It wasn't THAT bad. That's what I told myself then and what I even feel like I have to start this story with now. And it wasn't, I've heard FAR worse from friends, colleagues, seeing the actual reports, and in the news. But I have to admit to myself that it continues to affect my life more than I care for it to, and I wish I said something when it happened.
--
In November 2011, I had recently been promoted to SGT, I was in the best shape of my post-baby life, and I had just moved to a new unit in the same building as my beloved first one. I was still a medic, but with a smaller group that did way cooler stuff and was more tight knit than my hospital unit could be. I loved it, and I was psyched to be assigned as the medic for two weeks at the Warrior Leader Course in Ft. McCoy, WI.
I went along w Specialist Quam from my unit, a much younger guy who was kind of goofy adorable innocent and a good enough friend that we could hang out, but I didn't feel obligated to spend all of the time w him. He and I were assigned as medics to the clinic run by SFC Krause. For my non-military friends, the SFC was two ranks and a lot of experience higher than me. He was a full-time medic contrasting to my one weekend a month, two weeks a year commitment, he was close to retirement, and he was the embodiment of "his reputation precedes him" in that I had been told by many respected NCOs about his combat experience, his depth of knowledge, and how well-connected he was in the Reserve world.
When we met him, he was playing computer games in the medic office and had a cool nonchalant attitude, and the face and demeanor of Jeffrey Tambor circa Arrested Development. He showed us around, told us what was where, and we were ready to go when the students would get there in a day or two. I was feeling good about the weeks to come.
As we got accustomed to the clinic, he did small things like pull me aside to show me the best blister technique or let me handle a sick call case on my own, complimenting my skills and competence; so far, so good. The first red flag was after he texted me. We both gave him our numbers for contact emergencies, but he sent only me a text and said he had more he could show me after hours if I wanted to swing by the clinic later that night. He said he'd be there until 10, come anytime as long as the light was on. I said I was busy and got a weird feeling in my gut about it, but ignored it as being paranoid.
His training with me kept getting a little closer, standing behind me to guide my hands on a technique or leaning in a little too close to give me advice, and he definitely didn't do any of that w my younger male counterpart who was doing the same jobs I was. In fact, he would find random errands to send Quam away, and take the time alone to talk to me about more personal life stuff - his sex-starved marriage or his super heroic and impressive medical achievements. I was sure to mention my husband as often as possible, how he was in Iraq around the same time, how he was a medic, too, but those comments fell on deaf ears. I never said don't, I never said stop, I felt paralyzed from what I always thought I'd do in this situation which would be to tell him to his face that he's creeping me out.
It got worse when we went to the field. Trainees would be staying out in field barracks, so we had a medic trailer just for the three of us and sick call. We did odd jobs around the huts while trainees were out, and like before, SFC Krause sent my counterpart out and would find things for us to do together. On one run back into town, when we needed things at the PX, I made a dumb joke and he laughed and grabbed my knee. Weird, but again, not a BIG deal. At the PX, he bought alcohol while I definitely did not. When I noticed it in his cart, he said "for later, when the trailer gets cold" and winked. Again, weird, but not the worst thing ever, so I smiled in reply.
He'd use those later to spike Gatorade that he offered me and to "warm up" and only invite me and, again, not "the young Specialist" as he called him. One especially boring afternoon, he sent Quam on another chore and asked me to help him clean the clinic trailer. I took small and fake sips of another spiked drink he handed me. As I was organizing a supply table, he came up and said my hair was out of place. He gently pushed aside strands on my face and wiped something off my cheek while I sat there frozen. He said I smelled nice and leaned in toward my neck to ask what kind of perfume I had on. "Just the field, nothing at all," I replied, KNOWING I didn't smell like perfume, this was a tactic to get close. He kept eye contact, clearly waiting for me to accept or somehow reciprocate what he was doing, but instead I stood up and moved away too quickly. I said something referencing my husband again and he rolled his eyes. I felt like an animal in a trap. He was between me and the door. All of my senses were screaming that there were bad intentions. But again, I was scared and told myself I was making it up in my head. I finally said I needed a smoke and I left.
I spent the rest of the afternoon finding odd jobs to do away far away from the clinic trailer. I don't remember what except that I definitely remember getting to an empty barracks, putting Amy Winehouse on my iPod, and crying. I didn't know why I was crying, but hearing Back to Black still gives me a pit in my stomach.
When I saw Quam again, I asked him to stay close and not leave me alone anymore. He seemed genuinely confused, but agreed, and did his best after that. I found a reason to go back to town alone and I called one of my Battles and cried. I said I didn't know why I was crying, I just felt gross and wrong and on alert and tense. NOTHING ACTUALLY HAPPENED but I didn't know what to do. She said to call an older, wiser friend, but I chickened out and just figured I'd handle it.
Back at the clinic, SFC Krause apparently got the hint and he turned COLD. Like, wouldn't let me work, wouldn't share information, wouldn't talk to me and instead addressed Quam on plans for the rest of the week. He would tell me to leave early and gave me a whole day off. This wasn't better. I came to do medic stuff and now I was being stonewalled from the clinic. I should have felt relief that his attention was off of me, but instead I felt regret that MAYBE if I had just kept leading him on or even gave in a little, I could be doing way cooler stuff. How fucked up is that?
Toward the end of our time, my female leadership came to visit and we all went to lunch. I was dead set on telling her what happened and getting her advice, but she was so happy to see him. They were old friends and he was at an appropriate level of funny and charming when she was there. Who was I to shatter that or to try to take down the career of this beloved Iraq vet? So I got even quieter within myself. I finished the mission doing less and avoiding it all.
--
Yup, that's it. No attack, no violence; I never said no, I even joked and drank w him in the middle of it, how was he to know how awful it felt. I don't think he'd even remember my name if I confronted him now a decade later. So that makes the fallout from all of that nothingness even more strange and frustrating.
I came home and didn't tell my husband about it because our marriage was already rocky and he already assumed "all Army girls are sluts" because of his personal experience in Iraq. I had been accused of cheating on him w other soldiers (I hadn't), so I assumed this story was turn on me being a slut. That amplified a tension that had been there, but now where I had one-sided information where I needed a person more than ever to help me resolve it.
I started drinking too much. Two months later, December 2011, on a different military trip for medic retraining to Milwaukee, I got Wisconsin-wasted and told a different SGT acquaintance about it and cried at the Cheesecake Factory. He got me back to our hotel and told me to shower and go to bed. I fell in the shower and chipped my front tooth and bit through my lower lip. I went next door to his room and asked him (a fellow medic) to help me clean it up and see if I could avoid stitches. He helped and fixed it while I kept crying. I avoided the stitches, but had to explain a fat lip and pay for a fake tooth in the week after I came back home.
I started regaining weight. I had lost 60+ lbs in 2010 to get my SGT promotion and maintained within regulation for over a year. But after this, I told myself that this never would have happened if I were still invisibly overweight. Guys didn't hit on me or spike my drinks when I weighed 190. I blamed being thin and cute for the whole thing and committed to getting back to fat and ignorable. And within a year, I weighed over 200lbs.
I left the military. One year and two months after, as I was up for reenlistment, I opted out. I have regretted that every day since. The decision wasn't just based on the SFC, but also on my failing marriage, my struggling kids, and because I wasn't passing weight or physical fitness anymore (hard to do at 200+ lbs). I had more reasons to go than to stay, so I did. He wasn't the only reason, but he was a factor.
--
I eventually told my husband, but only after our divorce. He asked me when we started really going downhill and I pinpointed my inability to trust him when I needed him most. He apologized that he made me feel that way. I still consider myself a situational alcoholic, and have been at or beyond that drunk after other emotionally tumultuous points in my life, the last one being losing the election. I stopped drinking for nearly a year after that, but that's a blog for a different time. I still struggle with my weight, if I get about 10 lbs less than my comfortable obesity, when people start complimenting me or telling me I look good, I panic and put it back on. I wish I could have all the health benefits of a normal BMI, but with the ability to stay a fat wallflower to predatory men. My current goal is to lose the weight when I'm older and age can be the wallflower that keeps me hidden. I miss the military and I've missed out on money and opportunities getting out after 10 years. This year would have been 16 if I stayed, I could retire in 4 more.
I have no idea where the SFC is. I assume he retired and lives a comfortable life somewhere. I heard later from another girl who went on the same medical mission that he was a creep to her, but she was someone who was born pretty, who was used to guys hitting on her. She was annoyed, not scarred like me. Hearing her testimony just made me feel like it was even more my own fault and I committed to never saying anything. I don't need revenge, there is no case to be had here, I just know writing helps, and I hope this writing can remove the pit I get from Amy Winehouse and let me lose weight and just be confident again.
--
In November 2011, I had recently been promoted to SGT, I was in the best shape of my post-baby life, and I had just moved to a new unit in the same building as my beloved first one. I was still a medic, but with a smaller group that did way cooler stuff and was more tight knit than my hospital unit could be. I loved it, and I was psyched to be assigned as the medic for two weeks at the Warrior Leader Course in Ft. McCoy, WI.
I went along w Specialist Quam from my unit, a much younger guy who was kind of goofy adorable innocent and a good enough friend that we could hang out, but I didn't feel obligated to spend all of the time w him. He and I were assigned as medics to the clinic run by SFC Krause. For my non-military friends, the SFC was two ranks and a lot of experience higher than me. He was a full-time medic contrasting to my one weekend a month, two weeks a year commitment, he was close to retirement, and he was the embodiment of "his reputation precedes him" in that I had been told by many respected NCOs about his combat experience, his depth of knowledge, and how well-connected he was in the Reserve world.
When we met him, he was playing computer games in the medic office and had a cool nonchalant attitude, and the face and demeanor of Jeffrey Tambor circa Arrested Development. He showed us around, told us what was where, and we were ready to go when the students would get there in a day or two. I was feeling good about the weeks to come.As we got accustomed to the clinic, he did small things like pull me aside to show me the best blister technique or let me handle a sick call case on my own, complimenting my skills and competence; so far, so good. The first red flag was after he texted me. We both gave him our numbers for contact emergencies, but he sent only me a text and said he had more he could show me after hours if I wanted to swing by the clinic later that night. He said he'd be there until 10, come anytime as long as the light was on. I said I was busy and got a weird feeling in my gut about it, but ignored it as being paranoid.
His training with me kept getting a little closer, standing behind me to guide my hands on a technique or leaning in a little too close to give me advice, and he definitely didn't do any of that w my younger male counterpart who was doing the same jobs I was. In fact, he would find random errands to send Quam away, and take the time alone to talk to me about more personal life stuff - his sex-starved marriage or his super heroic and impressive medical achievements. I was sure to mention my husband as often as possible, how he was in Iraq around the same time, how he was a medic, too, but those comments fell on deaf ears. I never said don't, I never said stop, I felt paralyzed from what I always thought I'd do in this situation which would be to tell him to his face that he's creeping me out.
It got worse when we went to the field. Trainees would be staying out in field barracks, so we had a medic trailer just for the three of us and sick call. We did odd jobs around the huts while trainees were out, and like before, SFC Krause sent my counterpart out and would find things for us to do together. On one run back into town, when we needed things at the PX, I made a dumb joke and he laughed and grabbed my knee. Weird, but again, not a BIG deal. At the PX, he bought alcohol while I definitely did not. When I noticed it in his cart, he said "for later, when the trailer gets cold" and winked. Again, weird, but not the worst thing ever, so I smiled in reply.
He'd use those later to spike Gatorade that he offered me and to "warm up" and only invite me and, again, not "the young Specialist" as he called him. One especially boring afternoon, he sent Quam on another chore and asked me to help him clean the clinic trailer. I took small and fake sips of another spiked drink he handed me. As I was organizing a supply table, he came up and said my hair was out of place. He gently pushed aside strands on my face and wiped something off my cheek while I sat there frozen. He said I smelled nice and leaned in toward my neck to ask what kind of perfume I had on. "Just the field, nothing at all," I replied, KNOWING I didn't smell like perfume, this was a tactic to get close. He kept eye contact, clearly waiting for me to accept or somehow reciprocate what he was doing, but instead I stood up and moved away too quickly. I said something referencing my husband again and he rolled his eyes. I felt like an animal in a trap. He was between me and the door. All of my senses were screaming that there were bad intentions. But again, I was scared and told myself I was making it up in my head. I finally said I needed a smoke and I left.I spent the rest of the afternoon finding odd jobs to do away far away from the clinic trailer. I don't remember what except that I definitely remember getting to an empty barracks, putting Amy Winehouse on my iPod, and crying. I didn't know why I was crying, but hearing Back to Black still gives me a pit in my stomach.
When I saw Quam again, I asked him to stay close and not leave me alone anymore. He seemed genuinely confused, but agreed, and did his best after that. I found a reason to go back to town alone and I called one of my Battles and cried. I said I didn't know why I was crying, I just felt gross and wrong and on alert and tense. NOTHING ACTUALLY HAPPENED but I didn't know what to do. She said to call an older, wiser friend, but I chickened out and just figured I'd handle it.
Back at the clinic, SFC Krause apparently got the hint and he turned COLD. Like, wouldn't let me work, wouldn't share information, wouldn't talk to me and instead addressed Quam on plans for the rest of the week. He would tell me to leave early and gave me a whole day off. This wasn't better. I came to do medic stuff and now I was being stonewalled from the clinic. I should have felt relief that his attention was off of me, but instead I felt regret that MAYBE if I had just kept leading him on or even gave in a little, I could be doing way cooler stuff. How fucked up is that?
Toward the end of our time, my female leadership came to visit and we all went to lunch. I was dead set on telling her what happened and getting her advice, but she was so happy to see him. They were old friends and he was at an appropriate level of funny and charming when she was there. Who was I to shatter that or to try to take down the career of this beloved Iraq vet? So I got even quieter within myself. I finished the mission doing less and avoiding it all.
--
Yup, that's it. No attack, no violence; I never said no, I even joked and drank w him in the middle of it, how was he to know how awful it felt. I don't think he'd even remember my name if I confronted him now a decade later. So that makes the fallout from all of that nothingness even more strange and frustrating.
I came home and didn't tell my husband about it because our marriage was already rocky and he already assumed "all Army girls are sluts" because of his personal experience in Iraq. I had been accused of cheating on him w other soldiers (I hadn't), so I assumed this story was turn on me being a slut. That amplified a tension that had been there, but now where I had one-sided information where I needed a person more than ever to help me resolve it.
I started drinking too much. Two months later, December 2011, on a different military trip for medic retraining to Milwaukee, I got Wisconsin-wasted and told a different SGT acquaintance about it and cried at the Cheesecake Factory. He got me back to our hotel and told me to shower and go to bed. I fell in the shower and chipped my front tooth and bit through my lower lip. I went next door to his room and asked him (a fellow medic) to help me clean it up and see if I could avoid stitches. He helped and fixed it while I kept crying. I avoided the stitches, but had to explain a fat lip and pay for a fake tooth in the week after I came back home.I started regaining weight. I had lost 60+ lbs in 2010 to get my SGT promotion and maintained within regulation for over a year. But after this, I told myself that this never would have happened if I were still invisibly overweight. Guys didn't hit on me or spike my drinks when I weighed 190. I blamed being thin and cute for the whole thing and committed to getting back to fat and ignorable. And within a year, I weighed over 200lbs.
I left the military. One year and two months after, as I was up for reenlistment, I opted out. I have regretted that every day since. The decision wasn't just based on the SFC, but also on my failing marriage, my struggling kids, and because I wasn't passing weight or physical fitness anymore (hard to do at 200+ lbs). I had more reasons to go than to stay, so I did. He wasn't the only reason, but he was a factor.
--
I eventually told my husband, but only after our divorce. He asked me when we started really going downhill and I pinpointed my inability to trust him when I needed him most. He apologized that he made me feel that way. I still consider myself a situational alcoholic, and have been at or beyond that drunk after other emotionally tumultuous points in my life, the last one being losing the election. I stopped drinking for nearly a year after that, but that's a blog for a different time. I still struggle with my weight, if I get about 10 lbs less than my comfortable obesity, when people start complimenting me or telling me I look good, I panic and put it back on. I wish I could have all the health benefits of a normal BMI, but with the ability to stay a fat wallflower to predatory men. My current goal is to lose the weight when I'm older and age can be the wallflower that keeps me hidden. I miss the military and I've missed out on money and opportunities getting out after 10 years. This year would have been 16 if I stayed, I could retire in 4 more.
I have no idea where the SFC is. I assume he retired and lives a comfortable life somewhere. I heard later from another girl who went on the same medical mission that he was a creep to her, but she was someone who was born pretty, who was used to guys hitting on her. She was annoyed, not scarred like me. Hearing her testimony just made me feel like it was even more my own fault and I committed to never saying anything. I don't need revenge, there is no case to be had here, I just know writing helps, and I hope this writing can remove the pit I get from Amy Winehouse and let me lose weight and just be confident again.
Comments
Post a Comment