or six days after the assault that evidence could be found,” I replied, looking up at Charlotte, but she cut me off firmly as she looked again at Sandra.25

“Seventy-two hours. We’re going to get you in a room now, honey…” 26

As Charlotte, Sandra’s roommate Chris, and I led her down the hall, I walked beside her, not quite touching her but staying close. She walked slump-shouldered, her head down, and I could see her trying hard not to cry. We didn’t quite make it to the room before she started to, once more setting off my indecision. Do I touch her? Does she want me to? Though I’m only 5’1, I was taller than her in my four inch heel boots…would it be awkward if I touched her as we’re walking? Was I making too much noise in my walking?27

I settled for putting a hand on her shoulder, then the small of her back as I led her to the room. She still did not react to me in any way, making me doubt yet again if I was doing the right thing. As we reached the room and Sandra sat on the raised-up table, Charlotte left us alone, telling me to come get her if I needed her. Great…like I’d have a clue how to find her…28

Sandra was still crying, she started saying then how she wanted to lay down and go to sleep. Chris and I looked for a lever to lower the bed and did that for her. Chris took the room’s only chair, and I stood next to her as she curled into a ball, trying to get in a decently comfortable position in the very small bed even as she continued to cry painfully. 29

“I hurt so much,” she choked, “my throat hurts, my whole body hurts, I itch so bad…”30

The nurse had gotten her ice before I arrived, and I offered that to her, not knowing what else to do. She took some and lay down again, trying to calm down; though she wasn’t crying, it was obvious she was still agitated. Chris was clearly uncomfortable and left with a muttered phrase neither of us heard; he was gone for a good twenty minutes or so. Only I was left with Sandra, and I felt the inadequacy of my presence for her keenly. She should have had someone better, someone more experienced and better at comforting… what could I possibly do for her? 31

She continued to lie curled in a fetal position, shaking occasionally in a jerking spasm that must have hurt her already sore muscles. I felt like I should be doing something, again…so I went to her and started to rub her back and shoulders slowly, more like a caress than anything else. I didn’t want to hurt her or scare her, but just provide some kind of soothing touch to show I was there and I cared. Again, I had no idea if this was helping or if she just wanted me to stop, so after a few moments I asked her.32

“Sandra, does it hurt if I do this? I know you said your muscles are sore…”33

“No,” she mumbled, her face turned away. “Thank you for asking though.”34

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I told her quietly, “if it makes you uncomfortable.”35

“No, it’s okay…it feels comforting…” she muttered, and that was all I needed to hear. 36

It gave me something to do, a concrete way to feel like I was helping her…so that’s what I did for the next forty-five minutes as we waited for the doctor. I stood there and rubbed her back gently, waiting, not speaking very much. I didn’t know what to say; everything that crossed my mind was not a good idea. So I rubbed her back and hoped in some way it helped her.37

My feet started to hurt after about fifteen minutes, and it became quite clear to me that wearing the same boots I had worn to be Faith for Halloween last year had been a bad, bad idea. My hand started to feel funny after a while as well from the constant contact, and I had to switch hands several times. Every time I stopped rubbing to just let my hand rest on her, however, her whole body would jerk, so I would start up stroking her back again. It seemed to be the only thing that was keeping her from shaking, so I was afraid to stop. 38

“I’m trying not to get upset,” she whispered after I first started to touch her, still on the verge of tears, and I ran my fingers through her hair.39

“I don’t mind if you do, Sandra…but you’re right, crying will probably make your head hurt worse.” It was all I could think to say. I didn’t know if I should be encouraging her to cry to let her feelings out, or encouraging her not to in order to spare her head. She was nauseous as well, and I really didn’t want her to vomit…40

After maybe ten minutes I tried to talk to her, not expecting her to respond. “I’m sorry that this happened to you, Sandra…but I think you’re brave. You did the right thing to come here. You’re very strong.” 41

“I know…” she said softly, “yeah…” and then she said nothing more, just closing her eyes. I didn’t try to talk after that. I just stayed near her, continuing to provide physical contact. 42

When a nurse finally came in to take her blood pressure, she gave Sandra a blanket and sheet, so I stopped touching her and just stood near her. I felt stupid again because I hadn’t stopped to think that she might be cold. I didn’t ask her a lot of what I should have. I didn’t ask her if she needed something to eat or drink, and I didn’t ask her if there was anyone else I could call. I didn’t talk much at all- I was too afraid that I might say the wrong thing. That was what was more awkward to me than anything, the almost constant quiet of the hours.43

When Chris had come back I had smiled at him without speaking; he took the chair again, sitting down and beginning to text someone on his cell phone. This annoyed me vaguely, that he would sit there texting as I, a stranger, comforted his friend. I realize now that this was probably projection on my part, a way to focus on something outside the immediate situation, but at the time I just resented him for it. He did come over once or twice to Sandra and patted her back briefly once more, but after a few seconds abruptly sat down again. 44

Once he tried to joke with her. “People pay good money to have that done to themselves,” he told Sandra, gesturing at her lips, which were swollen from the ant bites. “Collagen.” 45

She smiled a little, saying “Yeah…” but this was the extent of most of their conversation. 46

Eventually she seemed to have fallen asleep, or was close to it at any rate, and I moved some things off a short filing cabinet to sit down myself. My feet were very sore from standing for so long in my boots, and I kept thinking to myself repeatedly how very stupid I was to not have changed shoes before leaving. I sat for nearly an hour, watching as Sandra and even Chris closed their eyes, and I waited for the doctor to come in again. Eventually it occurred to me that this was a good time to fill out my report sheets and I did it to the best of my ability; later I asked Chris for the details I hadn’t known. 47

I never did figure out what to say to Chris or how to be with him. I introduced myself and asked him if he was Sandra’s ride home, but until then, I didn’t know what I should be doing to try to put him at ease. He was thirty years older than me and seemed very uncomfortable, but I didn’t know if I should be speaking with him too, or how. I asked him about his badly cut thumb, asked him where Sandra works and where he works, but other than answering questions I asked him, he seemed more than willing to remain silent. At one point when Sandra was asleep, he put his head down into his hands, sighing several times audibly. I froze for a few minutes, thinking maybe he was crying, and indecision ran through me as to what I should do. Generally men don’t want to be comforted or acknowledged when they were crying, from what I had experience with anyway…but shouldn’t I also show I cared? I was the only other person there…I shouldn’t just ignore him…48

Finally I stood up and got a tissue, going to hand it to him. I was very aware of how loud my boots sounded walking on the tile floor, and again I wanted to cringe. When I held it out to him, he looked at me with completely dry eyes like he had no idea what I was handing him that for. Again…time to cringe.49

“I thought you might want this,” I said lamely, and he smiled a little and shook his head.50

“Nope, don’t need that…but thanks!”51

Glad that I don’t blush much, I clomped my way back to my filing cabinet, and the silence resumed. 52

The doctor came in twice more, once to examine Sandra and then finally to give her pills… but until that point came it was waiting. Just waiting… nothing could have prepared me for being with her, that is true, but also nothing could have prepared me for the waiting. I am not a patient person in the best of times, so the silent, stressful five hours that I spent in that hospital waiting for her medication to be given was almost agonizing. I had been prepared to be upset, to be constantly consciously monitoring my thoughts and behaviors…I had not been prepared to be bored.53

At the time that didn’t bother me, that I found a large block of time at the hospital to be boring… but later this was to plague me almost more than the situation itself had. How could I have been bored? How could I have been sitting there on the filing cabinet two feet from a woman hurting severely, both physically and emotionally, and thinking I wanted to track down the stupid doctor and demand her medicine from him so I could go home? Was I really that selfish of a person?54

“I feel dirty,” she told me once, her voice low…but I felt nothing. I felt detached from the entire situation…after the first hour with her there was no sympathy, no horror, not even any anxiety. I was there, I was doing what I could think to that would be my job, and that was all. I showed her caring and concern the best that I could think to, I did everything I could remember that I had been trained to, but I didn’t feel anything at all.55

As she was being released, more than glad to leave, I turned to Chris, smiling.56

“Thanks for being there with her, I’m sure she appreciated that.”57

“He’s a good guy,” Sandra replied, and I turned to her, smiling at her as well.58

“Like I said, if you decide you’d like to contact us, we offer free counseling. I hope you’ll start to heal soon… and I’m sorry for what happened to you.”59

I’m sorry?! I’m sorry?! How was that adequate…nothing I said could have been the right thing. 60

She just smiled at me a little though, and gave me a hug that was slightly awkward for us both. “Thank you for sitting with me…thank you.”61

That was one of the things that impressed me about her…for every small thing anyone did for her, the doctor, the nurse, me…every time Sandra thanked us, even in the face of what she had gone through. It made me feel all the more awkward, as if I were failing her by doing so little…62

Once I had left there, thoughts of my inadequacy as an advocate wouldn’t leave my mind…HOW could I have been bored? How could I have not felt anything for such a pitiful woman? What did that mean for me? Did that mean I shouldn’t be volunteering, that I was a bad or selfish person? Was I totally self-involved? Is this not the job for me? Is psychology not the major for me? Have I been wrong all this time- is everyone wrong about me when they say that I’m good at this kind of thing? Why am I focusing on this instead of her- why do I care more about me and what I did, how I handled things, than what happened to her? Does THAT make me a bad person, a selfish person? 63

I felt nothing emotionally, but mentally, I reasoned that I was a very flawed and odd person who had no business trying to help rape victims since I was so awkward and inexperienced. Really, what can a college sophomore student do to help someone years older who has experienced such trauma? Do I even have a right to try? Am I denying them the better help they can have by selfishly being there for my own advancement in skills and references? I Because I didn’t like it, does that mean I shouldn’t be doing it? Am I supposed to like it? How can anyone like all that waiting and watching the aftermath of a rape? 64

My drive back to my dorm was quiet; I didn’t find a song I liked on the radio, but I did remember I had a cookie I had stolen from the cafeteria in my jacket pocket and I ate it as I drove. It had been six hours or so since I last ate and I was hungry, though this too made me uneasy. When I got back to my dorm it was past time for supper to be served, so I made myself a rather non-scrumptious TV dinner and sat down to eat it, blanking my mind out.65

No one was there. My roommate Erica, her brother Drew, and my friend Kristine had all been there earlier before I left, and now all were gone. There was no note, nor had I at any point received a call from them telling me where they were going. As earlier, with Chris’s texting, this irritated me, only I was much more irritated with them than I had been with him. I needed someone to talk to, needed someone to be there with me, and no one was anywhere to be found. It eventually dawned on me that they had probably gone to late service church, but this didn’t dim my mood. All I could think was that they could have at least left me a note. I had been gone for five hours, didn’t they care? 66

My mother had called when I was in the hospital, and I called her back, asking her what it was she had wanted. Turns out it was nothing; she blabbed on about my brother and my cousin for a few minutes before asking me what I had been doing. When I explained that I had gone on call, she asked me all about the situation, something I wasn’t quite ready to talk about yet. When she heard the details of Sandra’s rape and assault, all she had was questions and skepticisms.67

“Why was she walking alone? It happened in broad daylight? Didn’t any witnesses come forward? She got hit that hard and she didn’t want a CAT scan or PET scan? Is she crazy? Didn’t you try to tell her she should? Didn’t she have any family there to tell her that? Why didn’t she do a rape kit? Were the men on foot or in a car? What did you do? It sounds like you were there for a lot of nothing, anyone else could have stood there and held her hand…”68

The more she asked the shorter my answers got; I didn’t want to talk to her, to hear the criticism in her voice, both of me and of Sandra. I could hear her judgment.69

“Did she and her friends look low class to you? Like it would be normal for them to walk in a neighborhood like that? I’m not judging Lyn, I’m just saying this sounds fishy…do you believe her?”70

Of course I believed her. She hadn’t seen Sandra…she hadn’t heard her pain. I said as much, but still it wasn’t enough.71

“Did you get her clothes? Did you ask the doctor to get her medicine, did you try to look into finding him? Did you try to make her take a rape kit? Did you explain about how she needs to get treated for AIDS and infections? That was so stupid of her not to get one done… that’s disturbing. Lyn, I know it was your first time, but next time you need to remember these things, you need to be ready…”72

I couldn’t listen to her. I didn’t want to hear any of this. I already felt like I had failed…I didn’t need to hear any further proof. When I eventually stopped answering her at all, she was annoyed.73

“Lyn? Are you there? What are you doing?”74

“Nothing. I’m gonna go Mom, okay?”75

“What? Fine then.” Her words were casual in meaning, but I could hear the irritation in her tone. She was angry with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I needed to get away from this, I needed to bleed out..something. I didn’t know how it was possible to feel edgy and worn out at the same moment, but that was an approximation of my physical feelings. Emotionally, there was only continued annoyance.76

I checked online to see if any of my online friends were around; they weren’t, so I went outside, meaning to go to the gym and run. Of course, being a Sunday, it was closed, so I went for a walk instead, lugging the five-pound binder of notes, names, numbers, and brochures from the rape crisis center with me in a bag in case I got another call while out. Returning feeling not much better, and now with my shoulder aching vaguely as well, I sat down again, trying once more to go online. My friends were still gone.77

A few minutes after I logged into AIM my friend and roleplay partner Michael came on; a man who has become like a brother for me in the past year, he popped up and asked me if I was okay. He had seen my status on facebook about needing to run, and knowing that I was an advocate, was concerned.78

“Eh, yeah,” I told him, an obvious hedging that even I was aware of and felt slightly guilty for using. Fishing for support and comfort has never been my way, and I sort of hate myself for doing it sometimes. 79

“So I can tell my heart to start beating again?” was his reply, and that touched me in a way that the situation thus far had not been able to. My heart squeezed, and I took a deep breath as we began to talk. 80

After a moment, even as I spoke with him, I had once again returned to the state I had been in previously, where I could feel nothing emotionally, and yet couldn’t control my mental anguish. He said exactly what I needed to hear, but it was one line in particular that broke something in me at last.81

“I’m pretty damn proud of you…Lyn, I was a marshal for almost eight years. I’ve seen how bad it is and how it takes pretty special people like you to do that job.”82

That was it for me then. I started to cry…but the odd thing was that the tears were soundless. And even as I sat there, tears slowly running out the corner of my eyes, I felt nothing. In a way it scared me…was there something really wrong with me, that I would cry and not feel anything?83

“I’m supposed to be there for you, aren’t I? Like it or not, you’re family in character and out of character,” Macal told me, and all I could think was that it was pretty sad that people I had never met before seemed to care more about me and know better what I needed to hear than my true family and the people who live with me. 84

Michael talked to me for a little while longer before we both left. I lay down then, putting on my headphones and just trying to relax. Erica came home shortly after and gave me yet another event to project my feelings out onto- primarily anger.85

“Are you hot? Because I’m cold, I want you to turn the air conditioner off.”86

That was all. She didn’t ask me if I was okay…she didn’t ask me how the case had been or how I felt, if the girl was okay. She didn’t seem to find it unique that I would be lying down with my eyes closed at eight pm when I never take naps, ever. She asked me to turn the air off and started to watch TV… 87

Did she not care? Did she not even think that maybe what I had just done was something unique and stressful, that I might possibly have thoughts on my mind other than the room temperature and the TV? This was hardly the important event of the day, but for the next twenty minutes it was all I could think about. 88

My other friend Kristine was a little better; when I checked my Facebook an hour or so later I saw she was online and asked her if her fiancé Jeremy had gone home yet to Florida (he had surprised her by driving up to South Carolina for the weekend.) She said yes and asked me if I had gone to church, which gave me the opening to explain I had been at the hospital. Kristen told me I should meditate and spend time with God. 89

“Yeah,” I told her somewhat dryly, “but what am I supposed to say that I haven’t already said a million times?”90

“Just wait for Him, think about him, and let him meet you,” she replied, and what crossed my mind was that I had been waiting for far too long today…91

Nevertheless I lay down again, playing some Christian songs on my computer and listening to them with my eyes closed. None of them seemed to apply to what had happened. Within twenty minutes my other online friend Amelia IM’ed me, and I worked out the rest of my feelings with her. Amelia is my age, twenty, and very much like me in her personality and thought patterns, as well as her fairly crazy Buffy and particularly Faith obsession. I feel close to her in a way I do no one else, regardless of never having met her; we share a bond that I’ve never had before with anyone, whether online or in my daily life. I find her beautiful in spirit as well as physically.92

We spoke for an hour or two, about my experience, about what she herself has been through recently, and through my conversation with her I found myself finally feeling a degree of peace. Though she was not physically with me, I could feel her concern and love, her support, and it was all I needed. As I sat across the room from a girl who had not spoken to me in several hours, and bore my heart to a girl I will probably never meet, it occurred to me that in some ways this reflected the situation I had witnessed earlier. Sandra’s friend had sat distant and apart from her, not doing much to help, as I, a stranger, did what I could to comfort her…was this just human nature? Or were we, Amelia and I, simply different, more empathetic, than everyone else? Was it impossible to truly be close, to truly receive comfort and the words one needs to hear, from someone who is supposed to love you the most in your life?93

I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. For the moment, I had what I needed. I could only hope that Sandra would receive the same in whatever way worked for her. 94