“WHY DID IT TAKE 9 HOURS AND 3 EMERGENCY ROOMS FOR THIS WOMAN TO GET A RAPE KIT?”
““I think she’s been sexually assaulted,” Daniel said, gesturing to Dinisha and holding their son on his hip, when they walked up to the counter of St. Michael’s Emergency Room-Westheimer, the emergency room closest to Loraine’s hotel, about 20 minutes away. Still in shock and fuzzy from the drugs she’d been given, Dinisha hadn’t been able to tell Daniel exactly what happened, but Daniel knew that if she’d been raped, she’d need a rape kit — a forensic evidence-collecting exam that can lead to identifying an assailant through their DNA.
The receptionist hesitated. “Do you have any insurance?” she asked. Dinisha and Daniel looked at each other in disbelief. That was it? Dinisha’s new job did offer health insurance, but she had to wait 90 days before it kicked in, and she’d only started a few days prior.
“That shouldn’t be the first question that you ask me when we ask for a rape kit,” Daniel said, his voice rising in anger. “We can pay.”
“We need insurance to perform anything,” the receptionist explained. “If she doesn’t have any insurance, we can’t see her.”
This would be the first time that an emergency room turned Dinisha away on that day. It wouldn’t be the last.”
