My Me Too Moment at the Cancer Clinic

Content Note: This article describes sexual abuse. If you or a loved one are struggling, consider reading our mental health resources page.

Unfortunately, I never thought I would have to stand up and say "Me Too" during my cancer treatment. I have had my fair share of sexual harassment over the years. But after losing my hair and eyelashes and all the bloating from the steroids, I was caught off guard when the following happened.

It all started when at my three-month scans, my doctor commented on how my spine looked better than ever. However, on my upper thoracic scan, she could see three tumors more prominent than a centimeter in the lower part of my brain. My cancer had now spread to my brain, which would be easily treatable, but I needed a brain MRI to see what the plan would be.

Experience in the changing room

So, on June 21, 2022, I walked into the hospital a bit cranky because they had scheduled my appointment at 8:30 am. The nurse, whose name will be redacted, did not seem to be in a good mood either. However, things started getting weird almost immediately.

He brought me into the girls changing room and pulled out a gown and pants but didn't offer me a robe. The robe is vital in this area because we go into a co-ed waiting room after the changing room and then walk through the hospital to the treatment room.

I don't know about you, but I have not yet discovered the secret to tying the hospital gowns modestly. So I asked him for the robe. Which he was a little reluctant to give to me.

After changing, he was waiting outside the dressing room for me, leading me to a large room with a bed where he would access my port. Usually, this is done in a chair, but I didn't think much about it until he told me, "you can go ahead and open your gown for me now," as he closed the curtain and walked out to give me some privacy.

That sounded entirely wrong, so wrong I pointed it out, thinking that maybe it was a language barrier thing, as I had noticed an accent. I tried to laugh it off and told him he would be better off not saying that to other women.

Part of the "procedure"

He was a little annoyed by my comment but continued his procedure. He helped me untie the knot around the neck, and then he opened my gown for me, revealing more of my breast than I was comfortable with or had ever seen during port access.

When he got to the stretch marks on my breasts which start about two inches above my nipple, my reflexes jumped, and I grabbed my breast to stop the unveiling. I was not wearing a bra at the time. My hand and the thin piece of gown I had caught were the only covers my nipple had at the moment.

I mentioned feeling uncomfortable, and he told me he needed to access this area to sanitize whatever he was going to. I told him I had never actually seen a nurse need to sanitize that much of my breast before, and he blew it off. He kept pushing.

At this point, you could see about an inch of my stretch marks, about an inch up from my nipple, and 4 inches down from my ports access area. He did the swab, and then he went ahead and accessed the port.

As he did, he shoved his fingers between my hand, which was gripping my robe's thin cloth fabric, and clenched to my breast, attempting to protect my nipple with all my strength, but he got his fingers in, his rough uninvited fingers, his pinky and ring finger to be exact, and then again to prove he could. Twice he forced them under my hand. As if I was blocking something that he was entitled to. As if I was being a nuisance and getting in the way of his god-given right to feel me up. Then he opened the curtain and walked out.

Calling for help

At that point, I was utterly hysterical. I called for the nearest female staff member, who instantly went to the nurse's defense, saying that it was probably something he needed to do.

After hearing me in full panic mode, another woman came over. She said she was a manager and wanted to "help." However, it seemed as if her main goal was to find out if I would go on with the procedure that day. I am sure I was messing up the schedule quite a bit, but I needed some time.

The two techs allowed me to call my boyfriend in the waiting room but did not allow him to come in. I wanted to leave, but the problem was that I had planned a road trip with my brother the following weekend, and if I rescheduled this, I would have to cancel that. He was driving from Austin, and I would fly there and drive with him via the Painted Desert and the Grand Canyon, and I was in need of a vacation.

Not letting him take my dignity

I wasn't going to let this man take away my break and my dignity. But sitting in an MRI machine for an hour after having just been violated and now looked over by a staff that didn't believe me when I just wanted to get the "F" out of the hospital was going to be complicated.

But the life of someone with stage 4 breast cancer will never be without complications. There will be demons attacking my survival both in my body and from without, and unless I am strong enough to keep fighting every day, they will take me down.

As I walked toward the MRI machine, I looked at the two women who refused to understand and said, "I can't believe that it's women that won't help me out here." For a moment, I think I saw guilt, but who knows? When it came time for them to switch out the contrast, another woman, later identified as a head nurse, came in and showed them how the port access was supposed to be done.

I have tried my best to forget about him, but the hospital says they cannot go through with an investigation and report until I write up a first-hand account. My verbal story is not good enough. So here it is in all its glory, my re-traumatization.

I thought I would at least share it with you, women, because I know that I am not alone in having something like this happen to me, and I don't want you to give up if it does.

Editor's Note: We are extremely saddened to say that on September 6, 2023, Vicki Thompson passed away. Vicki's advocacy efforts and writing continue to reach many. She will be deeply missed.