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I went on: My mom was really mad about exactly, "How badly I'd behaved with the first allergy doctor," and she was angry that I didn't seem remorseful for it either. I NEVER told my mom what he'd tried to do to me. I didn't really understand what he'd attempted to do back then. There were no words to describe it in my naive mind. All I knew was that it felt scary and wrong to me. It made me feel threatened and dirty (like he was trying to make me dirty) and when he got so enraged and started saying terrifying things to me I was even more positive that he was somehow up to no good. It didn't seem proper and doctorly to me. Why would this man threaten to have me locked away in an asylum for the rest of my life, just because I wouldn't let him touch me down there? Why had he sent the nurse OUT of the room before making his demand? And I'd only seen this man for what? 10 minutes. I didn't know him or have any reason to trust him. And when I'd asked him to explain why HE and only HE could examine me down there he only got angrier at me! I just couldn't feel sorry that I'd been a bad patient and refused to cooperate. However, I did feel ashamed and confused in other ways. I'd brought shame upon my mother, upon my family name, by being such a poorly behaved person. About a month later, after the neighbor lady kept going on and on about how terrible allergies could be, my mom took me to another allergy doctor. This doctor was kind and proper, but I was so scared of him and what HE might ask me to do that I barely spoke to him at all. I never told him about my symptoms. In fact, I did everything I could think of to hide how ill I was when I saw this second doctor. I covered my face with make-up and kept my hair down over my face and I never looked at him once. I tried to be normal but invisible too. Maybe if I was both normal and invisible he wouldn't want me to take all my clothes off when I was alone with him and get up on the examining table without even a cloth to cover myself up with� He did another skin test, a more comprehensive one, and found out that I had a few minor common allergies but nothing that would make me sick. Of coarse, he didn't know I was sick because my mom never told him and neither did I. I was still sick and getting sicker all the time. But I did NOT want to go to anymore doctors because I didn't want them to do what the first allergy doctor did. I didn't understand that not all doctors are like that first allergy doctor was. I didn't know what to expect, so I hid everything the best that I could and I was successful at this. However, I left without a diagnosis. My mom was pleased though. I'd behaved well the second time. The bill was normal for the service. The second allergy doctor didn't have anything negative to report about my conduct or attitude. And now she could report back to the nosey neighbor lady at the next tea party. Her daughter didn't have a serious allergy problem so there wasn't anything wrong with me. Good mothers DON'T HAVE SICK CHILDREN. My mom had proof that she was a good mother now. And I had nothing but more misery because I was sick. It was as if having a sick child was a negative comment on the family. A source of familial shame? A defect to be denied? More trouble than it was worth? Or just something unknown, which conjured up such images of fear and discomfort that it was more easily ignored than accepted and dealt with? The appointment with the second allergy doctor was so very different than the first appointment with Dr. Pervert. With the second doctor my mom had been ushered right into the examining room with me! But that difference wasn't enough to convince me that the first doctor was all that unusual. Moreover, it barely mattered now, my mom had the answer she was looking for and I would be seeing no more doctors. Case closed except for the one problem that didn't matter to anyone except me -- I was getting sicker every day. |
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