"Wounds turn into scars, and scars make you tough." - Aisha Tyler
The final stage of the healing phase is maturation. During this phase, cells remodel and strengthen. However, a healed wound reaches only 80 percent tensile strength of an unwounded piece of skin. When a wound is too deep, a scar is left behind. We all have scars, even if we don't all wear them on our skin.
Scars remind us of where we have been, but they don't dictate where we are going.
"I'm not a hero. I know nothing about heroism, in fact," Meredith Grey said, "but I may be the luckiest woman alive." She was telling her story to the crowd of six-hundred-plus at the Joyful Heart Revolution Gala in New York City. In one hand, she clutched a copy of the book she'd written, that would be released on September 25, 2014.
"In my book, I say I've defeated death many times. I say that, if I were a cat, I would almost be out of lives," Meredith said, chuckling and the crowd laughed with her. She looked around, her eyes laid on Elena and then Derek who sat beside her, both in the front row. Next to Elena was her older brother, Eddie, who she had gone to live with in North Dakota while her father was receiving treatment.
Zola, now three, and their one-year-old son, Bailey, were spending the evening with their grandmother. Carolyn had been gracious about offering to babysit so Meredith and Derek could both attend the gala.
"Sometimes I feel like I've turned in to Death myself. Well, it was my nickname when I was younger. I was Death, and my best friend, Sadie, was Die. I never meant for my nickname to be taken literally, though," Meredith said, her tone stiffening. Her eyes fell to Mariska, who sat next to her husband. He had greeted her earlier, and she couldn't get over how tall he was.
"In reality, I'm just human. I'm not invincible, and I'm certainly not a statistic. You're not a statistic, either," Meredith continued. "I've learned that you can't trust statistics. At least, I can't trust statistics. Statistics mean squat. Sorry if I'm rambling," Meredith took a deep breath, feeling her cheeks heat up. "I ramble a lot." She giggled, like she did when she was nervous. She inhaled. "What I'm trying to say is, statistics usually don't mean anything, especially when they're out of our control. We can't control another person's actions. We can only control our own. According to statistics, 57.5 percent of sexual assaults occur in someone's house, not at hospitals. Hospitals are supposed to be safe places…" She was fighting tears. She swallowed, composing herself. "I'm a surgeon. I became a doctor to save lives, to help people survive, to help others. Okay, maybe I wanted to prove to my mother that I wasn't ordinary, that I could be someone extraordinary. Maybe that was my initial motivation, but from the moment I started my internship, I knew there was more to being a surgeon for me than proving my mother that I could be someone extraordinary. I knew that I'd become a surgeon for a much greater reason… I wanted to help people. I wanted to keep them safe." She took a deep breath.
"And that's why I'm here today, to tell you my story, because I'm not just a surgeon, I'm a survivor, and so are many of you, and together we have a lot of work to do."
The crowd cheered.
"I'll never forget the day I received the phone call, the one telling me that the police had caught my rapist. I'd given up on the possibility. So much time had passed, and I'd already received one of those calls before, so honestly, when I received the call, the first thing I thought was they'd caught the wrong person.
It was New Year's Day, 12:01 a.m., when I received the call. I was on the ferryboat with my husband watching the fireworks. We'd just unexpectedly run into his sister and my friend, Elena, who's also in the crowd today. It'd been a hell of a busy day. In fact, my husband and I had just been at the station earlier to tell the police about some new information I'd remembered, which I later questioned if was even accurate. Not only are statistics unreliable, so is memory. Memory fades over time, and we fill in the gaps. I didn't trust myself.
I didn't trust the police, either.
I had learned earlier that day when we were at the station that the police hadn't even tested my rape kit and, as you all can imagine, I was furious."
She paused, looking around the crowd, seeing that she had everyone's attention then. Flashbacks returned to her in a heap.
"Meredith, hello. This is Captain Simpson down at the station. I hate to interrupt your new year's festivities, but I believe we've caught your rapist."
She felt nothing. Nothing at all. "I've heard that before," she said.
"We'd like you to come down to the station and take a look at the guy."
"We've already established that I can't make an identification," Meredith said firmly. "I don't see why that's needed."
"We're currently processing your rape kit. We've put a rush on it, so we expect results by early tomorrow afternoon."
"You're doing that on New Year's Day? Why, I'm impressed," Meredith had sassed, met by looks from Derek and also Amelia and Elena, who had reappeared out of nowhere.
"If you're too tired to come down…"
"No, I'm coming," Meredith said, ending the call immediately.
"What's going on?" Amelia asked, looking utterly confused.
"They think they caught him," she said, knowing that held meaning for Elena and Derek, but now she would have to explain everything to Amelia. "A couple months ago, I was raped," she blurted out, feeling her cheeks warm in embarrassment, neglecting eye contact with Derek's sister as she continued, "It's how I met Elena through Twitter. I'd appreciate if you didn't tell the rest of your family."
"Oh, my God," Amelia gasped. "I-I don't know what to say." Meredith glanced at Amelia, noticing the color had drained from her face.
Later, Amelia introduced Meredith to her friends Charlotte and Violet, both who had similar experiences, and Meredith formed friendships with them. Most of their conversations were through text message, but she had gone to visit them in Los Angeles once and they had come to see her. Violet was a single mother to a little boy, and Charlotte had three daughters who were only a few months older than Bailey.
Violet was a therapist, who had given both Meredith and Derek new perspectives on life, and Charlotte was a sexologist, who had helped her and Derek in more ways than Derek would ever know. Meredith had not been able to orgasm since the attack, but Charlotte was giving her advice, which Meredith was confident would work eventually. Charlotte insisted Meredith was trying too hard, that she was too focused on the end result, which Meredith knew was true.
Her eyes fell to Violet and Charlotte, who did not know about the Joyful Heart Foundation before meeting Meredith. Meredith had convinced them both to donate, so they could be here tonight too.
Meredith refocused her attention to her story. She continued: "I always thought when I saw him, I would know it was him. And…I was right," she said. "Earlier that day, when my husband and I had gone for tacos, we saw a man who'd had a tattoo that I had convinced myself that my rapist also had. I'd convinced myself that I was wrong, that there was no such thing as that tattoo and my mind had made it up. I was right about one thing, the man at the taco shop wasn't my attacker…he was his older brother."
The crowd gasped.
"They'd both gotten stars on their wrists when they were eighteen. Supposedly the stars symbolized good luck," Meredith said. She saw eyes rolling in the crowd. Meredith rolled her own eyes. "For weeks and weeks I had desperately tried to concoct a reason for why this had happened. I concluded that surely something was wrong with my rapist. Someone has to be mentally ill or have a tumor or something to do something that awful, but then I realized…I didn't care. When they had him in custody, I didn't want to know why he had made the conscious decision to rape strangers. What I did know was, though, that he had gotten caught while trying to rape another surgeon at another hospital in Seattle. She'd managed to dial 911 one from her pocket…"
Meredith had thought, What if she had allowed Derek to take her to the station earlier like he'd wanted; they could have stopped the attack from happening. Meredith had concluded that there was a reason things had played out the way they had.
"There's a reason everything plays out the way it does," Meredith said. She took another deep breath. "When the police ran my rape kit, they discovered that my rapist had raped fifteen other women at other hospitals on the West coast, all of which had a high search engine presence, meaning their names were easily searchable online."
"Dr. Grey isn't searchable on its own, but if you search Dr. Meredith Grey on the internet, you'll find a novel in itself," she whispered into the microphone. "My life's tragedies have shaped me into who I am, and in doing so, they've also created quite the database for my name on the internet, and entirely without my consent."
"But, none of that matters. The why and the how doesn't matter. That's not why I'm here today. I'm here today, because the Joyful Heart Foundation is on a mission, and I support this mission fully. We have to get more rape kits tested. If mine had been tested sooner, a link to the other attacks would have been made much sooner than it was. No woman should have to worry about if her rape kit is even being tested. It should be a given," Meredith said. "It should be a given," she repeated firmly. The crowd cheered louder.
Her eyes met Elena's again. The police were not able to prosecute the boy who had raped Elena due to lack of evidence.
"By raising awareness about the importance of ending the backlog, we also raise awareness about the importance of rape kits in general. We start a conversation, so other survivors can have closure. We all deserve closure."
Meredith's breaths hitched as she locked eyes with her hero.
"I want to thank Mariska Hargitay for starting the Joyful Heart Foundation," Meredith said, her gaze falling on her favorite actress. Tears sparkled in Mariska's eyes. "Thank you for raising awareness, and putting forth your efforts to end the backlog. And thank you to listening to my story." Liquid spilled out of Meredith's eyes as she stepped back, and looked toward her husband and friends.
Meredith Grey knew she was not a hero, but she was a survivor, and for as long as she lived and breathed, she intended to make a difference in the world around her.
| END |
For more information on the backlog and how you can make a difference, go to endthebacklog dot org.
Author's Ending Notes: I want to take a moment to thank all of you who have stuck with me through the years. This story may be one of the most important fanfics I've ever written, and it will always mean a lot to me. I know I left a lot open, but I don't see there being a need for a sequel. I feel like I've told the story that needs to be told.
I'm not quitting fanfic quite yet. Currently, I have a couple co-writing projects in the works with Irene (CileSuns92), including the Storm trilogy which can be found on her profile. We're also working on a new MerDer fanfic outside of the Storm universe that I hope we will be able to share in the near future.
Who knows where my muse will take me next. If you like my stories, I encourage you to add me to your author alerts and/or follow me on Twitter at paisleymwrites for the latest updates from me. :)