by Unknown
Out of the corner of her eye Sylvia saw Chad’s roommate Zachary dancing with one of her sorors on the other side of the floor and seriously considered cutting in to inquire about the sudden disappearance of his roguish roommate then thought better of it and joined her partners for a drink. Hell, why should she ruin Zach’s night by forcing him to lie for Chad’s stupid ass anyway? It was, she knew, some unwritten male law that forced them to cover for each other no matter how wrong they were. She never understood it but chalked it up to being some macho thing. Anyway, that’s just the way they were even though she knew Zach didn’t particularly care for Chad or his antics. They just happened to be thrown together when they were freshman and had come to know each other well enough to know that neither of them wanted to go through learning anyone else so they remained together for the past four years and managed to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible. And since Chad was seldom there that just made it that much easier. But it was a known fact that they were as opposite as day and night. Yet, neither would give the other up in a hail of gunfire despite their misgivings about each other. So, there was really no need to ask. Besides that, Zachary looked like he was torn up. Sylvia had seen him drunk before but never like this. He could barely stand. Chuckling to herself, Sylvia grabbed the bottle of Hennessey off the table, found a corner of the union not occupied and guzzled freely hoping to reach the same plateau.
Her thoughts drifted. How could she have denied herself for so long? For four long years, she had relinquished all notions of pleasure, seemingly, content to live on the outskirts of campus life. But wasn’t this what every woman wanted? To be wanted, loved, appreciated and more than anything, accepted?
An hour later and still no Chad in sight, Sylvia found herself gyrating slowly to the sounds of Will Downing. Never had she been this drunk or felt this good. She was movin’ now. Groovin’. Climbing on the now empty banquet table, she began a slow, exotic dance. Bottle in one hand, umbrella still in the other, Sylvia Shipp had the floor. Through the mist and drunken fog of liquor, Sylvia could hear the steady rhythmic chant of, “GO GIRL, GO! YOU GO, SILL! GO GIRL!”
For the first time in four years, there was no whispering, no snickering. She felt good, real good, better than she ever had. For the first time she felt accepted and a part of it all and it felt wonderful. And what’s more she not only wanted this, she needed this. She wondered how she could have possibly denied herself for so long. For four long years, she had relinquished all notions of pleasure seemingly content to live on the outskirts of campus life. But wasn’t this what every woman wanted? To be wanted, loved, appreciated and more than anything to be accepted?
The shouts grew louder. “TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT ALL OFF!” There was a crowd now but she hardly noticed. Tilting the bottle up she took another swig from the half empty bottle and unbuttoned her blouse. And the more she took off the more the crowd roared. Before long, she was down to her thong. The crowd of students was in a frenzy now, her sorors screaming louder than the guys. “TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT ALL OFF, SILL!”
Then, not to disappoint, Sylvia Shipp began doing just that. Before she could bare her soul completely, she felt an arm reach out and grab her. There were no words, no arguments, nothing but the raucous boos of those who were dying to see the ever so prim and proper, Sylvia Shipp finally unveil.
She was so drunk that it wasn’t until she was outside of the student union that she realized that she was in no other than Chad’s arms. She could hear him ranting and raving but his words were a meaningless garble. What she did understand was that she had never seen him quite so angry. Not bothering to put her clothes on, Sylvia felt the cold chill of the rain trickling down her back. Chad threw her limp body in the car; bumping her head with such force that she was sure, she was going to pass out. Damn, it hurt. Not sure whether it was the bump or the alcohol, Sylvia ignored the pain.
For once, he was the one angry and she was glad. Maybe, just maybe, he did care after all. If he had been there in the first place, this would never have happened. She would have been right there with him, by his side, happy just to be spending time with her man, but no. As usual, he couldn’t find the time to be with her. Of course, he couldn’t let lil’ ol’ Sill, steal his thunder and be in the limelight for once. How could he take a backstage to a woman? Not Mr. Thang! Now he had the nerve to be angry. Sill laughed aloud at the thought, then passed out.
She awoke with a start. Never had she experienced such pain in all her life. She vaguely remembered the car ride she but she did remember Chad telling her over and over that this was a night she would never forget. He’d been angry, angrier than she’d ever seen him in the four years she had known him. She remembered little except for him calling her a cheap ho’ but everything else was so blurred, so fuzzy now.
Suddenly embarrassed, she screamed at him to stop driving so fast and to take her home. And then she passed-out again. When she awoke, this time the pain was too much to bear and she wondered if they had been in an accident. God, how her insides ached. There were people crowded around her watching, staring, laughing. But how could this be? Wasn’t anyone going to call an ambulance? And where was Chad? She hoped he was okay. Sill, felt her legs being lifted, then pulled apart and once again, she felt that same agonizing pain. She tried to scream but there were no words, no sounds, just pain.
Through the haze, Sylvia searched the room for a familiar face, to wake her from this nightmare but recognized no one. She was in and out of consciousness now but each time she awoke, there was another face staring down into hers. She smelled the stench of masculinity and cheap cologne and finally came the grisly reality that she was being raped.
With every ounce of strength she could muster, she fought, but there were just too many. No, this couldn’t be happening. When she tried to scream, someone forced a washrag in her mouth. Unable to move and barely able to breathe, she lost consciousness. Still, she felt the penetrating pain not once but over and over and over.
CHAPTER 2
Three days later, Sylvia Stanton regained consciousness in the Intensive Care Unit of the Christopher-Eliot Memorial Hospital. She awoke screaming. A nurse arrived quickly to increase the morphine drip from the I. V., which hung next to the bed. And though in pain most of the pain she felt was not of a physical nature. The medical team that admitted her diagnosed her as having suffered extreme trauma to the pelvic area and internal hemorrhaging. X-rays showed an inflamed uterus and ruptured ovaries but the full extent of the damage could no be determined from the X-rays alone.
Mr. and Mrs. Shipp stood anxiously awaiting word of their daughter’s condition and though both were exhausted, they refused to leave their only daughter’s bedside. The fact that they’d come to learn that date rape was not uncommon among young women did little to stem the shock they felt upon learning of their daughters’ plight.
“Mr. Shipp, my name is Dr. Reid and I’m one of the members of the hospital’s trauma team. It looks as though your daughter was in a pretty bad accident. I haven’t really had a chance to thoroughly go over her charts but I see she’s regained consciousness and that’s a good sign. I also received her X-rays and can see that there’s a fair amount of hemorrhaging around the ovaries but they’re so much blood and swelling around them that at this time that the X-rays are in and of themselves, pretty inconclusive. Right now, the best thing we can do is just sit tight and wait until some of the swelling goes down. Right now she’s stable and for the time being that’s about as good as it gets.”
Grimacing, Mr. Shipp put his arm around his wife’s shoulders to comfort her. He was certainly hoping for the best but clearly expecting the worst. Dr. Reid continued: “What we may need to do is go in and do some exploratory surgery to see how extensive the damage is and to see if we can save the ovaries. If, however, we find that they’re too badly damaged and cannot stop the bleeding then we may have to remove them. This would ultimately mean that Sylvia would not be able to bear children. Now, as time is of the esse
nce and for fear of being blunt and perhaps in your eyes somewhat unfeeling I’m forced to cut through the chase and in lieu of proper protocol and good manners what I need from you two at this point is your consent for us to operate.” Dr. Reid handed Sylvia’s parents the necessary consent forms for their approval.
“We understand but is the operation safe, doctor?” Mr. Shipp inquired timidly.
“It’s a pretty simple and a very common procedure, Mr. Shipp. I’m sure you’re familiar with a woman having her tubes tied or a partial hysterectomy where the ovaries are removed. It’s really no more than that. Actually, the operation is really no more serious than a child having his or her tonsils removed. The biggest factor in a situation like your daughter’s is how well she will adapt—or perhaps I should say recover, knowing that she will never be able to have children.
Her recuperation will depend a lot on the support she gets from you guys but from what I’ve seen of the Shipp family, I’m sure she’ll have more than enough support to pull her through. And, despite the trauma your daughter has suffered, she seems to be fairly strong and healthy so there really shouldn’t be too much to worry about. However, with the internal bleeding, we do need to get started as soon as possible.”
The doctor left quickly after getting the necessary signatures and the following morning, Sylvia was wheeled down to pre-op to be prepped. Mr. Shipp, in an attempt to mask his worry suggested that he and his wife grab a bite to eat at K & W Cafeteria across the street. Neither ate more than a few mouthfuls and soon found themselves heading right back to the hospital where they could do little but wait. It was almost four hours later when Dr. Reid entered the waiting room.
“Relax, relax Sylvia did just fine. We weren’t able to save the ovaries but otherwise, she’s fine. She’s in recovery. They have her on the intensive care unit in Room 411, so we can better monitor her progress. But just as soon as she’s stabilized, we’ll move her to a regular room until she’s ready to go home. You might want to wait before you go in and see her. She’s in a pretty good deal of pain, so we’ve increased her morphine drip and she may be in and out of sleep,” Dr. Reid said.
“Thank you, sir,” was the best Mr. Shipp could offer as he extended his hand but there was no doubt he was profoundly grateful to the good doctor who had pulled his only daughter through.
As soon as the Shipps’ stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor, they heard the screaming. Ignoring it, they made their way to Room 411. The screaming grew progressively worse until both Horace and Beulah Shipp came to the sudden realization that the voice they heard was not just some patient deranged and out of control obviously with more than a medical problem but as they grew closer, they recognized the voice as being their own daughter’s.
Rushing into the room, they found a bevy of nurses and orderlies, shouting orders at each other. And in the middle of the melee, was Sylvia fighting with all her might and screaming at the top of her lungs. The head nurse shouted in turn at one of her subordinates.
“Increase the morphine flow!”
“It’s already maxed, Samantha. Anymore and it’ll kill her,” the young nurse shouted.
“Hold her hands then, while I strap her down,” an orderly screamed at no one in particular, as he grabbed one arm while another did his best to fasten the buckle on the strap. Sylvia’s screams only seemed to grow louder when she was strapped down. And Mr. Shipp, never expecting anything like this, had all he could do to get out of the way and eventually backed completely out of the room in tears. And then just as quickly as it all started, it ended. The screaming, the lurching, the attempts to battle the nurses and orderlies all stopped.
Sylvia, spent and exhausted, closed her eyes, then opened widely and stared at the tubes, which seem to emerge from every open pore. The orderlies and nurses finally breathed a collective sigh of relief. Little did they know just how brief their respite would be.
For the next two days, the high-pitched screaming continued. Each time the nurses entered the room, Sylvia would begin screaming frantically. If they opted to change the sheets, she would scream. If they tried to check her blood pressure, she would scream until after the third day of her screaming bloody murder doctors, nurses and orderlies would move to the other side of the hall in hopes that she would not see them as they made their rounds.
Her parents’ daily visits met with the same reaction. So taken back was Mr. Shipp by his daughter’s behavior that he would peek in the room making sure to stay out of plain eyesight and then spend the remainder of the visiting time in the waiting room waiting for his wife.
Steadfast in her love for her daughter, Mrs. Shipp endured the screaming and yelling. She had even grown accustomed to her little girl being strapped down to the bed so she wouldn’t—as the nurses so aptly put it—”Wouldn’t cause harm to herself.” Mrs. Shipp laughed at this one. “Shoot, they’re more worried ‘bout Sill causin’ harm to them if you ask me” she told her husband one day on the ride home from the hospital. Both laughed at that one. Sill would eventually calm down and Mrs. Shipp would then approach her daughter slowly, cautiously, so as not to alarm her. She would then take both of Sill’s hands in her own and talk to her softly, gently about friends, relatives and the goings on in the world outside of Room 411.
Sometimes Sylvia would sit and stare out of the fourth floor window at nothing in particular. At other times, her eyes would become fixated at a spot on the floor or the unopened orange juice container on her lunch tray. At other times, she was content to simply shriek and yell at the top of her lungs for the duration of her mother’s visits despite her mother’s attempts to soothe her. This Mrs. Shipp could endure. What ate at her very soul was that not once in the last four days had her daughter spoken a word and what was worse she didn’t seem to recognize her.
The screaming tirades against the hospital staff continued on a daily basis, and as Mr. and Mrs. Shipp concluded their visit on the fourth day following the operation, they were stopped at the elevator by one of Sill’s nurses. “Mr. and Mrs. Shipp I presume? Dr. Reid is on his way down from his office. I think he’d like to have a word with you concerning your daughter.” No sooner had she said that then Dr. Reid emerged from the elevator.
“Thank you, Susan,” he said, winking at the young petite nurse with the bright red hair. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Shipp. And how are you, today? Good. Good. I thought I might have a word with you concerning Sylvia’s progress. Do you have a few minutes? Good, why don’t we head down to the cafeteria? I’m starved.”
The good doctor led the way down the narrow hospital corridors, nodding to this person and that, stopping occasionally to talk about his golf handicap, then remembering the Shipp’s who trailed closely, an uncomfortable silence engulfing them, as they waited ever so anxiously.
“Oh, how rude of me,” he would say before stopping again to discuss the idea of increasing a patient’s medication, then off again, around another bend, before heading down another long and winding hallway. After what seemed forever, they reached the cafeteria where Dr. Reid held the door for the Shipp’s. Both Mr. and Mrs. Shipp had had enough cafeteria food to last them a lifetime so when the doctor offered, they politely refused. By the time they were seated, Mr. Shipp was so wound up, so full of worry and anxiety, that he was certain that Sill was near death and was already regretting not having had the strength to endure his only daughter’s screams. Still, what Dr. Reid told him next seemed almost worse than death. After tasting the healthy serving of Salisbury steak and licking, his lips in appreciation he turned to the Shipp’s.
“Well, as you know the operation was a complete success. Sylvia’s recovery is going as well as expected. She seems to be healing nicely. There is no excessive scar tissue forming around the incision and her vitals are back to normal. However, I am afraid that the trauma she’s experienced has left some far deeper emotional scars than we could ever have imagined. From what I understand, she has not spoken since she’s been here. This is not good. And the ex
cessive screaming at first thought due to the operation is probably also due to the terrible ordeal she’s just been through.
I’m really worried about her emotional stability. And as you know, if your minds not healthy then it can alter what and how your body heals. Presently, she’s not eating. The nurses inform me that she hasn’t eaten solid food in two days and that can’t be good so I’ve recommended she be fed intravenously. Not eating suggests to me that she’s not fighting. She’s also made no effort to get up and walk around on her own or use the bathroom. We try to encourage this but she has not responded. In all honesty, I think Sylvia has lost the will to live.”
Dr. Reid continued to eat, scooping up another forkful of mash potatoes and sweet peas before continuing. “Sure you won’t have some? The Salisbury steak is better than my wife’s and she’s a pretty fair cook.”
Both nodded no.
“In any case, I’ve met with my colleagues concerning Sylvia and the direction we need to go and the general consensus is that we let her continue her recovery under the care of Dr. Henrik Divac, who is our resident psychiatrist and who’s located right next door in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. He is one of the premiere men in his field and if anyone can break through and release those inner demons that are plaguing Sylvia, it is he.”
Mr. and Mrs. Shipp were stunned by this pronouncement. “A mental ward? Are you suggesting our daughter be placed in a—mental ward?” Mrs. Ship asked almost incredulously. “Are you saying our Sylvia’s crazy?”
