One star is too generous for this place.
Early last November I was drugged at a bar. I woke up at this hospital a few hours later.
There are a lot of things I remember about that night- and a lot of things I don't.
There are moments- collapsing on the bathroom floor, my best friend screaming at me not to do this, to please get up. Cold and concrete. Her voice in the ambulance. Not being able to speak or open my eyes but trying desperately to move my fingers when they asked her my address.
But I remember the hospital vividly.
I remember waking up to bright lights on a gurney in the hallway. I remember nurses and hospital gowns and monitors. I remember my friend shaking me awake telling me to demand a drug test as they pushed my only support out into the waiting room.
I remember being confused, then mortified, then violated. I started screaming for a drug test. I want a drug test. I need a drug test. Give me the drug test.
They told me I was just drunk. They told me I couldn't handle myself. They told me I was irresponsible and an alcoholic and to seek help. They told me they don't do drug tests.
At the hospital.
They acted like they knew my body and myself better than me. They saw a passed out girl and deemed me the irresponsible one and refused to listen as I begged, my friend begged, and my parents who were halfway across the country begged for me to take a drug test.
Instead of listening, they force fed me crackers and ginger ale and I nearly vomited. I cried and they lectured me about my drinking problem.
I was numb in the cab home, barefoot, wearing a hospital gift shop sweatshirt with my phone, my purse, and my keys in a plastic bag, ruined by vomit. I collapsed as soon as I was inside- a sobbing, screaming disaster clutching my dog as I lost my mind on my apartment floor.
I won't describe everything that followed but I found a lab that was able to run tests on my hair confirming what I already knew.
I'd been drugged. Someone had slipped me muscle relaxants. And instead of this hospital helping me they blamed me, they shamed me, and they traumatized me.
The events of that night did irreparable damage. But beyond the initial trauma done to my body lies the secondary but no less devastating trauma of reaching out for help and not being believed. Of being told by an institution that I should be able to trust that not only did they not believe me but that it was my fault.
This is a university hospital. The amount of students who over-indulge must be high- I wonder how many of them are treated with as much disdain even if the underlying cause is something else entirely.
If you care about yourself, if you care about your friends, if you care about your family- go somewhere else. Because this hospital does not care about you.