This post was last scheduled to be released the fall of 2022.
***Trigger Warning: Mentions sexual assault and elements involved in a gynecology exam
Trauma And The Gynecologist
After suffering a traumatic sexual assault at the age of nine, it wasn’t until I was 11 that my mother finally scheduled me for a visit to the doctor. Although I do recall visiting a doctor for an exam right after the assault, I was so traumatized that I have a very vague recollection of the visit.
According to conversations I overheard with my aunt and her friends at the time, I had initially refused to allow the doctor to touch me, and the nurses had struggled with me so much that sedation was mentioned to calm me. Yet, the only recall I have of that time are the physical details of the waiting room because it was the same place I’d visited with my aunt when she was dealing with health matters of her own.
Despite my struggles with a heavy but erratic menstrual cycle, it wasn’t until my mother realized how much she not only had to share her feminine products with me, but that she had to also constantly spend money for me to have additional feminine products, that she decided to take me to the doctor. I am doubtful that she would have ever budged otherwise if she had not been directly affected at all.
Besides my desperate urging to be free of constantly bleeding, the doctor’s visit was also at the urging of my maternal grandmother, who thought my heavy and erratic menstrual cycles were simply not normal for a child my age. Of course, the reason back then should have been obvious to my mother, grandmother, and aunt (who lived in the original state of the assault against me), and it should have been obvious to me too, but my mind was dissociated and split because of the trauma.
The events of the assault had been so compartmentalized and stored away from my memory, that I didn’t have a clue as to why my menstrual cycles were a problem. I wasn’t even a teenager! Unbeknown to me, however, my mother and grandmother had their concerns as well, and since my mind had already closed me off to remembering the trauma of the assault, I was clueless to their concerns back then. All I knew was that I was inducted into a surprise gynecological exam, for which had I known would have happened ahead of time, I might not have reacted with such frenzied terror, and I may not have even agreed to go.
As a result of this first pelvic exam, I dreaded every gynecological exam since, and I would often avoid scheduling them out of dread. Even though my mind had distanced and dissociated from the trauma of the assault, my body remembered and flinched at the mention of anything reminiscent of the trauma. Instead of these exams being of help to me, I perceived them as a violation of my body, and the anxiety I felt over having to endure them was often incapacitating.
Most doctors were not very empathetic of my plight, even though many of them were female. Many of them talked to me with such disdain and detachment that I always felt eerily dirty and as if I had committed some horrible crime. I felt judged and ridiculed for what my own body could not control. I had no idea, at the time, why my body was physically out of whack or why my menstrual cycles were gory, profuse and inconsistent.
The doctors were, however, merely doing their jobs and had no idea of the trauma my mind wouldn’t even allow me to remember. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I had an encounter with one of the most empathetic gynecologists that I’d ever met. This doctor understood that my physical issues were because of a deeper problem. She was gentle throughout my pelvic examinations, and she talked me through the anxieties I had regarding the procedures.
At the time, I was going through what I termed as a severe breakup from the narcissist I almost married, and I was not in a good mental place. Yet, these scheduled pelvic exams were about more than surface issues, and this doctor seemed to understand that. For my sanity, I held onto this gynecologist for as long as I possibly could up until I had to move out of state to relocate for a new job.
This gynecologist, by far, was the ideal type of doctor that a woman who’s suffered trauma could hope for because this doctor was empathetic, compassionate, and very knowledgeable. She didn’t make me feel judged, she didn’t make me feel as if I’d done something wrong, and she attempted to help me through the physical aspects of the malady of a botched menstrual cycle. She was, in fact, the best gynecologist I’ve ever had, and at the time, she was a God-send to me in the best way.
If it were not for this doctor’s insight and foresight, I would not have had the exploratory surgery to determine the causes for my physical issues, and this would, in turn, not have opened the door for me to further understand the hidden trauma that my brain refused to allow me to recall. This doctor was not only empathetic, compassionate, and knowledgeable about her craft, she was also an excellent listener. She made her office a safe space for me, and she allowed me to express myself in ways that I’ve never quite experienced from any other physician in that capacity. I’m extremely grateful to her for the ways in which she helped me.
The one thing that stood out to me about my visit with that particular gynecologist was that she tried to understand the reasons for my intense anger. She made me feel that my anger was justified on so many levels, and she gave me space to cry it all out. She later suggested that I seek therapy because she was certain there were underlining issues that presented regarding my feminine health. Admittedly, at the time, my brain would not allow me to make the connection, but looking back, this doctor must have recognized this since it seemed that she spoke in a coded and careful language so as not to upset me.
Thinking about this now, I look back and realize that this gynecologist made attempts to reach me through my pain and suffering without bringing further turmoil and agony to my situation. Perhaps she was so in tune with my trauma responses that she might have recognized the response state I was in so as not to trigger me further. Perhaps she had seen my type of responses before with other patients too. I do not know, but what I do recall is that she was a rare individual in that she saw, heard, and intensely felt my pain and guided me through to feeling safe enough with her to abandon my guard.
It was truly an unforgettable moment in time, and I wasn’t even this doctor’s patient for very long. When I moved, I prayed and searched to find a reputable gynecologist that could match what I found in that particular doctor. It took me a while, and when I did, I was grateful. By the time I’d scheduled a pelvic examination with a new doctor, I still had anxiety about the procedure, but things were no longer as intense for me. The previous gynecologist had done a lot to help me in ways that I didn’t comprehend back then. In reflection, that doctor silently and gently helped me and my body through trauma, and I am forever grateful.
The gynecologist I remained with after my move to a new state eventually retired, but she is the one who cried when I made the decision to have a hysterectomy. In fact, when there was no alleviation of my physical issues, I’d come to that decision through much research and prayer, and when I presented it to the gynecologist, she tried to talk me out of it. Up until I was put under sedation for the operation, she actually left room for me to change my mind. I didn’t know it then, but that decision for a hysterectomy was the closing of a door to a past that I hadn’t clearly made connections with at the time.
I already knew within my heart since I was a child – prior to experiencing the traumatic assault – what that gynecologist hadn’t known. I already knew I’d never physically have children of my own (more on this in another post). Despite the gynecologist’s belief that I would have regrets later because the surgery couldn’t be undone, I was unmoved and undeterred because of my desire for physical relief.
It had been a long journey to heal my body, and I knew that I couldn’t possibly make the gynecologist understand this. Yet, she relented and gave space for me to make my own decisions even though she didn’t approve. This gynecologist literally cried real tears in front of me for a loss I had long prepared for in advance. Outside of the first gynecologist I’d experienced true empathy and compassion from, this gynecologist’s heart and empathy for me was like no other as well. In fact, both doctors met me at my greatest need, although in different eras of my life.
On another note, I’d long known my body would never naturally handle giving birth to a child. I had long since given up on the idea of natural motherhood prior to making the decision to have the hysterectomy. In fact, I had painfully made my peace. For I have known since I was at least 7, via an intuitive spiritual encounter, that I would never be a natural mother. It was as if a still small voice whispered this knowledge to me one day as I was sitting on the steps of the back porch of my childhood home.
I was in deep thought and my mind was asking questions about the creation of God, where He was located, and if He loved me since I felt so disconnected from everyone in my life at the time. Later in life I’d find that the feeling of disconnection from others is often something that people experience on the spectrum for neurological disorders. I didn’t know it then though. So it was common for me to share my inner thoughts in a spiritual sense to an invisible Force of the universe. It was then that my thoughts were broken into and I literally heard a still small voice say things to me that didn’t seem to come from the mind of a 7 year old.
I knew without knowing how I actually knew that I’d never physically become a mother. I’d like to believe that even back then that God was imprinting His footprints within the sand and leading me through the course of traumatic events that I didn’t completely understand and know would take place. I’d like to also believe He knew what was to come. Since I was surrounded by narcissistic individuals during that time in my life, I didn’t have much human protection. Yet, there’d be a few individuals here and there who’d be symbolic angels during the most traumatic event of my life two years later.
Needless to say, those two gynecologists greatly assisted me into another phase of my life, but they were also catalysts into helping me to deal with the intense anger that I harbored within me. The anger was so intense, I knew that I needed to deal with unresolved bitterness and unforgiveness. It was also during this time that experienced a major spiritual transformation and walked out a lot of healing in the process. It’s strange that I found healing during what had also become a very dark time too, though, and it was also the beginning of my coming to understand the implications of both spiritual and narcissistic abuse.
For what it’s worth, though, I am grateful to those women (and men) within the medical profession who take the time to really listen to their patients and take their issues seriously and to heart. I’m grateful for the efforts they make to ensure the safety and care of their patients. They have no idea the impact they are making on so many lives nor the many lives they are saving by what they do.
It took me experiencing a lot of different doctors to realize that I, alone, needed to advocate for myself when it came to getting the proper care. Had I not taken the time to research the care I needed, I can only imagine where I’d be today in my healing journey. I don’t know what happened to the first gynecologist, but the second one retired years ago. If I could go back and thank them, I certainly would, so I dedicate this post in gratefulness to them.
My Voice Unchained 