A horrible situation
Last summer, Michelle made the difficult decision to end her 12-year marriage. She’d gone to marriage counseling. She’d talked on many occasions with her pastor. She had tried to make it work, but ultimately she decided the marriage had to end.
She knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She was nearly 40 and her job provided few opportunities for advancement. But she also knew that if she was careful, she could take care of herself and her children, and she knew they would eventually be better off on their own.
In early July, she moved out of the house with her sons and a few belongings. They stayed with her parents for a few weeks, but soon Michelle found an apartment near her office.
She didn’t know her husband had been served the divorce papers on the same day she was moving into her new place. It was Friday evening when the doorbell rang, and it caught her by surprise.
As soon as she saw her soon-to-be-ex-husband, Michelle knew he had been drinking. His drinking was one of the habits that she had decided she could no longer live with. It scared her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he hurt her or one of their two young boys.
That time came after 20 minutes of futile talking and arguing. Michelle walked to the door and asked him to leave. Instead, he grabbed her and threw her to the ground.
“I remember three things about the rape,” Michelle says in a quiet and measured voice. “I remember the taste of blood in my mouth. He had hit me twice when I tried to push him off of me. I remember the stacks of boxes. I was staring at one just above his head that said ‘Fragile.’ And I remember that when he stood up, he said, ‘I know you won’t leave me if you’re pregnant.’”
When he had gone, Michelle searched through boxes for soap, shampoo and a towel. She couldn’t find a first-aid kit, so after her shower she sat on the couch for several hours holding paper towels to her face until they were soaked with blood. Then she threw the bloody towels in an empty box near her feet, pulled a few more off of the roll and waited for the bleeding to stop.
“I sat up all night. I just sat on the couch and thought through all of my options. Around 7 in the morning I called my doctor.”
After hearing her story, Michelle’s doctor urged her to call the police and report the rape. But Michelle held firm. No police, no rape charges. She just wanted the divorce as quickly and quietly as possible.
“Everyone asks the same question, why didn’t I call the police? And it’s a fair one. I would probably ask the same thing if I heard the story from someone else. But I knew if I did [report it], an already horrible situation would just get worse.
“His parents are very supportive of me and my kids. I didn’t know what would happen to those relationships if their son was charged with rape. I didn’t know what it would do to the boys if their father was a rapist. They’re already losing so much. And, as selfish as this may sound, I knew he would lose his job. And if he lost his job, he couldn’t pay child support. If he couldn’t pay child support, I couldn’t support the kids.”
After nearly an hour of discussing the options with her doctor, Michelle finally agreed to be examined in his office on Monday and to see a rape counselor. In the meantime, he would call Michelle’s pharmacy with a prescription for emergency contraception to prevent any chance of a pregnancy.
Driving to the pharmacy a little while later, Michelle said she felt a huge sense of relief. “I felt like I was down, but not out. I felt like I could get through this like I had everything else, and it would all work out.”
But standing at the pharmacy counter, Michelle learned otherwise.
Michelle’s pharmacy didn’t stock the medication. “They said they could order it for me, and it would be in on Monday afternoon. But that would be too late. By then it would be nearly 72 hours, and it should be taken during the first 24 hours. After 72 hours, it doesn’t work. I just didn’t want to take that big of a chance.”
She asked for her prescription and drove a few blocks to Wal-Mart. She knew they had a pharmacy, and she thought she would pick up a few things for the apartment while she waited.
“Again, I was trying to stay really positive. I was trying to hold myself together and concentrate on solutions, not the problems.”
The pharmacist at Wal-Mart, however, was less helpful than the previous one. “He looked at me with what was clearly contempt and said, ‘We don’t carry this.’ Then he shoved the paper back towards me and walked away. At first I didn’t understand. I mean, I thought he was saying the same thing - that they didn’t have it in stock. So I said, ‘Can you order it?’
“And from about 50 feet away, he turns and says loud enough for practically everyone in the damn store to hear, ‘I mean we don’t kill babies. You’ll have to find someone else to do that for you.’”
Michelle picked up the prescription from the counter and drove back to her apartment where she searched through boxes for the phonebook.
“I called 13 pharmacies. Some of them were nice, and said they didn’t have it in stock but could order it for me. Some of them were rude, and said they didn’t have it and just hung up. Not one of them had it available. After the last one said no, I just started to cry. I couldn’t stop.”
Michele made one more phone call. She called her doctor and through her sobs she told him that she had tried 15 pharmacies, but none of them would or could fill her prescription. Just before 5 p.m., her doctor knocked at her door with the medication in hand.
“I didn’t ask him where he got it. I didn’t even care. I was crying too hard at that point and I just wanted the whole thing to be over. I took the medicine, drank a glass of water and thanked him over and over. When he left, I just laid down on the couch and slept until the next afternoon. I woke up when my mom called and asked what time I was coming to pick up the boys.”
She knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She was nearly 40 and her job provided few opportunities for advancement. But she also knew that if she was careful, she could take care of herself and her children, and she knew they would eventually be better off on their own.
In early July, she moved out of the house with her sons and a few belongings. They stayed with her parents for a few weeks, but soon Michelle found an apartment near her office.
She didn’t know her husband had been served the divorce papers on the same day she was moving into her new place. It was Friday evening when the doorbell rang, and it caught her by surprise.
As soon as she saw her soon-to-be-ex-husband, Michelle knew he had been drinking. His drinking was one of the habits that she had decided she could no longer live with. It scared her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he hurt her or one of their two young boys.
That time came after 20 minutes of futile talking and arguing. Michelle walked to the door and asked him to leave. Instead, he grabbed her and threw her to the ground.
“I remember three things about the rape,” Michelle says in a quiet and measured voice. “I remember the taste of blood in my mouth. He had hit me twice when I tried to push him off of me. I remember the stacks of boxes. I was staring at one just above his head that said ‘Fragile.’ And I remember that when he stood up, he said, ‘I know you won’t leave me if you’re pregnant.’”
When he had gone, Michelle searched through boxes for soap, shampoo and a towel. She couldn’t find a first-aid kit, so after her shower she sat on the couch for several hours holding paper towels to her face until they were soaked with blood. Then she threw the bloody towels in an empty box near her feet, pulled a few more off of the roll and waited for the bleeding to stop.
“I sat up all night. I just sat on the couch and thought through all of my options. Around 7 in the morning I called my doctor.”
After hearing her story, Michelle’s doctor urged her to call the police and report the rape. But Michelle held firm. No police, no rape charges. She just wanted the divorce as quickly and quietly as possible.
“Everyone asks the same question, why didn’t I call the police? And it’s a fair one. I would probably ask the same thing if I heard the story from someone else. But I knew if I did [report it], an already horrible situation would just get worse.
“His parents are very supportive of me and my kids. I didn’t know what would happen to those relationships if their son was charged with rape. I didn’t know what it would do to the boys if their father was a rapist. They’re already losing so much. And, as selfish as this may sound, I knew he would lose his job. And if he lost his job, he couldn’t pay child support. If he couldn’t pay child support, I couldn’t support the kids.”
After nearly an hour of discussing the options with her doctor, Michelle finally agreed to be examined in his office on Monday and to see a rape counselor. In the meantime, he would call Michelle’s pharmacy with a prescription for emergency contraception to prevent any chance of a pregnancy.
Driving to the pharmacy a little while later, Michelle said she felt a huge sense of relief. “I felt like I was down, but not out. I felt like I could get through this like I had everything else, and it would all work out.”
But standing at the pharmacy counter, Michelle learned otherwise.
Michelle’s pharmacy didn’t stock the medication. “They said they could order it for me, and it would be in on Monday afternoon. But that would be too late. By then it would be nearly 72 hours, and it should be taken during the first 24 hours. After 72 hours, it doesn’t work. I just didn’t want to take that big of a chance.”
She asked for her prescription and drove a few blocks to Wal-Mart. She knew they had a pharmacy, and she thought she would pick up a few things for the apartment while she waited.
“Again, I was trying to stay really positive. I was trying to hold myself together and concentrate on solutions, not the problems.”
The pharmacist at Wal-Mart, however, was less helpful than the previous one. “He looked at me with what was clearly contempt and said, ‘We don’t carry this.’ Then he shoved the paper back towards me and walked away. At first I didn’t understand. I mean, I thought he was saying the same thing - that they didn’t have it in stock. So I said, ‘Can you order it?’
“And from about 50 feet away, he turns and says loud enough for practically everyone in the damn store to hear, ‘I mean we don’t kill babies. You’ll have to find someone else to do that for you.’”
Michelle picked up the prescription from the counter and drove back to her apartment where she searched through boxes for the phonebook.
“I called 13 pharmacies. Some of them were nice, and said they didn’t have it in stock but could order it for me. Some of them were rude, and said they didn’t have it and just hung up. Not one of them had it available. After the last one said no, I just started to cry. I couldn’t stop.”
Michele made one more phone call. She called her doctor and through her sobs she told him that she had tried 15 pharmacies, but none of them would or could fill her prescription. Just before 5 p.m., her doctor knocked at her door with the medication in hand.
“I didn’t ask him where he got it. I didn’t even care. I was crying too hard at that point and I just wanted the whole thing to be over. I took the medicine, drank a glass of water and thanked him over and over. When he left, I just laid down on the couch and slept until the next afternoon. I woke up when my mom called and asked what time I was coming to pick up the boys.”