As I entered the local police station, I remember thinking my career is over. Three days before, the GP had given me the news I had feared. I had been drugged with benzodiazepines. In shock, I sat in her office not knowing what to say. I felt something inside of me die.

On the 1 November 2013, I was driving home from work when ‘Prof’ called me on my mobile phone. He had never rung me on my phone before, but he said he wanted to discuss some emails he had sent. When I opened my email inbox later in the evening, I found an email from him wanting to discuss my transition from a registrar role to a fellow position. He wanted to discuss starting a mentoring programme at the department over dinner at his house. Assuming that his wife would also be there, I thanked him for the opportunity and accepted the invitation.

On 22 November, I went to this man’s apartment. He told me his wife was away as I walked into the entrance of the apartment block. I hesitated for a moment, but it felt too late to back out. Ever since I first met him, he had been a ‘handsy’ sort of a man, often openly talking about the importance of human touch for building rapport. When I started working at St George Hospital in Sydney at the beginning of the previous year, I even asked one of the other registrars why he touches all the women. I was told ‘That’s just him. He’s harmless.’

Once in the apartment, he guided me to the balcony, touching both of my shoulders, saying he would like to take me for a stroll to the park after the dinner and that I could stay the night if I wanted to. Thinking this was a strange suggestion, I told him I had to go home to my dog. He gave me a glass of champagne, and because I was driving, I only had half a glass. During the dinner, he poured me a glass of red wine that had been sitting in a decanter. He proudly stated that it was an 800-dollar bottle of wine. I avoid red wine usually, as it gives me terrible headaches, but in this setting I felt I could not refuse so took a few sips during the meal. ‘Who drinks such expensive wine?’ I thought. During the dinner, he talked about creating a Fellow position for me.

From here onwards, my memory is sketchy. I have a vague memory of going for a walk, feeling dizzy and having to sit down on a bench a couple of times. I wondered why I felt so drowsy when I only had a few sips of wine. The next thing I remember is sitting on a couch and eating some dessert. He told me to lie down so he can teach me a relaxation technique. He took my boots off and started rubbing my scalp. I felt frozen in my own body and could not protest.

I woke up in the guest room, face down on the bed. I felt disorientated and drowsy, and this man was taking my clothes off. In shock, I laid there confused while he was massaging my bare back. He turned me over and started kissing me and touching me in ways I cannot describe here. I managed to push him off and get out. Once I was in my car, I realised I had double vision and somehow managed to drive home on autopilot mode.

In the morning, a friend came over after I made a distressed call to her. She found me in a drowsy state and took me to a local GP practice. My friend insisted that the GP order a toxicology test, and a few days later, I received the report that the test contained benzodiazepine metabolites. I could not believe the man I considered a mentor had drugged and assaulted me. He watched me drive off in the drugged state. Was he hoping I would have a crash, die, and disappear?

The criminal intent was so clear that I felt I had no choice but to make a report to the police. The night before I made this decision, I cried myself to sleep thinking my career would be over. I would have no choice but to leave my specialty.

The court process was painfully long. The perpetrator was charged with ‘administering intoxicating substance with intent to commit indictable offence’ and ‘indecent assault’. Days before the court date in October 2015, the perpetrator pleaded guilty to both charges, and eventually in August 2016, he was sentenced to a minimum of two years and three months in jail. In March 2017, the sentence was slashed by eighteen months in the Court of Criminal Appeal, after judges considered his contribution to the medical field and his depression. One of the judges said that the original sentence was invalid because the trial judge did not determine the ‘objective seriousness’ of the intent. What a way to kick the victim in the gut. Was the judge suggesting that this man was a puppet of a demon that night? The message was loud and clear. Why should such an accomplished man be punished for a mere mistake? This line of judgment crushes victims who are already frightened to come forward. Sexual violence is not as serious as you think. Please just get on and live your life.

Years have passed since the assault. Countless times, psychologists, friends, and family told me it wasn’t my fault, but my brain has refused to register my innocence. People said that he had picked the wrong victim, but what drove me crazy was that he did choose me. I didn’t have a choice in the matter, or did I? Something I did or how I appeared must have allowed him to think that I would be an easy target. My mind has replayed the events of that night in never-ending loops for years. Why did I think his wife would be there? Why didn’t I leave when I realised I was going to be alone with him? Why was I so stupid?

The most devastating consequence of sexual violence or assault is the psychological wound that refuses to heal. The knife remains stuck in the heart. You are haemorrhaging, but there is no blood to see.

The act of sexual violence taught me some painful lessons that I am still trying to unlearn six years later. Do not stand out. If I do, I will become a target. It’s best to stay quiet and unnoticed. People probably don’t see me as someone worth respecting. With these thoughts screaming inside the head, my sense of self-worth plummeted to the basement and left me doubting my every move and everyone around me. How can a high-functioning doctor carry on when the mind is so crippled?

The psychological damage of sexual assault is why victims do not file reports. It is why they pull out and give up during court proceedings. Victims feel that they have no option but to change their career path and remove themselves from working with the perpetrator because of the shame the assault brings. ‘What was she wearing?’ ‘She wanted to advance her career, and now she’s destroying his career.’ ‘She knew what she was getting herself into.’

My perpetrator wrote a letter of apology to me suggesting that the work stress and burnout led to the assault. Until days before the trial, he did not plead guilty. It took just under three years for the court process to come to an end. It is fascinating that a senior doctor who uses his social standing to commit a crime can also use his job as an excuse for committing that crime. The prosecutors shook their heads, saying that had it been a law professor or a judge, the justice system would set an example by sentencing a harsher punishment because of the abuse of power.

Instead, the court allowed submission of a thick folder containing character references and expensive psychiatry reports for appropriate sentencing. Flicking through the folder, I could not help but wonder why this system even exists. Why should this man’s contribution to the medical or the local community influence the sentencing of a crime? He had already pleaded guilty. Using his life achievements to reduce the punishment made no sense. Would the situation be different if I was also a professor? Am I being punished for being young? This strange practice certainly makes victims feel unworthy. The system makes the victims convinced they would never win. The hierarchical structure of medical communities makes junior doctors feel like they have less of a human value than their senior colleagues. Seniority and experience have nothing to do with human worth, yet we see this in practice every day.

I will never forget the day I went back to see the GP who initially saw me the day after the assault. She nervously asked me what I was going to do with the positive drug test result. ‘If he apologises and says he won’t do it again, would that be enough?’ I stared at her blankly, not knowing how to respond. I could not believe what I was hearing. She looked more uncomfortable being around me than I felt sitting in that office.

After the sentencing, I contacted Louise upon hearing about her research under the topic ‘Sexual abuse of doctors by doctors’. I wanted to do whatever I could so that GPs can handle the situation better next time a doctor walks into consultation after an assault. I applaud her in-depth work highlighting how to improve the care of sexual abuse victims in the medical community and shining a giant spotlight on this critical issue.

To the creators of this book, I am thankful beyond words that you chose to see and address the pain of so many women and men like me living with a shadow over their heads every day. The prevalence of sexual abuse in our world brings me profound sadness, but I am encouraged and hopeful for a brighter future as I share the compassion and the hearts behind this project.

To the readers who are victims of sexual abuse, I pray for a day your silent suffering will come to an end. For many years after the assault, I have struggled to live with insomnia. Last year, I had a dream where a patient came up to me and started stabbing me multiple times in my chest. Laying on the floor of the hospital corridor, with blood pulsing out of my body, I had only one thought in my mind: ‘If I survive this and can still come back to work to help some people, that would be enough.’ I woke up and sobbed, realising even though I have no physical wounds, this is what happened to me. I blamed myself for not being able to pick up the pieces and get on with life. To stay alive and carry on consumed any energy I had. I am pleased to share that I am finally starting to feel okay after many years of being locked in a dark place. I hope you will hang in there too and know that you are amazing for not giving up.

With love

Dominique