Sigh. 
I'm sorry this is long. 

Ok. I don't usually ask for help regarding tough situations in my life.... but i am dealing with a lot of shit right now, mentally. 
A lot of this stuff is reprogramming myself to be assertive; i have to learn how to say NO to anyone (male or female) without feeling overwhelming terror. I am just now breaking severely damaging tendencies to comply out of fear or acceptance. 
I am only now learning not to apologize because my rejection is offensive.

Sooooo.....
Today, about 7 hours ago, I went to the ER at (school name).
In addition to a severe panic attack, I was feeling severe chest pain. Now I'm stubborn. Chest pain has been popping up intermittently this week but I knew the pain today was my body essentially bitch-slapping me into getting my dumbass to seek help. 

I do not want to bore you with the Bitch Pudding-level of apathy and fucking Idiocracy that was encountered; however, IT WAS ACTUALLY, LITERALLY THE HOSPITAL SCENE FROM IDIOCRACY!!! 
There is no nurse in the waiting room.... instead, theres a fucking TOUCH SCREEN TABLET WITH A SCANNER FOR YOUR ID that has LITERAL PARTS OF THE BODY IN CARTOON FORM........
We have officially become a parody of ourselves....
I digress.... 
Blah blah blah. Some bitchery followed. I get a room. 

Here's where we get to the real shit-show. 
My (male) nurse, Alex, and Dr. TWATWAFFLE, MD, FU... enter the scene. I had met them both about a year ago when dealing with kidney stones. 
Doc doesnt remember me. Tells me I'm probably wrong about what i believe to be occuring in my own body, despite my intimate knowledge from multiple genetic tests done on my family. 
She leaves. Sends Alex in to administer injections.
Alex remembers me, and makes that very obvious...
He makes sure to tell me his name THREE times. 
Odd, but not criminal; however, it starts to feel wrong. 

Next, he reaches out and grabs a generous portion of my hip and cheek and says:

"I'm just gonna go right here with these shots, so you can just pull your skirt down." 

                 FLASHBACK TO ONE YEAR AGO:
He wouldn't even stay in the room without Dr Waffle or another female nurse in it. 
So today, he made extra sure that the curtain covered every inch of the glass doorway. Strange, cause Im not even in a gown... 

Me, in pain &amp; ready to gtfo already:

"It's actually a dress; I'll have to pull it up."

He kinda hesitates...I imagine he thought I was gonna demand a lady in the room.  
But I'm ready to get home to my kids, i have no shame, and possess naive ideas about respect from a professional... so i hike my dress up to my hip.
Of course, I am sans my undergarments (don't judge me) but I'm not exposed either. 

Eyes closed, face is turned when I hear:

"So do you prefer it to go in slow." EVIDENT PAUSE. "Or do you like it fast?" PAUSE "The injections?"
I'm fucking trying my hardest not to overthink this. 
Even *IF* I file a complaint, everything he said was relative to the act of injecting the meds. 
And now I'm on the edge of that guilt that years of gas-lighting has left me with. 
I told my mom and she just kind of blew me off. Said it was flattering.

PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME THAT MY EXPERIENCE AND REACTION ARE VALID AND SANE!



