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not pausing for breath, not slowing down, just blurting it out like a scared little girl who had done something really bad.
When the words came I was like a desperate child with news of something exciting happening, who was eager to tell anyone who would listen.
‘I was abused sexually when I was a girl, when I was eleven, by a friend of my Mum and Dad’s, by my Dad when I was twelve and almost by a neighbour too when I was thirteen. It lasted for four years with the friend of Mum and Dad’s and happened three times with my dad. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I managed to hide it away but then I saw Bill, Mum’s friend, a little while ago in town. And now I’m having terrible dreams that I can’tstop. All those memories are new again. I feel like I am back in that terrible room with him standing over me and I’m trapped and can’t escape.’
I started to cry.
Tears were the one thing that I could never stop. They flooded down my face. Someone once told me I could quite easily fill a bath when I cried, and today I felt like it was a definite possibility.
I looked up at Dr Tranor: Keith. I was wondering if he had made any sense of my blurted blubberings, which had spilled out from me so fast without drawing a breath that they made me feel sick! He had a look of despair on his face. I could see his tears starting to form, and I saw one trickle down his cheek.
He quickly wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, trying to keep a sense of professional calmness about him, a calmness that he wanted to pass on to me. He leant over and gave me a small hug. I felt so relieved that finally I had gained enough strength and courage to tell someone other than Sam about my abuse.
I still believed that everything that had happened to me was my fault, that I was to blame. Keith started talking to me slowly. I listened, drying my eyes on the tissues he had passed to me a few moments ago. ‘Sarah,’ he began gently. ‘Try not to worry. I know you are worried, but I can put you in touch with someone who can help you. She’s based at the Cedars Child Development Centre. Do you know where that is?’
‘Is it just a little further down Parsons Lane?’ I asked.
‘Yes. The lady I’m going to ring is called Bess Meyer. She’s really good and this is her field of expertise. She does a lot of work with abused kids.’
‘But isn’t it different? After all, I’m not a child I’m an adult. Will she be able to help me?’
‘Yes, she can Sarah. She’ll know more about how you feel and the emotions you’re going through. The only difference between you and a child is that you have kept them hidden for a long time, and it’s only now that they are starting to surface.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’ll call her once surgery is over and she’ll be in touch with you as soon as she can. You shouldn’t have to wait too long.’
As I rose to leave his room, he looked at me, gave me one of his famous everything’s-fine-now smiles and said everything would be okay. His face gave some of his feelings away; I knew he was shocked by what he had heard, even though he must have heard the same words lots of times before in his profession. He looked so helpless that day, desperate to do more, but he knew he had to go through all the protocol that his work demanded. But I knew he was doing enough. I was glad of his help. I was relieved that at last I could speak out, even if it had only been for a short time.
This was probably the hardest thing I had ever done in my life, apart from when I told Sam. Even giving birth to five babies was a walk in the park compared to speaking out about the abuse I had been subjected to as a younggirl. I think if I could have chosen which of those things I had to do, I would have chosen childbirth every time rather than having to confess to someone other than Sam that I had been abused. Giving birth was certainly much easier. The only problem is – if I had been given such a choice – I’d have probably ended up