Room 65: The Silent Horror Faced by Emergency Physicians

DALL·E 2025-01-24 17.55.17 - A somber hospital emergency room with a dimly lit hallway leading to a closed door marked Room 65. The atmosphere is heavy, with a lone doctor stand
Note: Details in this story, including room numbers, have been changed in order to protect the privacy and safety of the patients and families involved.

In the heart of every emergency department (ED), there are rooms where life’s worst moments unfold. But few are as haunting as Room 65. For one physician, stepping into that room is a task met with dread, a place where memories linger long after the shift ends.

Room 65 is reserved for children suspected of being sexually assaulted. It is where innocence is examined under sterile lights, where doctors and nurses steel themselves against the heartbreak they witness. The physician we follow, like many others, wishes for a neuralyzer—something to erase the trauma, to forget the little faces they encounter.

On a recent shift, the physician was called into Room 65 three times within the first six hours. Each time, they walked in with a facade of confidence, while inside, their heart weighed heavily with the burden of what they were about to witness.

One such case involved a three-year-old girl, clutching a teddy bear, lying anxiously on the examination table. Her mother whispered reassurances, while the Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner (SANE) prepared the forensic kit. The room was tense, silent, save for the mother’s quiet words and the occasional beep of medical equipment.

“How does it look? Was she touched? Did anything happen to her?” The mother asked the questions no parent should ever have to. But in most cases, like this one, the answers aren’t clear-cut. Redness, abrasions—indications, but not confirmations. The response given is often the same: “We can’t say for sure. The child abuse team will review everything.”

These words, though clinical, cannot soothe the pain in a parent’s heart. Tears filled the mother’s eyes, but she stayed strong for her child. The doctor, in turn, stayed strong for them both.

Since the COVID-19 pandemic, sexual abuse cases among children have surged. Once a rarity, now three to four cases a day is the grim norm. Room 65 is never empty for long. The physician reflects on how quickly they must switch emotions—from the heartbreak of Room 65 to the routine of treating abdominal pain in another patient. The emotional whiplash is exhausting.

Statistics paint a grim picture. Every nine minutes, child services in the U.S. find evidence of sexual abuse. These numbers represent real children, real families, real trauma. The toll on medical professionals is often overlooked. They don’t just see broken bones and lacerations; they see shattered trust, broken innocence.

The physician confides in a colleague, hoping the weight of these cases will get easier with time. “It doesn’t,” comes the response. “You just learn to live with it and get tougher.” But tough doesn’t mean indifferent. The tears come later, in the privacy of a shower, where water and sobs intermingle.

Despite the emotional toll, the physician finds solace in knowing their work matters. Each examination is a step toward justice. Each compassionate word to a frightened child is a lifeline.

Leaving the hospital, the physician reminds themselves of their purpose. They head home to their own child, giving them an extra-long hug, holding them tighter than usual. These small moments remind them why they endure the horrors of Room 65.

In a world where such atrocities exist, these medical professionals stand as silent warriors. They carry the weight so others don’t have to. But the burden is heavy, and we must remember—they are human too.

Official Reports & Studies:

National Children's Alliance (NCA) – www.nationalchildrensalliance.org

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) – www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention

Child Welfare Information Gateway (U.S. Department of Health & Human Services) – www.childwelfare.gov

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