Skip to main content

Mental Rape

2Last night, 6/3/16, a new-to-the-facility nurse entered my room to administer my night medications via my PEG tube. I tried to tell her to access my PEG by unbuttoning my top; she disregarded my attempts to communicate, reached under my covers, and lifted up my gown. I dissuaded her by vigorously shaking my head, signifying negative to her actions, as well as vocalizing the words, NO and MY TOP, to no avail. She kept arguing her case, which clearly showed me that she was assuming that I was being irrational. I was forced to keep pressing my objection, wasting my precious energy.

In the meantime, a patient care technician (PCT) who understood me better came along; I was able to communicate to undo my gown buttons and expose my PEG to make my intention obvious. Again, she, the nurse advanced on me, yanking up my gown. Again, I had to vigorously fend her off but now I was forced to argue my intention with two caregivers, who assumed irrationality and forced care upon me.

At this point, I need to say that No Means No and to force anything upon me, against my will, is a mental rape, a violation and a breach of trust. I'm left shaking, feeling violated, vulnerable, belittled, nullified, dehumanized, angry, and fearful.

Unfortunately, this episode wasn't over, after detaching the tube from my PEG (without administering the medications), the nurse stated that she would not be coming back to give me my medications; the PCT remained in the room to cluck at me about taking my medications and calm me down. It did not work.

I have paralysis, dysphasia, and dysarthria as a result of having ALS; dysphasia impairs my ability to eat and drink, and dysarthria impairs my speech, reducing it to mumbles and whispers. I rely solely upon the professionalism and abilities of my care team to be able to communicate with me.

This PCT has the irritating habit of bantering on about her interpretation of what she thinks I said, without confirming the veracity of her guesses. For a reason only known to her, she raised the head of my bed all the way to 90-degrees, never a good idea since this compresses my diaphragm on already-weakened muscles. Making it worse, I was slumped down in the bed, further forcing air from my lungs. She misinterpreted my thrashing as an irrational fit of anger and frustration.

My fruitless head-shaking and wordless, soundless screams went unheeded and misinterpreted by two nurses and the PCT who kept reassuring me that they were there, patting my hand, wiping my eyes, nose and mouth. Everything but giving me a fighting chance at breathing.

Luckily, I lived thanks to a single charge nurse, who finally got called, and actually communicated with me and leaned the head of the bed back to 80-degrees, allowing me to catch my breath, Rest my diaphragm, and cry to decompress.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...

I Heart Trellis

Early in our relationship, though we were traditional nine-to-fivers, we were driven to create something together. At 36 and 43-years old, respectively, we were beyond creating babies. Besides, we came into our relationship with a perfect daughter each. Mine was 13 and his, twenty-three. Both blonde, bright, and beautiful and his came with a bonus, a baby! I came into the relationship with a condo that needed no work. He had a work-in-progress in the woods, actually two. We would spend our lives together redesigning and improving these "cabins in the woods". But, before that we took an afternoon cutting down young alders to use to make a trellis. Working together, we .wove supple, young branches into a nine-foot tall trellis with two hearts stacked one atop the other. We were in the gooey, sickeningly sweet, first months of love, forging a new life together. Here we are seventeen years later, separated by circumstance, through no fault of our own. I live in a hospice faci...

Tuesday

Tuesday is shaping up to be my best day of the week. Every day holds the requisite eating, changing, television, and napping. But Tuesday, I got a glorious, hot bath in a handicap-accessible bathtub with my Angela and Lisa, reorganized my shower caddy with my Lisa, read "The White Album" by Joan Didion with my Lindsey, "supervised" doughnut-making and sampled same with my Sandra among others, and listened to Ryan Feng play classical piano. A new book fell into my lap today. Of course, I mean that figuratively. "Play It As It Lays" by Joan Didion was just laying on top of the informal Bailey Boushay House library cart, so I borrowed it. .Guess what we'll be reading? I feel very blessed!