As soon as they put me in handcuffs, I told them.
As they pushed me into the back of the police car, I shook my voice and said, “I have epilepsy.” “I have my medications in my bag. I require them.
The driver, Officer Vargas, only grinned at himself in the rearview mirror. “Yes? Before breaking the law, they need to have considered that.
However, I didn’t violate any laws.
The clerk began shouting at me as I was purchasing a bottle of water at the gas station. There was a phony bill. He was already phoning the police when I attempted to explain that I had just taken out the cash from the ATM. Before I could even respond, they quickly arrived and pinned me against the counter.
I was now in a chilly cell with trembling hands and a pounding head. My medications were on the officer’s desk, in my backpack. Through the bars, I could see them.
“Please,” I repeated. I’m going to have a seizure. I must get my Keppra.
Vargas leaned against the wall and laughed. “Hey guys, she’s a doctor now. self-diagnosing.
A man with a mustache, another cop, shook his head. “Queen of drama.” They all pretend to be sympathetic.
Then it took place.
A piercing, dazzling radiance. I felt as though a key had been twisted inside my skull. My body locked up and I hit the concrete floor before I could even gasp.
I heard giggling.
Then—nothing.
I was on my side, drooling on my cheek, and my entire body hurt as I woke up. The cops remained smirking as they stood there.
Vargas nudged me with his boot and added, “I guess you weren’t lying.”
My tongue felt heavy as I tried to speak. My limbs had no purpose.
Then Mustache Guy squatted next to me and said in a whisper, “Don’t worry. Nothing was captured by the cameras.
Time blurred after seizures, so I lay curled up on the chilly floor, trying not to cry, for hours, or perhaps minutes. Every nerve ending felt the pain, but the shame was worse than the actual pain. I had appealed for assistance, for something as simple as having access to the drugs that kept me alive. They had also chuckled.
After a while, another cop showed up. Although her outfit conveyed the same power, she had a younger appearance than Vargas and Mustache Guy, with a friendlier face. Delgado, Officer. Under the fluorescent lights, her name tag shone brightly.
“What’s happening here?” She inquired sternly, looking from me to the two men who were hanging around the desk.
A mustache Guy gave a shrug. She experienced a brief episode. most likely acting it out.
Delgado scowled as he approached the cell. “Are you okay?” she inquired softly.
Despite my eyes welling with tears, I managed a feeble nod. “I have my medications in my bag.”
She looked over at Vargas. “Why hasn’t her medication been administered?”
Vargas dismissed her claim that she needed it. However, how can we be sure it’s authentic? She might be trying to pull a fast one, for all we know.
Delgado’s arms were crossed. You don’t trust her word, so you’re ready to jeopardize her health? That is carelessness.
The tension grew in the room. Delgado ignored Vargas as he murmured something beneath his breath. She took my rucksack off the desk, opened it, and rummaged through it until she came to the Keppra medication container. After carefully reading the prescription label, she gave it to me through the bars and a tiny cup of water.
“This is it,” she murmured quietly. “Take what you require.”
As I took the pills, a wave of gratitude washed over me. It was only a gesture, but in that instant, it meant everything.
I was freed without being charged by morning. Surveillance tape showed I hadn’t interfered with anything, and the ATM business certified the money was authentic. Nevertheless, I was shocked by the encounter. I grabbed my backpack and left the station, but Delgado stopped me.
She truly apologized for last night’s incident. “Not everyone adheres to protocol as they ought to.”
I was surprised by what she said. “I’m grateful,” I whispered. “For assisting me.”
She gave a nod. “I will support you if you wish to lodge a complaint against those other officers.”
Although it seemed intimidating, I realized that I had to file a complaint. If it could happen to someone else, I couldn’t tolerate their actions. I therefore concurred.
I collaborated with internal affairs to record the events throughout the course of the following few weeks. Medical records attested to the seriousness of my ailment, and Delgado offered a statement supporting my story. Meanwhile, the story was taken up by news sources. Outrage about the treatment I received swept social media. I was shocked by the outpouring of sympathy as others related their personal stories of abuse at the hands of the police.
The day finally arrived for the announcement of disciplinary action. Mustache Guy, whose true name was revealed to be Officer Grady, and Vargas were placed on leave until the matter was looked into further. Both may have been fired based on the result.
The twist, however, was revealed later.
Evidence that implicated Vargas and Grady in several instances of misconduct—not just neglect, but actual abuse—came to light during the investigation. Their contemptuous behavior toward captives was a pattern rather than an individual occurrence. According to a victim who came forward, Vargas planted drugs after an arrest years prior. Another described becoming hospitalized after being denied insulin while in custody.
The department was rocked by the controversy. Reform calls reverberated throughout the city. Training curricula were redesigned with an emphasis on accountability and empathy. Officers like Delgado were hailed for doing the right thing even when it wasn’t easy, and they became role models.
For my part, I made the decision to take action in response to my rage. I began helping with groups that support the reform of the justice system after receiving encouragement from both friends and complete strangers. My story inspired others to speak up as well. We worked together to bring about change, not only in law enforcement but also in society’s larger perception of humanity and vulnerability.
In retrospect, I see that the experience taught me more about activism and resiliency than I ever would have imagined. Because Delgado showed up when no one else would, it served as a reminder that kindness can exist even in the most difficult situations. And it demonstrated to me the strength of expressing the truth, even if your voice is trembling.
Life isn’t always fair. Good people have bad things happen to them. Every injustice, however, also presents an opportunity to become stronger, wiser, or more determined to change things.
My advice to everyone reading this is to speak up when you witness wrongdoing. Speak up, take a stand, and demand better for both yourself and other people. Change begins slowly but spreads more quickly than you may imagine.
Please share this tale if it speaks to you. Let’s continue the discussion and encourage one another to build a society in which compassion triumphs over callousness.
I appreciate you reading.
