CONTENT WARNING: Childhood Trauma

I grew up in a pretty unsafe household. I had no peace at school, either, because one of my parents worked at said school and could have any teacher’s job if they wanted to, so while some teachers tried to help me, they could only do so much. This is the story of the first time I ever felt truly safe. The dialogue may not be completely accurate because this happened about ten years ago, but I’ve preserved the meaning of the words, at least.

We went to a rollercoaster theme park for our senior trip before graduation. The park had a dedicated night for this, and all kinds of high schools from near and far had come to this park for this one epic night.

Thankfully, neither of my parents chaperoned, but a few of their minions unfortunately did. One of those chaperones forced me to eat more than I felt comfortable with, and I ended up throwing up in a park trash can. To cover her butt, [Chaperone] scolded ME for “not telling her I’d eaten so much.” None of the other chaperones said anything, even though they were witnesses and knew that this was a total lie.

So, to continue the “of course, I’m very concerned” act, [Chaperone] decided to force the group I was with to go with her while she dragged me to the first aid place at the park. She got us there and insisted I be seen. Little did I know that her stunt was going to end so very well for me!

The on-site doctor (or nurse, or PA — I never did learn for sure) took one look at me and realized something was up by how frazzled and upset I looked. My group had held me upright so I could get there in the first place with the world spinning around me, which probably didn’t help.

Doctor: “Let me take a look at her. Can you sit right here please, miss?” *Motions to a gurney*

I yanked my way out of everyone’s arms, focused very hard on walking straight so I wouldn’t annoy anyone, and sat down, ready to get scolded by the doctor, as well. But… the scolding never happened. He asked a few gentle questions in a soft voice (much appreciated with how much my head hurt) about what had transpired, tried to get specifics out of me that I wasn’t going to provide because the chaperone was staring me down, and proceeded with a quick exam. He presumably knew I was fine after that, but I was anxious so my heart rate was probably up. He looked up at [Chaperone].

Doctor: “I think she needs a bit of a rest. Could you please go wait out in the waiting area?”

Chaperone: “Okay, fine.” *Huffs and leaves*

A few of my group mates, people who were actually friends, stayed behind without the chaperone noticing. They were clearly concerned, and he probably would have been content to let them stay, but eventually, the doctor helped me shoo them out, too, because I wasn’t resting. I was trying to get them to leave me alone and go enjoy the park so I didn’t impose on their night out. (I later found out that one of the girls stayed out in the waiting room anyway — WITH the chaperone. I hadn’t realized how much she cared about me before that night, and we stayed in touch after graduation.) Before the doctor shooed them out, though, he did get the whole story out of them, because I was too afraid to tell, and he convinced me to drink some water with the help of some peer pressure.

Once everyone left, I gave in to how dizzy and generally crappy I felt. I flopped down on the gurney; I’d been propped up on my elbow. There was no one in this area except the two of us and some security cameras. And this human embodiment of protection and compassion pulled up a chair and sat down right next to my gurney, watching the door.

Doctor: “It’s okay; no one’s here now. Get some rest.”

Me: “But I should get going soon; I’ve already taken up a lot of your time. I’m so sorry—”

Doctor: *Cutting me off* “No, no, no, absolutely not. You have no deadline. You leave when you feel better, not when you feel like you ‘should’ leave. There is no one here. It’s been a slow night. There is no reason to be sorry. If anything, you’re giving me something to do during a boring shift.”

Me: “If you’re sure…”

Doctor: “I’m completely sure. I don’t mind if you want to sleep all night here. I’ll be here and keep an eye on you. It’s safe here.”

We actually had the above conversation a few times after this, but it was the same conversation and this is long enough already. I finally closed my eyes and relaxed. But after a few minutes, I heard movement. Someone was coming in! I popped into an upright seated position out of pure instinct.

The intruder was [Chaperone], this time with an irritated, impatient expression. But there was… a white coat partially obscuring the view? I’d never had anyone put themselves between me and someone else to protect me until that point in my life, so it took me a moment to realize that he’d sprung up as fast as I had and put himself between me and this power-tripping chaperone. He had been watching the door so I didn’t have to!

Doctor: *Practically roaring* “GET OUT! Go wait in the waiting room! She needs to rest!”

The chaperone was not expecting this, and she backed out of the room quickly, the doctor staring her down the whole time. Once the door had closed and she’d taken a few audible steps away, he turned to me as he sat down again.

Doctor: “I’m sorry you had to see that, but you’re safe here. Do you think you can lie down and try to relax a bit?”

I just sort of nodded and flopped back down, completely unable to process what I’d just seen. I closed my eyes but couldn’t sleep. Strangely, however, I was more relaxed than I’d ever been before. If I started to tense up, all I had to do was pop an eye open and see the doctor watching the door to feel safe enough to relax and close my eyes again. I’d never had anyone look out for me like that, and had I felt well enough, I probably would have been anxious about it, but I was so worn out after a little while that I was just grateful, contentedly basking in the joy of being permitted such an unprecedented respite.

About an hour after I was first dragged in, I felt well enough to get nervous about taking up too much time (in spite of the fact that literally no one else came for first aid the whole time I was there) and insisted that I was feeling well enough to leave. As I left, the doctor wished me well and told me to take care of myself and to not hesitate to come back if I needed it. He also stared daggers at the chaperone as we waited for my group to come get me so I could continue on with them.

About a week later, I finally got a little bit of time alone with my parents out of the house. I sobbed for about an hour. It meant so much. The time I spent with that doctor was the highlight of the whole trip.

If you’re reading this, kind park doctor, thank you for taking the time to show a scared and traumatized teenage girl that she’s worth standing up for and that not everyone who wants to help is subject to consequences for doing so. It was probably an unremarkable and boring night at work to you, but it literally changed my life and I think about this night a lot, even a decade later.

I drive passenger trains for a living, a job I love, but of course, it has its own set of problems. And a lot of those problems are people.

One day, I stop at a station for people to get on and off, but we are also waiting for a meeting train (single track railway, except for stations, of course). Then, I spot a man in his fifties calmly getting down from the platform on the other side of the station. Despite me loudly blowing the horn — both to get him off the track and to warn the other train — he just walks over the three tracks and then climbs up onto my platform.

Me: “Why did you do that? It’s really dangerous — also illegal!”

Passenger: “My back hurts, so I can’t take the stairs.”

And then, he just walked away from the station. To clarify, yes, there are stairs that lead to a tunnel under the tracks, but there are also elevators, as well as a nicely sloping path, all of which would be better for someone with a backache than climbing up and down a metre-high platform edge and walking over very uneven crushed rock, plus tracks. Just as a bonus, cargo trains regularly drive 100 km/h on the middle track.

This was eight years ago when I was working as an optical assistant, but it’s still the most memorable day I had at that optician’s office.

I’m given a list of names to take through to their pre-test screening, and this patient is a five-year-old girl here for her first eye test

Me: “[Girl]? Hello there! Is this your first ever eye test?”

The little girl nods, holding her mum’s hand.

Mum: “Yes, she’s been getting some headaches, but she reads fine so I don’t think it’s her eyes, but her general doctor said we had to have this done first in case she needs glasses.”

Me: “Okay, it’s nice and easy, so just hop up on this chair.”

I do two tests with her. The second is a retinal photograph: a picture of the back of the eye. It looks a little strange, but I’m only taught to do the tests, not to analyse the results, so I take the pair of them through to the ophthalmologist’s room.

About ten minutes later, the mother and daughter hurry out, closely followed by the opthalmologist.

Ophthalmologist: “Are you okay to drive or would you prefer an ambulance?”

Mum: “I’ll drive.”

Ophthalmologist: “Okay, drive safe, but go quickly. I’ll call ahead.”

It turned out that the strange photo I’d taken showed a frontal lobe brain tumour pressing against the back of the eye. The opthalmologist looked closer during their tests and said it was a textbook emergency case but the first one she had ever seen in person.

A couple of weeks later, a woman I recognised came back in

Mum: “Hello. I was here the other week. Your optician found my daughter’s brain tumour. I just wanted to let you know that, thanks to you, she’s fine. She had surgery that day and they’re now doing follow-up treatment, but they think she’ll make it. I can’t thank you enough. Could I speak to the optician she saw?”

We took her through to the ophthalmologist’s room and left them talking. When she came back out, she thanked us again and left a box of homemade brownies for all of the staff

We were all so glad the little girl was okay, and I use this example every time someone thinks it isn’t worth getting an eye test because their vision is fine.

This story is part of the Highest-Voted-Stories Of-2022 roundup!

Read the next Highest-Voted-Stories Of-2022 roundup story!

Read the Highest-Voted-Stories Of-2022 roundup!

At a grocery store, I was working the lane right next to the express lane. The express lane is the most efficient way for customers to get tobacco products.

The guy working the express this day was both Black and hard of hearing. He didn’t notice a customer come up to the lane to check out. I managed to get my coworker’s attention and let him know he had a customer.

Me: “I’m sorry he didn’t notice you, ma’am.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s okay. He’s just slavin’ away back there!”

And she gave us a smile that was not shared by anyone else.

I’m disabled and use walking aids. I don’t need them when I’m in a supermarket as I can lean on the trolley, but I walk fairly slowly. I’m shopping in my usual supermarket but they’ve moved things around and I can’t find the dried fruit. I spot a worker stocking the shelves.

Me: “Can you tell me where the raisins are?”

Worker #1: “I’ll show you; follow me.”

She takes off at a fairly quick pace, disappears down the aisle, and turns at the end. By the time I get there, she’s vanished. I spot another worker.

Me: “Hi, I’m looking for raisins.”

Worker #2: “Oh, we’ve moved them; come with me.”

Me: “Wait, if you just tell me—”

Too late. He’s headed off into the crowded supermarket, and I lose sight of him almost immediately. I’m pretty amused at this point and carry on shopping until I find a third worker.

Me: “Hi. I’m looking for something.”

Worker #3: “Okay, what can I help you with?”

Me: “Firstly, I can’t walk fast, so please, can you just tell me where to look? I won’t be able to follow you.”

Worker #3: “Um, okay, what are you looking for?”

Me: “Raisins.”

Worker #3: “Right this way!”

Me: “Wait! Just tell me!”

Worker #3: “I can walk slowly; I’ll show you.”

Me: “Okay, look, you’re the third person I’ve asked. I can read the aisle numbers, and I’ve got at least half a brain cell. Can you please just give me the aisle number and tell me roughly where they are? I’ll find them.”

Worker #3: “Uh, yeah, aisle eleven, about halfway down.”

Me: “Thank you!”

I did find the raisins, and I also found the first two workers. They were looking for me because when they got to the raisins and turned to show me, for some strange reason, I wasn’t there.