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“You’re gonna be OK.” I knew the voice. It was

Bobby’s sister, the woman we called Donna

Summer. She was tall, elegant, and beautiful. We

had seen her infrequently, but she was always

kind and loving when she was with us.

She lifted me from my bed, and I screamed in

pain. She continued her gentle reassurances, as

she carried me from my room. I heard muffled

voices, as we escaped from the apartment and

down the stairs. Though she tried to hold me

close, my battered body jostled in the young

woman’s arms, as we made our way through the

cold stairwell. It was even colder, as I was placed

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onto the back seat of an unfamiliar car. Debbie,

several months pregnant, Matthew, Ruby, and I

were shuttled to a local hospital. The ride was

uncomfortable, and I cried most of the way until I

fell asleep.

When I regained full consciousness, I was laid out

on a hospital bed in the center of a long, bright

hallway. Debbie and Matthew were also in beds

close to me. My head was fixed to the bed, but I

could see Debbie’s bruised and swollen face

several feet away. My vision was blurred, but I

recognized the beaten face of my mother.

Matthew was sitting in his bed, playing with a toy.

I tried to reach out, but I could not move my

hands or even my arms. I tried to move my legs,

but immediately started to cry from the intense

pain. In frustration and panic, I called for my

mother. She spoke to me through swollen lips,

and I heard her telling me, as she often did, that

everything was going to be all right. Through my

tears, I saw a young nurse appear over my

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immobilized head. She told me everything was

going to be fine, and she wiped my face. I saw the

blood-soaked rag, as she wiped it back and forth

across my face. My vision was clearing up, and I

tried to talk to Debbie, whose bed was across the

narrow hallway from me. She reached out for my

bed and wrapped her thin, skeletal hand around

my bedrail. She promised that I would be OK

and that the pain would go away soon. She began

to describe the medicine the doctors had given

me, and how soon I wouldn’t feel any pain. I

wanted to yell at her in disbelief, but I knew not

to yell at her. I didn’t know where Bobby was, but

I was sure he was close by. I was confused and

light-headed. Unable to move my body, I was

unable to speak clearly, unable to reach out for

comfort, but watching Matthew playing on his

bed – having a good time as usual. Staring at

Debbie’s slightly blurred face, I fell silently back

into unconsciousness.

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There were voices squabbling when I woke. I was

in a private room with no sign of Debbie or

Matthew. The two young nurses who stood at my

feet bickered about something I didn’t

understand. They were using medical jargon that

I had not yet become familiar with. Finally they

approached my bed from opposing sides and

stopped midway along the bedrail. They spoke to

me in hushed tones, but their words were nearly

inaudible. They told me about a catheter, but I

did not know what they meant. The younger

looking nurse pulled the pale blue sheet from my

body and I saw my legs in casts extending beyond

my knees. My surprise was short lived.

As I stared at my legs, the nurse pulled my thin

papery hospital gown up, exposing my naked

body to the chilly hospital air. With gloved hands,

the two nurses attempted to insert a hard

catheter. The pain was instant and intense.

Bobby had often made sport of hurting this

particular area of my body in his nearly incessant

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attempts at my emasculation, but this was

different. I squirmed and screamed, but there was

no escaping. They tried to settle me down, but I

wouldn’t cooperate. Even when they explained

that they were not trying to hurt, but to help me,

I screamed and cursed them. After conceding

defeat, I surrendered to their insistence. The pain

was excruciating. The two had significant trouble

inserting the catheter and it took a third person to

come in and assist. Once the procedure was

complete, I no longer felt pain or animosity

toward the staff. I tried to apologize, but my cries

overpowered my voice.

The nurses stayed and talked me through my

tears. They tried to joke with me, but I insisted on

detailing life with Bobby, and all of the terrifying

sexual experiences I had endured living with

Bobby. They listened long enough for me to feel

better; then they all excused themselves, closed

the curtain surrounding my bed, and turned the

television volume higher. I lay there in my bed,

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staring at the new apparatus extending from me.

Every now and again, one of the nurses that had

been with me earlier came in to check on me,

each one catching me playing with the long tube

extending from me, and each one warning me

against playing with it. After learning the hard

way that trying to pull it out was as painful as

when it had been put in, I finally left it alone.

I stayed in the bed for some time before seeing

Debbie or Matthew again. While I remained

strapped to the bed, most of my body cast in

plaster, they both came to visit me to tell me they

were leaving the hospital. Debbie’s face was still

slightly bruised, but she looked healthy and more

noticeably pregnant than I had remembered.

Matthew ran around and played in my room,

until he noticed the tube coming from beneath

my gown. After explaining to him what it was, he

cringed momentarily, but then laughed. His

laughter made me flush with anger, then jealousy,

as I watched him bend over with joy. I wanted to

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be free from the restraints of the bed. I wanted to

walk around, but I never wanted to go home. In a

very short period of time, I had developed a sense

of calm within the hospital.

The hospital staff paid a lot of attention to me;

even though sometimes it hurt, it felt nice to be

taken care of by such gentle and caring people.

The parts of my body that were exposed were

softly sponged clean each day. Every couple of

days a nurse would come in with a couple of

scrub sponges. The sponges came in shiny silver

airtight packages that we would squeeze open and

make them pop. The popping sound always made

me laugh, and it was the lead in to the circus of

distraction she used to allow my mind to ignore

the scrubbing of the scabs from the multiple

infections on my exposed skin. After she would let

me pop one open, and squeeze it until the soap

suds appeared, I’d scrub my hands and fingernails

like I’d watched the hospital staff do so often

before they touched me. The sponges had short

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rubbery bristles on one side that the nurse would

use to scrub the scab away from my infected

wounds. The other side of the sponge was a

scouring pad with which she would tenderly clean

out the exposed skin more thoroughly. Her

sympathetic attention was obvious as she winced

each time she began. It seemed to pain her more

than me, though I was too busy scrubbing my

hands and playing doctor to notice any pain.

Additionally, the hospital was a much more

pleasant environment than life with Bobby, and

the pain of my body healing was much easier to

bear than the pain of the beatings that got me

there.

Throughout my extended stay in the hospital, I

watched a lot of television. I had never been

allowed to watch much television when Bobby

was around, and having unlimited access to my

own television was thrilling. Life with Bobby and

Debbie had never afforded the luxury of a stable

sleep pattern, so even medicated I had trouble

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staying asleep throughout the night. Though the

medications made me sleep odd hours, I became

a faithful fan of prime time programming,

especially
Charlie’s Angels
,
Buck Rogers
,
CHiPs
,
Fantasy Island
and
Love Boat
. It was never a

problem getting the staff to change channels for

me. Everyone that stopped by was eager to make

me happy. The staff brought me snacks,

magazines, and comic books. In the middle of the

night, I would talk to doctors, nurses and

orderlies just to pass the time.

One day I got a visit from someone who did not

work at the hospital. She was tall, dark haired,

and soft-spoken. She introduced herself, but I did

not pay attention to her name. I was young, but

since being introduced to sexual activity I had an

uncommon awareness of and attraction to

beautiful women. Staring at her brought me into

my new fantasy world of loving Kelly Garrett

from
Charlie’s Angels
. In my mind this stranger and

I lived happily ever after, until she said the words

356

“protective custody.” Instantly, I was back in my

hospital bed talking to a social worker. I had

heard the words protective custody before.

Several times during our visits to the welfare

offices, Debbie had been threatened with

protective custody. After Matthew’s dalliance into

foster care, I came to have a better understanding

of what the words really meant. She didn’t say

where we were going, but she promised me that I

would not be going back to the Village. The

statuesque woman lulled me back into my fantasy

family life, as she spoke of taking me with her as

soon as I could leave the hospital. All of a sudden,

leaving the spoiling comforts of the hospital could

not come soon enough. She left me with a quick

kiss on the forehead and a promise to come back

as soon as I was able to walk on my own.

Standing and walking took on a new urgency now

that I believed I was going home with one of

Charlie’s Angels
. I had been ready to get out of the

bed for some time, but every time I tried, the pain

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was nearly unbearable. Meeting Karen, the new

social worker, was all the motivation I needed.

The nurse warned that I would feel a “little sting”

as she eased the catheter out. The sting was more

like a stabbing, as the seemingly endless tube was

pulled free. I clenched the bedrails and did my

best to keep my body still. With the casts off, the

infections cleared, and cuts healed, the catheter

was the last thing keeping me from being fully

mobile. At the final tug the relief I felt was

indescribable. After wiping my legs dry, my nurse

lowered the bedrails and took my hands. She sat

me up and coaxed me out of the bed. Having not

used my legs much since the casts came off, the

nurse lifted them gently and draped them over

the side of the bed. I cried the moment my feet

touched the ground, but with the nurse

supporting my weight and steadying me as I

went, I made it the few steps to the doorway and

back again. Standing up and looking down the

hallway was overwhelming. I was crying from the

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pain, but also the joy, of walking. All of the staff

in the hallway clapped, as I emerged into the

stark white hall. I was embarrassed from the

attention, and that everyone had seen me crying.

The nurse quickly escorted me back into the

room, where she eased me back into my bed. She

didn’t say anything as she left me crying quietly in

my bed.

Days later, my room was half-filled with balloons

for my “Going Home” party. I had cried my way

through walking rehab, but after a few days and

many trips back and forth to the bathroom, I was

told I was ready for discharge. Karen had been

by several times encouraging me to get better,

and with each visit I was more invigorated. Now

it was time to leave all of my hospital friends, and

I was more than ready to go home with Karen.

During my stay in the hospital, I had been able to

put all thoughts of living with Bobby, Debbie, and

Matthew out of my mind. On her last visit, Karen

had told me she would be taking me to a foster

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home, where I would live with Matthew and

some other children. Until she mentioned

Matthew’s name, I had believed that Karen was

taking me home to live with her. She may have

mentioned foster care to me during an earlier

visit, but since our first meeting, I had only

thought of living with Karen.

Matthew was waiting in the hall when I was

wheeled out of my room in a wheel chair with all

of my new clothes, toys, and magazines that the

staff had brought for me packed into plastic bags

on my lap. Though I had been walking on my

own for a while, I was not allowed to walk out of

the hospital. Seeing Matthew made me