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Concepcion's Personal History: Photos, Video and Audio of Concepcion
Abuses and Threats

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Concepcion's Personal History:
Trouble At Home

Life in New York Seeking Help in Spain
Her Daughter Olga Coming to Washington
Trouble at Home Jimmy Carter

When the baby was about twenty months old, I began to get a pain in my left side, and my strength began to lessen. I was very worried since there was so much concern on television about breast cancer. That was the time when Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Rockefeller had Breasts removed. I wanted to go for a physical examination, but my husband refused to allow me to see any doctor. He claimed that I was sick in my head and that he knew my trouble. He told me that the sickness that was bothering me was something that no one would believe and that this sickness would burn my insides. He also told me that no one would help me because no one would believe it.

Meanwhile, my physical condition was getting worse. I was getting up in the morning with a mouth and lips very tight, and my body did not respond as usual. I had to hold myself to the wall in order to control my balance, and I had a, feeling as if I were being drugged. I was very drowsy. I asked my husband for an explanation and received the same answer again. Finally, he decided to let me have a physical examination in the Union Clinic, Local 485, 160 Montague Avenue, Brooklyn, N.Y. in which he was a member. After a thorough examination, they told me I had something in my chest, and asked me if I ever had worked in a place a exposed to chemicals. I told them I had always worked in offices as a secretary, and the only chemicals I had access to were household detergents, etc. Finally, my husband agreed to let me see the family doctor who sent me to a radiologist, Marcus Wisner, M.D., 1430 Forty Eight Street, Brooklyn, N.T. 11219 - Telephone TR-1-9700.

All the reports they gave me were satisfactory and they said nothing was wrong with me. I went back to the Union with this report and they insisted that I had something in my chest. I began to suspect that someone was not telling me the truth. I decided to get help by my own sources, but as much as I tried, I could get no where. First, my husband would not allow me to leave the house, not even to take the baby for her daily walk. He refused to let me talk on the phone when he was home, using the other extension to tell whoever I was talking with not to believe me because I was crazy. I even called Spain to ask my family to come, but he went and used the same words.

When I began to suspect something was going on, my husband remained at home on sick leave, telling me that he had an accident with the truck at work, and that Mr. Lavine would take care of the case so he and his friend could collect some money. He came home every night from the doctor's office with many little bottles of pills that he was supposed to take every day according to doctor's instructions.

One night I woke up and caught my husband feeling my head. When I asked him what he was doing he simply said that he was covering me with the blanket. It happened two or three times again, and on one of those tines, I heard a click, like glass or metal. He again excused himself Another night he woke up screaming and hit himself saying, "God help me, I will kill myself!" He was all perspiration and I had to change the bed linens and his pajamas. I started to become very frightened.

The next day called Mother Superior Maria Garcia (I had grown up with in Spain) and asked her to come see me. I gave her $40.00 for the car fare since it was a very cold day and the snow was heavy. She came to see me with another nun, and I explained the situation. While she was in the house, my husband arrived and they started to talk, but I was not satisfied with what was going on. The next day when I woke up, I felt the same way. I told my husband I was going to visit an old friend from the office and I would be back. Then I arrived at this old friend's house, I had the feeling of being followed. My friend was not much help, so I called my husband and told him that I was spending the night in my friend's house. Instead I called the nun seeking help. She refused my need, advising me to go to St. vincent's Hospital. It was very late and I was very frightened. I did not know what to do, and being under the pressure from the drug, I panicked and decided to go to Washington, D.C., to get help from the Embassy of Spain. Since I worked for them all this time, they knew me very well.

Everything was against me when I arrived there. Everything was closed as it was a long weekend and everyone was away. I was still seeking help and I went to see a few churches near by, but none of them helped me. As evening came, I began getting cold, and I checked in at the Holiday Inn. I was not completely confident in the whole situation, and I went down to sit in the lobby, and I saw people gathering around me. I got up and went for a walk and noticed that one of them was following me. I kept walking, not knowing where to go. I took a bus, thinking it would be safer, and went for a long ride. When I realized what the bus was going to the end of the line, I got off and saw a gas station. I asked for directions to get back but while I was talking with a boy that was pumping gas into a car, he bent down as if he was hiding from a flying object. I ran inside the office and through the window, I saw the same person who was in the hotel lobby. I called the police and told them what happened and that I would like to talk to the Police Commissioner. A patrol car came and I asked for protection. I told them I would like to go back with them to Police Headquarters. They refused, and told ne that the police in Washington was no better than in New York. I didn't know what to do, so I managed to get in the back of their car and sit down. They refused, using force to get me out of the car. I called for help, saying that was police brutality, and they finally told me that if I wanted to go to the police station, I had to get in a van that was parked near by. In the beginning, I refused, and they said to stay in a motel near by, which I refused. Then I decided it was better to get in the van than to be left alone in the streets. As I approached the back of the van, the police ran ahead and closed the door leaving me outside. I struggled to get in, and finally they pushed me in, locked the door, and, drove me, not to the police station, but to a mental hospital where they kept me in the office.

After all the preliminary questions, I told them I wanted to call my husband, who, instead of helping me, told them to lock me in and not let ne go. I begged my husband not to do that, but it was useless. Somehow they refused and kept me in the office all night. About five a.m., one of the staff of the office, a middle-age Negro, jumped on me and kissed me on the mouth. I passed out and when I woke up, I found myself sitting outside the hospital on a bench. I found it physically impossible to move my eyes and lips due to the pain. My toes and nails were covered with blood. I then saw my husband arrive with a neighbor by the name of James Smith. They went inside the office and came out with a bunch of papers. They put in a taxi to the airport, and sat me in the back of the airplane. I looked at my husband and his friend who says to ne, "This is for the baby's benefit." And my husband was telling him that after they will go on vacation to Jamaica.

When we arrived in New York, they told me that we would go home to see the baby for the last time. As soon as we were in the house, my husband told me to lay down on the bed; the baby was downstairs with the old woman. After a while I started to feel a little less pressure and could talk, so I asked for the baby, but the old woman did not want to release her. I tried to go down, but my husband was in my way and wouldn't let me move from the apartment. Meanwhile, I was getting much better from the drowsy feeling and pressure. I called the nun on the phone and told her that I was afraid to be alone with my husband that night, so she sent a woman to stay. We were supposed to pay her $35.00 for the night.

Later in the evening, they let the baby come up. I could not sleep that night; my husband came to get me back, so I told him that I wanted to go down to say good morning to the baby, as I always did. When she opened the door, I gave the baby to my husband, and locked the door behind me, leaving my husband out with the baby.

I took the old woman by the shoulders and shook her, asking at the same time what was going on between them, and what my husband was doing to me at night because I woke up every morning very sick. She started to laugh at me, loosening herself from me. I held on to her tight and gave her another shake in order to make her talk, but she was screaming so loud, saying that I wanted to kill her. My husband forced his way in, jumped on me, and sat down on top of my body, choking my throat with his hands. Cutting off my breath, I tried to scream and he pushed me out and I went upstairs, leaving the baby with the old woman and my husband. I took the telephone and called the nun again, but nobody would help me.

Then I telephoned the Insurance Co., Mr. Winderman, since my husband had recently changed the insurance policy a few months before. I asked Mr. Winderman for help. He told me he would send the police; but, by that time, my husband already had called the police and an ambulance. The house started to fill up with my husband's friends that were not too near the house. I do not know who called them, but only men come.

Then the ambulance came and took me to Coney Island Hospital, arriving there at 10 a.m. My husband, the police, and his friends were talking to an Italian doctor. I began complaining about my ear, and they put a drop in it. They kept me there all day, waiting for an available ambulance that would transfer me to another hospital, but I did not know for what. I thought it would be for a physical examination. Later in the evening, they pushed me in a white van and injected my arms until we arrive at the hospital. That was King's County, where my husband, police and his friends were already waiting for me, and talking with a doctor as they approach me. Then I saw may funny people and I realized what was going on. I told the doctor that all we needed was a marriage counselor, but he ordered me to underdress completely and gave me a very strong medicine to drink and started to inject me again. I tried to refuse and protest, but nothing would help for I was in their hands. They laughed and put me in a chair, sending me to a ward where I saw all these funny people that I was afraid of. I did not have a choice, and this was against my will.

The next morning, I called the nun, asking for help. She promised to come, but she would send a priest first. I spoke with the priest, but he was not very much help. In fact, I noticed that he was talking to me and looking around at the same time in fear.

My husband came to see me, and I begged him to take me out of there. He laughed at me again and said that I was going to be transferred to Pilgrim Hospital in Long Island. I was very angry at his attitude, but helpless. I asked the nun to get me a lawyer, but she refused. She was coming to see things, and that it was just terrible what they did to me. She may very well that I was not sick, and that was not justice at all.

The days went by, and I was still there. They stuffed me with strong pills and drinks, which I managed not to swallow for I knew they would make me very sick. I started drinking plenty of water, and the nurses used to come and slap my hand in order to drop the cup. They did that several times. I started to eat a little and began to feel better. The nun sent me some fruits and desserts; but the way they treated me there was terrible, not even an animal deserves such behavior. One day I was walking in the corridor and two nurses jumped on me and injected my backside and pushed me into the gymnasium where all the mixed patients, male and female, were at play. I was so drowsy that I sat on a bench.

I tried to talk with the doctor that they assigned to me, Dr. Sinkman, but every time I asked him, he gave me the same answer, "I have no time, I have no time," and would walk away. I asked for another doctor since I wasn't satisfied with only his opinion, but he looked at me with a sarcastic face and said, "you are stock to me." (I am using the very same words that he said at that time.) He laughed and walked away. Another day, this lawyer, Mr. Kaplan, came with papers for me to sign for the transfer to Pilgrim Hospital. When I refused, he says that I will have to go to court according to the hospital rules. I agreed to go to court because I thought I would have a chance to speak up .... But again he came back a few days later with the same papers and the same words. I made it perfectly clear that I would not sign anything that is against my will. I spoke about the whole thing to the nun, and she said to go ahead with the court business, and that she will be at the hearing. I gave her the name and address of a lawyer along with a letter, so he will be there, too.

When the day came to go to the mini hearing, the nun was there but not the lawyer. I kept asking for him, but the nun kept saying that he promised to be there. The hospital provided me with a lawyer by the name of Mr. Engle. The trial started, and the lawyer asked Mr. Sinkman, the doctor, for background on the case, and evidence. He also asked for the Coney Island records. He was really confused and would only say that I was incoherent when he called me to his office. The truth is that he was incoherent himself, and a liar. So the judge said to Mr. Engle, are you with us or not? The judge's name was Nichols. They postponed the hearing.

After we left the room, the nun told me that never in her life (and she had been in courts before) had she seen such a pig of a judge. Those were her exact words. The days passed by, and they kept me there, treating me worse than an animal. I tried to get the nun on the phone, but they would hang up on me, saying the time was over, etc. They also would send the most dangerous patients in the same room.

I wanted to talk to Mr. Engle, the lawyer, but they kept saying he was not in the office, etc... Finally, one day I sent a message with a social worker and he came, but he appeared to be very frightened to be seen with me. He told me that the administration had discharged my case, but the doctor was keeping me there, and he left.

I called the nun, and when she came, I told her everything. She went to the administration office, as I instructed her to do, and talked with the director of the hospital. She came back and told me that he was not available, but that she spoke with someone else there. She tried to get the doctor, but the told her that he already left the hospital. She insisted on signing out for me. Finally they said the doctor was on the phone, and she went t talk with him. When she came back from the conversation with the doctors, she signed the papers and we went to the convent on 251 West 14th Street, New York, N.Y.

When we arrived, she called my husband on the phone asking for some clothes. He was furious when he came and saw me free. We talked and I told him that we could forget the whole thing and start all over again. But he gave me a very cold look and said I was a dead woman. He asked me for the key to the safe deposit box, since I changed from a small one to a large one and put only my name and the baby's on it. Then he said that in the coming week, we would go together to the box and give him all the contents, and he left.