The quote above is from Mhairi Black, the post below, which contains content that some might find upsetting, is a thread by @shelley1755, republished here with her permission.

Something happened to me. Maybe. That I want to share. Because it constantly bothers me and has affected my life.

I was once in a coma from pneumonia. When I’d woken, I was weak, unable to walk, lift my arms properly, nil by mouth, fed by a tube, could not speak, stuck in bed.

During the night I started to recognise one of the auxiliaries who would tend to me. When you are that poorly you usually get one that is committed to just one patient. He could have been a nurse, but I’m sure he was wearing green.

Like I said, it was night, usually dark on the ward. At first, he’d bring syringes with either a chocolate or orangey tasting treat. He’d feed me a little at a time. A treat for going through a bad time he’d say. Which, thinking about later, must have really endangered me… and even though I’d had already been cleaned… down there, he also started cleaning me.

If you’ve ever been in this position it’s pretty traumatic, whoever’s doing it. Goodbye, dignity & independence. I really started to dislike it and I’d start crying and fussing. Refusing to bend my legs or open them. He’d tell me I could have my treat once it was done, but I started rejecting that. Turning my head away.

One night, he cleaned me three or four times. I was an utter mess. I couldn’t ask anyone what was going on, or if this was normal and I was panicking. The next day I signed that I wanted a pen. I wrote to the nurse about this man cleaning me. She said if I’d made a mess he was supposed to clean me. Considering I was on a catheter I doubted it. So I wrote in caps “4 X’s ????”

She glanced to another nurse. I won’t forget that look. Everything about that time is hazy except that look. It was the look of something wasn’t right. I started getting upset, couldn’t breathe. One nurse stayed to calm me while the other left.

Again it jumps. It was decided that due to my strong medication I must have imagined it. I was so confused, I have these memories, such strong memories of him over me, feeding me, me lying on the bed trying to fight him from washing me again, but it wasn’t real. I didn’t see him again after that. But a few odd things happened.

When I was being cleaned & my catheter emptied one auxiliary who I’d see chatting to him in the past would come over & do things. Like dip my breathing tube into my urine while smirking at me. A nurse asked her to take over wiping me & suddenly it stung! Like something acidic wiping me down there. I’d start bucking & crying again. She shrugged at the nurse when she came running back. They insisted I’d dreamt it all, they convinced my partner I dreamt it all. And maybe I did.

I’m not a stranger to rape or sexual molestation. I have had issues around men and my choice would be to be dealt with a woman. I didn’t have a choice when I’d woken from my coma and to be honest it was not in my head at all to ever ask.

But this is the thing, even if I had dreamt the whole thing it would have been best for me to have been dealt with by a female. The drugs are SO strong that I would think they would do whatever might make the patient more at ease. Then if I had dreamt a male nurse molesting me at a time I was utterly helpless we would all know it wasn’t true and we could all move on.

Of course, I didn’t just take their word on it. When I was home and well, I joined a Facebook group of people who had been on the same ward, having the same treatment as me. From the ones I asked, nothing untoward happened to them. So I tried to shrug it off.

It had affected me hugely. So much I decided I wanted to work in a hospital, at nights. I started my nursing degree. But quickly became ill again due to complications from my last surgery. Had to quit a year in. Been in and out of hospitals since. I panic with male nurses, auxiliaries etc, I can’t help it. And despite a transwoman demanding to be seen as a woman, my mind, my eyes, my body will not respond accordingly to their demands. I cannot do it. I just can’t. I hope I’ve gotten my point across well. My language is another lost art, along with drawing (nerve damage).

I hold no ill will towards the hospital, how can I if it was a dream? No matter how realistic it was.

Some women have no choice but to care about what is between someone’s legs.

They are not “part of the problem”.