again, about Burning Man Lady.
The patient formerly known as Three-Wood Widow.
"This is an awful story," she said. She swept her hair back with her fingers and hooked it behind her ears. "I feel so sad for her. I saw her for an emergency appointment on Saturday night, Alan. If you had asked me who in my caseload would be least likely to make an emergency call to me, she would have been near the top of my list. She called me Saturday, late afternoon, and left me a despairing-sounding voice mail asking me to call her back as soon as I could. I was out on the Mesa Trail with friends, but I got back to her within the hour, as soon as I got back to my car.
"She said--I wrote this down--'I think I need . . . Maybe if we could meet, I think. Dr. Zoet, I've been . . . raped. Last night, I was raped.' Then she paused, Alan. A good five seconds before she added, 'I think I was raped.' "
I took a metaphorical deep breath. I said, " 'I think'? She said, 'I think'?"
"Yes. We talked for only a couple of minutes on the phone, long enough for me to be sure she was okay physically, that she had done what she needed to do to take care of herself. She said she'd driven herself to the police and that a detective had accompanied her to Community, to the hospital. She met with a rape crisis counselor there, too.
"I canceled my plans for the evening and met her at my office a few minutes before seven o'clock. I have never done that before, Alan. Met a patient for a session on a weekend night." After all my years of practice, I could still count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I had done something similar. "She said that one of the cops she talked to earlier that day--a woman detective, she said"--Hella consulted her notes--"Detective Davenport, told her at the hospital that no matter what happened during the rest of the day she should think about getting her own attorney as soon as she could. She even gave her a name."
"Really? I don't think that's routine advice for rape victims. Do you know why the detective advised that?"
"I don't. During that call, whenever I asked a question like that my patient kept saying, 'This is going to be a big deal. This is going to be a big deal. Oh my God, this is going to be such a big deal.' Like it was a mantra. I figured she was talking about the rape, but who knows? I was hoping you might be able to help me understand."
"What kind of big?" I asked.
Hella pondered my question. "Ominous? That kind of big."
I said, "Let's go back to the beginning. Tell me what happened. Let's see if we can puzzle this out."
HELLA BEGAN THE STORY BY SAYING, "She's calling what happened to her 'acquaintance rape.' I think that's important. It's one of the first things she said." She looked at her notes again. "I think I have her exact words: 'I know this man, the one who did this. He's my friend. He's not someone who--I know him.' "
I listened carefully as Hella continued to talk, trying to ascertain if she was using the acquaintance descriptor as a diminutive.
Hella, it turned out, wasn't. She was telling me only that her patient knew her rapist. Thus the word acquaintance.
She said, "The fact that she knew the guy so well is important to her. I think she was expressing shock that he could do this to her--that's why she kept repeating it. That's the only reason that I am emphasizing it with you."
"Betrayal?" I asked.
"Definitely. She doesn't remember the assault. What she was feeling at first was . . . bewilderment over the betrayal."
HELLA'S PATIENT HAD BEEN at a big party that included some friends. She drove herself to the party--it was at a home she'd never visited before in "east Boulder, out Baseline"--from her house in North Boulder. Since she has a reputation for getting lost when she goes anywhere unfamiliar, she first drove to meet a couple who live below Chautauqua, and she followed them to the location of the party.
She drank more than she intended but maintained to Hella that at no
The patient formerly known as Three-Wood Widow.
"This is an awful story," she said. She swept her hair back with her fingers and hooked it behind her ears. "I feel so sad for her. I saw her for an emergency appointment on Saturday night, Alan. If you had asked me who in my caseload would be least likely to make an emergency call to me, she would have been near the top of my list. She called me Saturday, late afternoon, and left me a despairing-sounding voice mail asking me to call her back as soon as I could. I was out on the Mesa Trail with friends, but I got back to her within the hour, as soon as I got back to my car.
"She said--I wrote this down--'I think I need . . . Maybe if we could meet, I think. Dr. Zoet, I've been . . . raped. Last night, I was raped.' Then she paused, Alan. A good five seconds before she added, 'I think I was raped.' "
I took a metaphorical deep breath. I said, " 'I think'? She said, 'I think'?"
"Yes. We talked for only a couple of minutes on the phone, long enough for me to be sure she was okay physically, that she had done what she needed to do to take care of herself. She said she'd driven herself to the police and that a detective had accompanied her to Community, to the hospital. She met with a rape crisis counselor there, too.
"I canceled my plans for the evening and met her at my office a few minutes before seven o'clock. I have never done that before, Alan. Met a patient for a session on a weekend night." After all my years of practice, I could still count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I had done something similar. "She said that one of the cops she talked to earlier that day--a woman detective, she said"--Hella consulted her notes--"Detective Davenport, told her at the hospital that no matter what happened during the rest of the day she should think about getting her own attorney as soon as she could. She even gave her a name."
"Really? I don't think that's routine advice for rape victims. Do you know why the detective advised that?"
"I don't. During that call, whenever I asked a question like that my patient kept saying, 'This is going to be a big deal. This is going to be a big deal. Oh my God, this is going to be such a big deal.' Like it was a mantra. I figured she was talking about the rape, but who knows? I was hoping you might be able to help me understand."
"What kind of big?" I asked.
Hella pondered my question. "Ominous? That kind of big."
I said, "Let's go back to the beginning. Tell me what happened. Let's see if we can puzzle this out."
HELLA BEGAN THE STORY BY SAYING, "She's calling what happened to her 'acquaintance rape.' I think that's important. It's one of the first things she said." She looked at her notes again. "I think I have her exact words: 'I know this man, the one who did this. He's my friend. He's not someone who--I know him.' "
I listened carefully as Hella continued to talk, trying to ascertain if she was using the acquaintance descriptor as a diminutive.
Hella, it turned out, wasn't. She was telling me only that her patient knew her rapist. Thus the word acquaintance.
She said, "The fact that she knew the guy so well is important to her. I think she was expressing shock that he could do this to her--that's why she kept repeating it. That's the only reason that I am emphasizing it with you."
"Betrayal?" I asked.
"Definitely. She doesn't remember the assault. What she was feeling at first was . . . bewilderment over the betrayal."
HELLA'S PATIENT HAD BEEN at a big party that included some friends. She drove herself to the party--it was at a home she'd never visited before in "east Boulder, out Baseline"--from her house in North Boulder. Since she has a reputation for getting lost when she goes anywhere unfamiliar, she first drove to meet a couple who live below Chautauqua, and she followed them to the location of the party.
She drank more than she intended but maintained to Hella that at no
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