Googling Dr Patwardhan, I read he was a renowned consultant gynaecologist.
Just what I needed.
It was late 2009, I’d endured crippling gynaecological pain since a trauma in my childhood, and suffered 21 devastating miscarriages to have my two kids Holly, then 2, and Harry, 1.
I’d had endless operations.
One of my specialists had retired, so I chose Dr Patwardhan, and at my appointments he was friendly and supportive.
Only, he became increasingly over-familiar.
Hugs goodbye, kisses on the cheek, patting my bum.
Creepy.
It made me feel very uncomfortable.
Then, during one appointment, he said I needed a breast examination.
‘I just had a mammogram,’
I told him.
But he insisted.
He made me take my top off, bend over the examination bed.
Then he started touching and…
