Still Practicing? #MeToo

What is it like to tell someone your story of childhood sexual abuse?  What is the best way for people to respond? Two questions I’ve been asked a few times in one way or another by a number of people since I started talking about being sexually abused by my doctor as a child under the guise of medical care.

At its most basic level, I liken the experience of telling someone about my experience of childhood sexual assault to seeing a ghost and then telling someone about it. Knowing I saw something that was other-worldly, remembering the fear, questioning my own memory and doubting whether anyone else would believe me.  But I know what I saw, with my own eyes. And I know what I felt, on the back of my neck and in the pit of my stomach.  It was real, but I can’t prove it. No photo, no video, no audio recording. Just a memory, unmoored from the safe harbor it has taken for so many years. Ready to head back out to sea.

One idea I have been meditating on is that the experience of telling someone about a story of childhood sexual abuse should be like introducing someone to an old friend.  Meet my old friend. Yes, he is a grown man, with years of wisdom under his belt, with achievements and failures, with pride and regret. Meet my old friend, who I knew best as a 16-year-old boy. He was the captain of my high school baseball team. A hard-working catcher who ran the team from behind the plate. He has a story to tell. It is his #MeToo story.

I have no reason NOT to believe him, so I will start by believing him and letting him know that I am here for him. I will listen to him tell me one of the most intimate and tragic stories he will ever tell, and I will tell him that it is not his fault. I will tell him that I am proud of him for trusting me with this information and for speaking his truth.  I will ask him what I can do to help.  Whatever he has to tell me, I will not ask “Why?” Instead I will hear him loud.

Last fall, Stephanie and I traveled back to our beloved Bakersfield, California to join friends for a concert at the Crystal Palace organized by Passing Through Productions, a music promotion collective I formed with friends.  The Milk Carton Kids was the first band I pitched with the idea of playing Bakersfield as they were “passing through” on their 2013 tour. They took a pass then, but persistence paid off and they finally came around with help from our friends at Guitar Masters.  It was a show for the ages.

In “Hear Them Loud,” one of my favorite tracks off of their album The Ash & Clay, singers and guitarists Kenneth Pattengale and Joey Ryan deliver the following as a third verse followed by the chorus. It is a perfect answer for how to respond when someone tells you their #MeToo story.

My old friends they are few
I still know them, they know me too
Can’t hear my tires hum in tune
Far from home, I hope they’re proud

The ones you love
Where are they now?
The ones you love
Where are they now?
And I’m hoping that I’ll still hear them loud.

I hear you old friend. I hear you loud. I hope others do too.

Last night, at 4:28a.m., the universe sent me a gift that I would like to share with each of you. I am sharing it in recognition of the love and kindness from family, friends and others that has bolstered my spirits and given me strength over the past two years, and especially during the past several weeks.  

Before 4:28am last night, the last time I remember listening to John Mayer’s 2006 album Continuum was in 2008. Specifically, I remember listening to the song “In Repair” sometime between the day Debby died and the day I fell in love with Stephanie.  I remember putting on headphones and taking one of the longest, coldest walks of my life along the Chicago lakefront. A single father of two, contemplating my future.

The song begins with a Hammond organ played through a whirring Leslie amplifier. Then it winds its way through the first verse, a bridge and the skipped heartbeat thump of the chorus, “I am … in repair. I am … in repair.” Second verse, bridge and again the skipped heartbeat thump of the chorus, “I am … (thump thump) in repair. I am … (thump thump) in repair.” Then a slow-hand guitar solo, all at once aping Buddy Guy, channeling Allman Brothers tone. Third verse, bridge and a crescendo to the outro call-and-response, “I’m in repair. I’m not together, but I’m getting there.”

At 4:28am last night, the universe clicked on my bedside speaker and played that song.  30 years of silence, 2 years of pursuing justice and a Friday evening hashmark in the “win” column in a season that is not over yet. But for 45 minutes, I laid quietly in bed listening to a cosmic gift of a 10 song iTunes playlist that seems just about right for where I am in the world right now, but also for where the world is in me.

• In Repair – John Mayer
• Down the Line – Jose Gonzales
• Money Saves – Delta Spirit
• Neighbor – Band of Horses
• Ojala Pudiera Borrarte – Mana
• No Moon – Iron and Wine
• Happiness Loves Company – Red Hot Chili Peppers
• Funky Miracle – Bonerama
• Shelter You Through – Andrew Duhon
• Blood Test – Kris Delmhorst

For the last several weeks I’ve been “making” something by publishing my story at www.stillpracticingmetoo.fyi and putting it out into the universe.  Last night, the universe “made” something and returned the favor.  With the world facing a pandemic, the country in a state of emergency and at least two weeks of kids out of school, I am taking this as a sign, permission in fact, to unplug and use the uncertainty of the next few weeks to “make” some more.

Make amends, make art, make dinner, make good, make jokes, make love, make a mess, make music, make nice, make no little plans for they have no magic to stir men’s blood, make out, make rain, make sense, make time, make waves, make zzz.

If you are so inclined, keep track of what you “make” of this next few weeks. I’ll be sending you good wishes and positive energy, and on April 1 I’ll check back in and invite you to send me a note about anything you’ve made. Whatever it is, the world will be better for it.

Love and much respect,

Jeff

In the fall of 2017, as the nation was first learning of the horrific acts of sexual assault committed by Larry Nassar and Harvey Weinstein, I remembered a repressed memory of being sexually assaulted and molested by Orlando pediatric orthopedist Dr. William P. Zink. After learning that he was still practicing and affiliated with AdventHealth, I eventually began my healing journey on a mission to seek justice and help others by sharing my story. At the time, I believed that the easiest step would be reporting him to the healthcare system where he was on medical staff so that his hospital privileges would be revoked.  Little did I know that this would be one of the hardest parts of my journey.

Tonight, however, I received a phone call from a senior officer of the corporation reporting that Dr. Zink resigned from the medical staff, and that he is no longer affiliated with AdventHealth. I do not know if it was pressure from your emails, his peers, the hospital administration or the universe, but the bottom line is Dr. Zink quit.  I felt overwhelming relief, but surprisingly I also felt empathy for the various people like my old doctor and brand new medical staff President that had been pulled into this unpleasant experience along the way. Thankfully he was there, but regretfully he was also burdened.

After reporting the facts, the caller said that my visit to AdventHealth’s executive office on Friday March 6th and the details of my story started AdventHealth’s leadership on a journey that arrived at the destination of Zink’s resignation.  I expressed gratitude for the news. I also shared my point of view that the pain and suffering caused by the inaction of AdventHealth CEO Terry Shaw and AdventHealth Central Florida CEO Daryl Tol over the past two years was unnecessary and entirely avoidable had they demonstrated better leadership and exercised better judgement by responding to my concerns sooner rather than later.  I said that two years is a long time to sit and wait for the phone to ring, wondering all the while if another 16 year old boy operated on by Dr. Zink in an AdventHealth hospital was being fondled, or photographed in the nude, or worse at his follow up appointments in Zink’s private office.

And then it happened.

A tinkly, jangly sound in my ears. A floaty, drifty dissociation. I could hear the caller saying words that were crystal clear, but they seemed to propel me out into the weightless dark.

“I know it may seem simple,” the caller said, “but there really are complicated bylaws and rules that don’t allow the company CEOs to have more than 1 vote each on the board that oversees the credentialing process that gives doctors privileges to practice in our hospitals. We do try really hard, it’s just not that easy.”  

I was being gaslighted. A 46-year-old grown man, a married father of three, with a 25 year career in philanthropy who is CEO of a $100 million dollar company was being manipulated to see it their way.  This was “no, but” in full force. “Yes, and” were nowhere to be seen.

A tinkly, jangly sound in my ears. A floaty, drifty dissociation. I pictured my oldest son, just weeks away from his 16th birthday. The same age that I was when Dr. Zink first stuck his ungloved finger in my ass. The same age I was when Dr. Zink held my balls in his bare hands.  The same age I was when Dr. Zink turned out the lights, pulled down my pants and took dirty pictures of me as a boy while whispering “lower, lower” until he could see my teenage dick.

Rage.

A tinkly, jangly sound in my ears. A floaty, drifty dissociation. I pictured my childhood friend, who called after I started sharing my story, to tell me that two years before my sexual assault, at the age of 14, he was bent over an examination table and fucked in the ass by Dr. Zink. Who two years before was repeatedly drugged and raped by Dr. Zink while his dad ran errands.  Who spent his Twenties guzzling gallons of booze and snorting piles of coke just to forget the scent of Dr. Zink’s aftershave.

Rage.

Was this caller trying to persuade me to see the other side, to understand the reasons behind their initial answer of “it’s complicated”?  How could the bearer of such good news be so smug, so obtuse? A hot rod sycophant angling for a better spot in the corporate pecking order of AdventHealth. Hard headed, not hearing me, no empathy. Silently, I repelled him by channeling the seething rage the late, great Chris Cornell’s delivered in Soundgarden’s 1997 punk rock thrash “Ty Cobb.”

Sick in the head, sick in the mouth, can’t hear a word you say.
Not a bit, and I don’t give a shit.
I got the glass, I got the steel, I got everything
All I need is your head on a stake.

Hard headed fuck you all
Hard headed fuck you all
Hard headed fuck you all
Just add it up to the hot rod death toll.

Tonight, under pressure, Dr. William P. Zink quit the medical staff and is no longer affiliated with AdventHealth. That is a good thing, and something worth celebrating.

However, Zink still operates a private practice in Orlando, accepting insurance payments from most major insurers and many large self-insured employers in Florida. Who knows where he will perform surgery, but he can still see children in his office. Check your policy, and if Zink is in the network of referrals, I encourage you to contact your benefits administrator to have him removed.  Zink is also still licensed by the State of Florida to practice medicine. However, as of last week, Florida Department of Health Investigative Specialist II George McCarthy is on the case, following a direction from Governor Ron DeSantis to explore a revocation of Zink’s medical license.  Have something to report? Send an email to George McCarthy to let him know.

Everyone reading this email has played a part in tonight’s victory. There is more work to be done, and with your support I will stick with this until the end. Zink will quit. I won’t.

stillpracticingmetoo:

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The doctor who sexually abused me 30 years ago under the guise of medical care is still practicing. I’m telling my story with hopes of helping others and affecting change in the current statutes of limitations for child sex abuse crimes. Click here to begin receiving emails of the next chapters.

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Asking for a friend.  Which one of AdventHealth’s CEO’s, Terry Shaw or Darryl Tol, signed off on the marketing campaign using the words “Feel Whole,” knowing since 2018 that a member of the medical staff repeatedly sexually assaulted me as a child by putting his ungloved finger in my rectum on multiple occasions while treating me for a knee injury?

Feel (w)hole.  Two words I read this afternoon on street signs when I arrived for a meeting called by AdventHealth following the publication of my story. The request from the legal department was that I come in to meet to discuss a “solution that works for you, and us and the community.”

Feel (w)hole.  The words were stretched across banners in the lobby of the organization’s executive office building in downtown Orlando, right underneath the organization’s mission of “extending the healing ministry of Christ.” Now I’ve read the Bible passage where Jesus licked his fingers and stuck them in the ears of a deaf man to restore his hearing, but this might be a stretch.

Feel (w)hole. Two words next to AdventHealth’s logotype that quickly evoked the image of the headshot of Dr. William P. Zink I found when Googling his name in the fall of 2017 when I remembered the repressed memory of being sexually assaulted and molested as a child by him under the guise of medical care 30 years ago.

Heart racing. Brow sweating. Room spinning. Wondering if this was a mistake.

“With a personalized greeting like that, who wouldn’t feel welcome,” came a booming voice from across the lobby. I turned to see the smiling face of my childhood friend and local Orlando attorney who agreed to join me for this meeting.  "They probably should have run that one by someone with a 13 year old’s sense of humor before spending millions to plaster it all over town,“ he said.  "Fucking idiots.  Let’s go see what they have to say.”

Walking into the executive conference room at AdventHealth’s headquarters, I was immediately grateful for my decision to bring an attorney as I was met by four people – a health system executive, a member of the legal department, outside counsel and the organization’s new president of the medical staff … who used to be my own primary care doctor.  For a moment, I thought that this was the ultimate mindscrew, and hoped that this was just an odd coincidence.

Curiously absent from this meeting were the two people I had contacted in 2018 and 2020, AdventHealth CEO, Terry Shaw, and AdventHealth Central Florida CEO, Daryl Tol.  If the priest and the Levite couldn’t make the meeting, I was hoping that at least one of the people in the room would be the Good Samaritan I needed to hear from.  Beyond the kindness expressed by my old doctor, I would have no such luck.

After exchanging pleasantries, I was asked to offer my perspective about what this reluctant cabal could do to help.  "I was thinking you might be able to tell me, since you called the meeting,“ I responded.  

Silence.  For a full minute.

Sensing my frustration, my attorney shot me a knowing Jedi-mind-trick glance and gave me a nod, prompting the following.

"What is the business purpose for AdventHealth maintaining a relationship with Dr. Zink,” I asked?  

“It’s complicated,” they replied, followed by a longwinded explanation of the bylaws and rules governing relationships with medical staff, versus the contracts maintained with members of the medical group, the division of authority between corporate and legal and the medical staff, and medical staff credentialing. Luckily both Stephanie and I grew up in medical households and had prior work experience in healthcare philanthropy, so I had a basic understanding of this byzantine arrangement designed to protect corporate assets, doctors egos, and hopefully, a few patients along the way.  Frankly, this all sounded like bureaucratic bullshit, with no hint of common sense.

“How long has Dr. Zink been on the medical staff,” I asked?

“Since the 1980’s,” they answered.

“What is the average annual revenue that AdventHealth makes from a pediatric orthopedic surgeon who is credentialed and given privileges to perform surgery in one of your hospitals,” I asked?

“I do not know that number off hand,” the president of the medical staff replied.

I asked the same question of the health system executive who responded, “Well, leaving money out of it, a busy pediatric orthopedic surgeon probably performs around 400 surgeries annually.  Dr. Zink was probably performing 10 percent of that volume in the last year.”

10 percent of 400.  That’s 40 patients each year during the two years since I contacted Terry Shaw and Daryl Tol.  80 kids.  Statistics are that 1 in 6 of these children will be sexually assaulted before they turn eighteen years old.  That’s 13 kids treated by Dr. William P. Zink between 2018 and 2020 who, statistically speaking, may be victims of sexual assault.  If I were CEO of AdventHealth, would I take a chance that 13 kids who received surgery in my hospital system would be introduced to a guy whose public reputation from a Google search would not qualify him as a volunteer for the public library or the babysitting service offered by the local church? Hell no.  But it’s complicated.

Before attending this meeting, I ran my questions by a few friends. Some had experience in healthcare, and others were just hardworking businesspeople with years of tough decisions under their belts.  I tested two of the observations out on the crowd.

“One buddy of mine suggested his perception that this is purely about business and money.  Zink is ‘damaged goods’ and AdventHealth can get him to perform surgery for as little as they can and keep the spread between what they pay him and what they bill insurance,” I offered.

“Absolutely not,” the health system executive protested. “I know Terry Shaw and Daryl Tol, and I can assure you that they are good men who would never put money before patient safety or quality.”  A breathless reply before she had to excuse herself from this important meeting to go catch an airplane.

“Another buddy of mine suggested his perception that this might have more to do with the organizations faith-based mission.  Perhaps they are trying to show forgiveness and give Zink a second chance,” I suggested.

The president of the medical staff spoke up and offered what I find to be the one noble point of view of the whole meeting.  "My number one priority is patient care and safety,“ he said. "While there are bylaws and rules, I can assure you that your story will be considered the next time Dr. Zink’s petition for privileges is reviewed. Nothing about what you’ve shared aligns with our mission of extending the healing ministry of Christ.”  

I might have been satisfied to end there, but the outside counsel chimed in with an odd request. “Perhaps you might help us by encouraging the few people who you have heard from since publishing your story to come forward and file their own complaint?”

Do you mean the busy mom whose son was injured in a weekend sporting event who Dr. Zink offered to pick up in his own car to drive to an exam on a Sunday? “While it was creepy,” she said to me, “I don’t think it qualifies as abuse.”  No, it’s called grooming.

Or do you mean the childhood friend who lives out of the country and has more than a decade of recovery from alcoholism and cocaine addiction under his belt who called me on Sunday to tell me that Dr. Zink drugged and sodomized him when he was 14 years old?  "I called to tell you I am glad that you are telling your story,“ he said to me.  "My recovery requires that I leave that in the past. I am healing, one day at a time and all I want to put into the world is my art and love.”  I respect that, my brother. I love you.

Feel Whole.  It probably started as a good idea, hoping to inspire thoughts of healing body, mind and spirit while under the care of AdventHealth and its medical staff. I can picture the white-board session now, an echo chamber of adulation. A zippy video with images of healthy people doing healthy things backed by a soundtrack and a final coda call-and-response of “Tell me how you’re feeling tonight.” Hashtagwordcloud #feelingwhole fadetoAdventHealthlogo.

Statistically speaking it is likely that there is a mom or dad in the Orlando area who saw that video on social media somewhere. It made them feel good. It evoked a sense of trust in AdventHealth. A trusted resource that mom or dad should be able to rely on for a referral to a doctor who will help them and their child feel whole.

Not Feel (W)hole.

NOT FEEL (W)HOLE. 

Words to My 16 Year Old Self

My #MeToo story began more than 30 years ago with a 16 year old boy, crouched behind the plate, fastball inside corner.  A crack of the bat, a violent play at the plate and a world that would change forever.  

As I have shared my story over the past couple of weeks, it has given me the opportunity to reflect back on the characteristics of that 16 year old boy that helped him to survive and thrive in spite of the awful trauma he experienced by being sexually abused and molested by someone he trusted. Ambitious. Courageous. Focused. Humble. Integrity. Leader. Perseverant. Tenacious. Winner.  I can picture him in my mind, approaching the plate with his bat, his walk-up song “5 out of 6” by the Minneapolis rapper Dessa echoing through the stadium.

I’m the Phoenix, and the ash.
Red eyes shining in the camera flash.
My secret is I don’t keep none,
See something go ahead and say something
I ain’t afraid of it.
I don’t drown, won’t stay down
Heat finds a way to rise somehow.
Scan the crowd as I’m coming out and I
Don’t see too many rivals now.

This kid is destined for greatness.  Nothing can stop him. He will survive and thrive.

What Has Helped
When I began sharing my story, I knew that it would be important to stay in the moment of each day and be mindful of how my story was received by others and how their responses affected me.  Perhaps it would help me to become more empathetic, or at the very least offer a perspective on how victims of childhood sexual assault and molestation might be supported.  The following is a stream-of-consciousness list of notes I kept on my phone over the last couple of weeks of “what has helped.”

Stephanie’s love and support. Colin and Olivia’s love, support and “acting normal.” A bike ride with Grant. Kindness of my co-workers. My therapist’s encouragement. Facebook comments from friends expressing belief, love and support. Emails and texts from Hawaii, Alaska, Oregon, California, Montana,Texas, Chicago, New Orleans, the Mississippi Delta, New England, NYC, New Jersey, Washington D.C., North Carolina, Florida, London. A fierce response from middle school friends. Rest. A brother’s love. A shared reflection by Yung Pueblo that “A hero is one who heals their own wounds and then shows others how to do the same.” Surfing buddies. Empathetic ears over the airwaves. Breakfast with Dad. 

My takeaway from these notes is the perspective that help did not come from some grand intervention or a final act of justice. It came in the form of every day people doing every day things, with empathy and kindness. It is a powerful lesson and a standard that I will try to bear for the rest of my life.

A Meditation
Throughout my adult life, whenever I have been faced with a challenge that appears insurmountable, I have turned to Galway Kinnel’s poem “Another Night in the Ruins,” for courage and inspiration. I am particularly moved by the seventh stanza written below.  It is not a salve to allay my fears, but a stark reminder that the only way for me to live my life in service of the things that matter to me is to go “all in."  Sharing my story in an effort to help others and hopefully affect change someday has required everything of me and then some. Now that you know, it will inevitably require the same of you.

7
How many nights must it take
one such as me to learn
that we aren’t, after all, made
from that bird that flies out of the ashes,
that for us
as we go up in flames, our one work
is
to open ourselves, to be
the flames?

One Small Step
After 30 years of silence, and more than two years of unsuccessful efforts to pursue criminal, administrative and civil justice for being sexually assaulted and molested by Dr. William P. Zink, today the “Find Doctors” function on the AdventHealth for Children website reads “No Results” when searching for Dr. Zink’s name.  I tried the search again, and imagined the following algorithms at work.  

Dr. William P. Zink + 18 months of sexual abuse + 30 years of silence + 16 blog chapters emailed to friends and family + 10 posts on AdventHealth social media sites on 02/26/2020 +1 radio interview + social media doing its thing =  No Results on AdventHealth for Children’s Website

A Search for Dr. William P. Zink on AdventHealth for Children’s Website = No Results

Dr. William P. Zink = Nothing

In 1853, the abolitionist minister Theodore Parker delivered a sermon and said “I do not pretend to understand the moral universe. The arc is a long one.  My eye reaches but little ways.  I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by experience of sight. I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends toward justice."  

The incremental justice of seeing Dr. Zink’s headshot and contact information removed from AdventHealth’s website does not appear as a right angle. Instead, it is subtle, likely made possible by an anonymous engineer deleting one or two lines of code.  If one was not paying attention, it might even be overlooked entirely.  After recording a radio interview and observing an entire day’s worth of social media posts making the rounds referencing AdventHealth’s website pages, even I did not receive notification that the change was made.  It just happened.

And while I am grateful that the risk of an unsuspecting parent booking a pediatric orthopedic appointment with Dr. Zink for their injured child through AdventHealth’s website is gone, I still wonder "What took so long?” I may never find out, but if I am ever invited to share my perspective about how AdventHealth might improve their response to someone like me, I will encourage their leadership to use more empathy and less risk management if they truly want to demonstrate their commitment to extending the healing ministry of Christ.  Actually, its a point of view I would be glad to share with any institution that is serious about changing the way the respond to and manage information of such a sensitive nature.

As for Dr. William P. Zink,continuing to operate and see patients, according to his own website he is still practicing.  While he must be near retirement, if surgery remains part of his practice, he will likely need to affiliate with another healthcare system or stand-alone surgery center.  People will find out which ones, and hopefully share what they know about my experience of being sexually abused and molested by him as a child. These organizations will have to make their own decisions about whether or not they want to affiliate with him. 

I imagine some day, the steady stream of patients that Dr. Zink has relied on to earn his living will dry up.  He will probably retire, close his practice and some day he will die. When he does, Heaven and Hell may both decide that they both are satisfied and “illuminate the ‘NO’ on their vacancy signs”. It will be dark for eternity, without a hint of a spark. The blackest of rooms. 

One Giant Leap
In Florida and most states across the country, the practice of medicine is a privilege granted by the state. One might even call it a sacred privilege; a gentle balance between the art and science of giving life, promoting healing and eventually witnessing death with dignity. I know most states’ governors will not consider a singular action of revoking one doctor’s medical license either popular or politically expedient. But they could, and they should.

In the case of Dr. William P. Zink, I believe that Florida Governor Ron DeSantis should use whatever power he possesses to revoke the medical license of Dr. William P. Zink. It would send a strong signal throughout the state of Florida and the country that doctors who commit acts of sexual abuse and molestation against children under the guise of medical care will be brought to justice. 

Organizations like ChildUSA and others advocating for policy reform will continue to do their part and affect change. In Florida, these efforts will continue through efforts by people like State Senator Linda Stewart to pass “Donna’s Law,” Senate Bill 170 in 2020, which will close the loophole in Florida’s statute of limitations for child sex abuse that previously protected child sex abusers like Dr. Zink and others.  

I believe we are reaching a moment in society where more and more people are becoming aware and finding the courage to stand in solidarity with survivors of childhood sexual abuse.  Changemakers are going to make change.  Indeed, it is the only thing that ever will.