Monday, September 24, 2018

Tales Of A Nurse: Taboo

by baynurse (writer), Novato, California, February 23, 2008


Look beyond what you think

I have been holding on to this for a while now, I have no where to talk about it, I couldn’t , I would not be heard, not be believed, or I would be called a liar and a trouble maker and a shit stirrer.

Last year at a famous women’s music festival in the Midwest, I was a volunteer nurse at the free health clinic held there. It is a fun and relaxed environment, mostly treating insect bites, and sunburns, with an occasional rash or fall.

My first shift changed my life and my perspective and changed how much I enjoyed this event and how much I thought women were the perfect beings.

There was a woman bringing in her daughter to the infirmary because she started suddenly vomiting and having abdominal pains. It was about 11 am, breakfast was hours ago, and lunch had not been served, so I knew it wasn’t food related.  This beautiful looking girl with long auburn hair and soft lily white skin looked well cared for, healthy overall but a bit pale and obviously in discomfort.  Her mother looked equally as beautiful with a bit of an edge to her, she was a take charge woman no doubt, and came in with her daughter to tell me that all she needed was a place to lie down and something for her upset stomach, probably related to her meal.   The mother quickly told me her concern was minimal and that she was a pediatric nurse practitioner and merely wanted a comfortable place for her daughter who wanted to come here.

I assessed the situation, doubtful that the meal caused such a reaction, or certainly there would be others as we all partook of the same food for a week.   I had just started training as an energy healer and asked gently if it would be ok with each of them if I could offer some energy work, non-invasive and simple light energy work.   They both agreed to it and I enthusiastically held the girl in a Sacred Space with my hand on her head and her chest.   The girl looked at me as I did this and I suddenly got the notion or idea that she was speaking to me without talking.   I heard through her eyes that her mother had been molesting her, and she wanted it to stop and couldn’t tell anyone.   I looked at this child with my open heart and with all my compassion and knew I was being told with her eyes to help her.

The mother was oblivious to our silent talk, and all I could tell the girl was “I understand. " and walk away to get her some tea.

As I took the fresh herbs out of the jar I observed the girl and her mother both now laying in the small bed with the curtains pulled closed, the young girl peaked through the curtains and peered at me while I made tea for her. I was in shock, in anguish over my inability to do anything for this girl and her situation. Knowing that what I sensed would not be substantial or provable in a court, nor would it be very believed at a predominantly lesbian event, where womanhood and mother daughter relationships are held to be a sacred bond and perfect.   My heart was heavy, a denseness I could not forget or relieve with my forced silence in this delicate matter.   I had no way of proving what I felt energetically, and intuitively.   No way of protecting and helping this girl who was filling up her precious soul with this horrible damaging situation with experiences and stories no child should ever bare.  A mother’s sick betrayal of the most sacred union between mother and child.  The unspeakable, unthinkable, torture of not being allowed to be an innocent child with trust and safety in a woman’s space or in her own home.

Her sweet face and intense eyes pierced my heart so deeply, I held my emotions at bay hoping an answer would come up as to how to handle this, my only hope was to provide this girl with an opportunity to speak to me or to someone safe that could help her and show her that she can trust and be safe with women and that what she is experiencing is not normal or right, or allowable.   I could only pray for her, only hope that her mother come to the realization that this is not a loving or healthy way to raise a child to be a strong, powerful, loving human being.

About the Writer

baynurse is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
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