I am plagued by the past as I suddenly remember being four years old and at a doctor appointment that my mother had brought me to. I see the doctor as clearly as I see the couch pillow next to me. He is a typical doctor in that he has the white coat and shirt with the black tie. His hair is white on the sides but he doesn't have the wrinkled face of an old man. He wears the wire-rimmed spectacles and speaks in that matter-of-fact voice of authority that doctors often use. He is talking to my mother. This, the words he is saying out loud to her, bothers me, makes me feel queasy on the inside as I sit upon the exam table, listening, watching, in pain.
(I'm not sure if I can write this...)
I remember most clearly the doctor's words to mother. He says them while washing his hands, then shoves his hands in those white coat pockets and addresses mother clearly, standing not more than a couple of feet to my left.
Some of his words: It isn't uncommon for children to engage in touching themselves, sometimes to obsession and redness as we see here. You'd think it was only boys that did this but girls do too. That's the number one cause of irritation, redness, and this localized rash with open sore areas. It's painful, too, no doubt but it won't go away until she stops doing it. Children find out something feels good; something they have easy access to, and they will enjoy themselves even to the point of pain. At some point, she will stop doing this. There are things we can do to make it more difficult for her to touch herself; tighter clothing, an extra set of underwear or two. I've even known some parents to restrain the child's hands when she is left alone like at naps or at bedtime. It is just a phase. She will eventually stop and move on to something else to do when she gets bored. Until then, here is an ointment to be applied twice a day, once in the morning and once at night for 7 to 10 days or until the redness goes away. She appears to be a very healthy, very normal little girl.
The doctor visually I see so clear. My mother stood behind me so I don't recall seeing her at all.
As I write, I remember the doctor with the thick, black wires in his ears listening to my chest with his little shiny cone. He wore a gold ring, too, on his left hand. It was big and shiny. I couldn't really tell if he had hair on top of his head or not as I couldn't see that far up.
When he was telling my mother these things, his assessment...It wasn't right. It wasn't what had been happening. I didn't do that to myself. I felt confused. Doctors, well, doctors are second closest to God, right after priests. But I hadn't been spending hours touching myself there. Dad did. The doctor was wrong. My mom did right by getting concerned and taking me to see him to find out what was wrong down there. My mom believed the doctor. I wish she hadn't believed him.
My dad. My dad had always loved touching me there. He did it all the time ever since I could remember. It was normal for him but sometimes, like recently, he had one of those times where...he spent much more time rubbing against me there. Somehow, maybe mom and my brothers were away for extra hours or days, something transpired that allowed dad to sexually assault my for an extended period of time, more than his normal.
I remember only wearing a shirt and laying naked on top on pantsless dad reclined on the couch. He would spend time on me down there and then he would rest and wake up and rub against me more or move me to rub on top of him or put his mouth places. It was a non-stop marathon of having my dad assaulting my genitals in one way or another, to the point that I was in considerable pain and my privates turned bright red with sores. It was hours. How many, I do not know.
Yeah, I remember that happening. I remember how...excruciating the pain was. It was like burning, intense burning that wouldn't go away. My body was on fire down there. Cool baths, I recall the only time I got any relief was at bath time as the water felt cool against the raging heat.
Constant. The pain was unrelenting and constant whether I was sitting up, lying down, on my belly. There was no position that alleviated my pain. I did cry and often. Helpless and frustrated with no way to get relief, I cried. I cried whenever mom looked at it; showed dad and asked him if it looked like it was getting worse and if I should be taken to the doctor; when the doctor examined me or when mom put the ointment on. Dad did, too, put the ointment on but then, that just allowed him to do other things, more than just put the ointment on. It gave him an excuse to abuse and then apply the ointment to cover up his crime. It took him considerably longer to apply the medicine as he would first aggravate it and then sooth the burning with the prescription.
I was trapped with dad and the assaults and the hurts. He would look at me, and I would know that he was going to take me to another room, get me alone and touch me there again. It usually was not a surprise as dad got that evil, vile look in his eye when he was either thinking about harming me or actually doing it. It's like his eyes kindof glowed a monsterish glow filled with anticipation and utter deranged passion. Once he was finished with me, its like his eyes returned back to normal dad eyes.
I wish the doctor had asked me questions or investigated my "rash" more thoroughly. He was wrong but I knew I was not to speak up as doctors are never wrong.
I felt sad listening to the doctor talk. I, 4 year old me, wished dad had been there to tell the doctor what really happened because then the doctor could tell dad to stop doing that because it was really hurting me bad.
Nothing changed. Dad continued to sexually violate me every day. The rash did finally get better. The between leg pain was truly awful stuff to endure for all the days it took to heal.
My dad. Incest. Doctors. The rash and external genital damage from my dad excessively sexually abusing me.
I was 4. I remember this.
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