Sexual Assault, the Nun and Eddie Izzard

I've never been this close to a nun before - its all I can think about. She's not wearing that long black outfit, like in the Sound of Music. Just a little conservative number, with one of those veil like things on her head. I'm trying to see how she keeps it on when her eyes pop up from the stack of papers and meet mine. "I'm sure you know why your here." Wow. This is not going to go well.

Its been nearly a week since I walked into an exam room in the ER where I work and found a young male patient masturbating. It seems every move I've made since I opened that door has made a continued downward spiral in the eyes of my Catholic employer. Not that it should matter, but I am not a Catholic. As a former Lutheran, current Agnostic, well on my way to Atheism, I have little knowledge of the Catholic church. Up until today, for instance, I thought all nuns somehow had "Mary" in their name. I have no idea what to call this person. "Why don't you tell me what happened" says not Mary.

He told me he was having an asthma attack. I put him in a respiratory distress room. Lots of tubes, stainless steel, very medical. I went back to the nurses station, paged Respiratory, grabbed a Neb kit and walked back. When I opened the door, he was on the gurney with his pants around his ankles. Here comes my first mistake. I didn't panic, I just asked if he wanted me to come back later. "You didn't ask him to stop his behavior?" I . . (did I?) . . no. Strike one.

Not Mary raised her eyebrows. "Did you return?" No, the nurse manager took over. I told her what happened and she went back to the room with a security guard. The doctor (also female) saw him briefly, decided their was no asthma, and sent him away. He walked passed me at the nurses station on the way out.

"Tell me about the next morning." I was walking to my car, texting on my phone with a friend. "When did you see him in the parking garage?" He said something, Nurse, I think, and I turned around. I was next to my van. My arms were full, I had my cane . . "You didn't shout for help?" I . . (did I?) . . no. Strike two. "And he pushed you?" Yes. "What else?" I closed my eyes. How to describe this to a nun? Talk fast. He shoved me against my van. I swung at him with the cane. He headbutted the side of my face and my belongings scattered. He had his . . penis (can you say penis to a nun?) . . out and ejaculated onto my clothes. He turned and started walking away. Security came through the garage entrance. They took him to the ground.

She is sorry about the attack. Sorry that Security did not question him in the hour that they saw him wandering thru the employee parking area. Sorry that they did not take the attack as seriously as I thought they should have. They will be dealt with; that is all she has to say on that matter. The patient will be held in an appropriate facility until he can be safely released. I will be notified of the release date.

And now, for me. Do I understand the concern my superiors have with my failure to identify the seriousness of the patients initial behavior? My cavalier approach to his inappropriate actions? What if he had attacked an innocent party? The hospital could have been held liable.

At this point, Not Mary leans across the table. She tells me she is sure things have been hard for me since the death of my husband last year. Then she moves in for the kill. Strike three - I never saw it coming. Security found inappropriate photos on my cell phone, lost in the scuffle in the garage. Photos of a man in women's clothing posed provocatively. She has heard that I recently took a vacation, and that I went to see a show which featured the performance of a known sexual deviant. Some of my co-workers have said that I posed for and allowed photos of myself with said sexual deviant to be posted to the Internet. My supervisors wonder if my judgement in these matters has been clouded by my sexual proclivities, whether I might somehow give these patients the "wrong message." For now, I will not be allowed to evaluate psych patients that present to the ER. There is counseling available for employees, for both the attack and the deviant preferences I have developed since my husband's death.

If I were allowed a fourth strike, it would have been the smile which began to spread across my face when I realized what she was talking about. Believe me, it took a minute. My daughter and I recently went to New York City, where we took in our first Broadway play, RACE. We went twice, actually. U.K. actor and comedian Eddie Izzard had a staring role. He also happens to be a transvestite. My friend Philine was with us - she took photos at the stage door of me with Mr. Izzard. She posted them on her Facebook page. My phone background is a photo of Mr. Izzard from Stripped. Show? RACE. Internet? Facebook. Sexual Deviant? Eddie Izzard. Wow again.

I would like to say that I flew off in an indignant rage - I did not. I wish I could tell you I hired a lawyer and sued them for millions - also, no. I have no shame in my behavior with this patient. I am the kind one, the soft touch. All my co-workers will tell you the same. I thought he was harmless, and I was wrong. I am not ashamed of my fanship of Eddie Izzard. I found him to be a kind man and a charitable individual. Not Mary missed the part where his "friendship" stopped me from acting on the suicidal thoughts I had after my husband's death. His Twitter feed introduced me to a whole new group of friends who keep me sane and moving forward. My daughter and I lugged an Amish quilt thru the airports of the Midwest to New York City and gave it to him as a thank you gift. I don't find his preferences (or mine) any more sexually deviant than professing to be married to a deity.

Before you judge my lack of action, let me tell you a few more facts - there are 4 hospitals within 150 miles of my home. My current employer owns 3 of them. I am now the widowed mother of two, three with the grandson my teen son produced and is raising alone. If we struggled before, we are drowning now. I have been the butt of more jokes in the last week than I care to hear, but I haven't missed a day of work. I show up with my chin up, and I still treat every patient the same way. I know I want out of this job, and I will admit I drove home after a particularly gruesome night with Let the Cables Sleep by Bush on repeat on the DVD player, crying my head off in self-pity. But my kids are proud of me. They didn't "get to me." I won't change the way I practice medicine, and I have two new beautiful portraits of Mr. Izzard taken by Philine on my wall. And yes, hes wearing makeup. I envy his application of eyeliner. And I did get in one "give it to the man (or nun)." I refused to sign the incident report. I'm proud of it. And I indicated (quite rudely) that no counseling was required. I believe the phrase was "Fuck you."