Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Out of the Darkness

Dec 8th, 20092009-12-08T05:01:54ZM jS, Y | By Elena J. Kelly | Read more in: Feature

Welcome to new contributor Elena Kelly!

My cell phone rang just as I was sitting down to lunch at work today. It was a detective from the Sacramento Police and she asked if I had a few minutes to talk. I had been expecting this call for the last two weeks, but I had no idea what she had to say.recoveryroom

That last surgery was to be a huge cause for celebration because my transition from male to female would be completed, at least as complete as medical science is capable. It was a short procedure that involved placing two silicone pouches behind the muscles of my chest wall. It was much less invasive than my Facial Feminization surgery or my Genital Reassignment surgery, both of which had been completed within the last five months before my breast augmentation.

This last surgery turned out to be anything but a celebration, because I was raped as I lay sleeping under anesthesia in the Recovery Room. My vagina was just three months old, and I swore that no male would ever touch it, but that wish was denied by some evil, perverted sicko who came into my room and violated me when I was completely helpless to do anything about it.

I had eight purple bruises on the insides of my thighs, four on each side that matched up evenly with the fingers of some bastard that obviously pulled my legs apart before he took vengeance on me. I bled from the wounds that he inflicted and required treatment by my OB/GYN for it to heal properly.

I reported this to the police once I figured out what had happened. It took a couple of days because I didn’t remember the incident, being knocked out by the drugs that kept me pain-free throughout the operation, and beyond. When I discovered the bruises I figured they probably happened when I was being lifted, and the bleeding I thought must have been due to the drugs or some other trauma associated with the surgery. But my surgeon, at my post-op checkup said there was no way either of those could have happened in the O.R.

My gynecologist is required to call the police and make a report whenever she sees a patient that has obviously been abused, and she confirmed my worst fears with just one glance. “There is no doubt that you were sexually assaulted,” she told me just before she checked inside. “You have all the classic signs of rape.”

The male police officers who came to my apartment to take my statement and to photograph the wounds had no idea what a transgender person is. It was obvious that they considered me some kind of freak. I had been crying nonstop since my OB visit the day before, and it would be a couple of weeks before I would feel safe enough to venture out into the world again.

So when Detective Castiglia called, I knew it was to tell me the latest news about my case. She has been a bright spot in this horrible nightmare. She kept me informed at each step, and has shown genuine sympathy and compassion toward me. But today she had bad news. The case she turned over to the District Attorney was rejected because they couldn’t prove who did it, or even that the assault might have happened after I was discharged.

I have moved on from that painful experience and refuse to allow a monster to steal this new life I have been given. For the first time in my life I know what it is like to live without a deep, dark secret that I was terrified others would find out. I was born in a male body, but I am a woman, and I am proud of who I am, and I see each day of living my truth as a gift from the divine.

It is estimated that half of all women have been sexually assaulted in their lives. From what I have been told by the women I call friends, it must be higher than that. Now I know well what they all endured. I know the fear and self-doubt, the hyper-vigilance that comes from being attacked. And I know the power of supportive friends and family who were there for me and continue to be. I am a better woman, not for being raped, but for the love and kindness of others who gave of themselves to help me find my way back to who I really am.

Pulisher’s note:

This was previously posted in our GLBTQ section and generated a great deal of interesting discussion. If you would like to join the discussion already in progress please click through here to comment.

Elena J. Kelly
Elena Kelly's Blog
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