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The sex doctor

I wanted a cure- but found a perv...


Published by: Jai Breitnauer
Published on: 24 May 2012

Sitting in A&E at Cardiff University Hospital, I felt like a right idiot. All I'd wanted was share my leftovers with the wild horses, but I should've known not to go near that one with his ears flat.
‘It's just that he wanted more carrots,' I explained, as the doctor looked at the bite on my hand.
‘Well, you'll live,' he smiled, giving me a tetanus jab and sending me home.
Thank goodness! Because, although I'd worked as a nurse for years, lately all my hospital visits had been as a patient, and I was getting a bit fed up... undiagnosed diabetes resulting in a heart condition, ovarian cysts. No, I'd had my fill of the NHS.
But a few days later, I began to feel achy and tired. ‘It's like a mild flu,' I complained to my GP.
‘It's probably just a virus,' he replied but, as weeks passed, my symptoms got worse. I was sure I'd caught something from that horse. Sick of doctors, I trawled the internet for solutions. An ad for the Cardiff Natural Health Show caught my eye. There would be hundreds of complementary therapists there. Surely one of them could help?
I made my way to the Mercure Hotel, Cardiff. It was late in the day when I saw the ‘Ozone Therapy' stand.
‘What is it?' I asked the well-dressed, elderly gentleman running the stall.
‘I'm Reginald Gill,' he smiled, holding out his hand. ‘Ozone therapy saturates your cells with oxygen. It can cure anything.'
Really?! At £120 a session, I wasn't sure I could afford it. And his clinic was hours away. But, three months on, I was still feeling ill, so went along.
‘Come in,' he smiled. ‘I'm not quite ready. My wife Leila will make you tea.'
I sat in the lounge while his wife - who must have been about half his age - buzzed about, telling me all about Reginald. ‘He was an army doctor,' she beamed proudly. ‘People come from far and wide to be cured by him - even Brazil.'
Then Reginald called me to his surgery, full of apparatus.
‘First I need to check you over,' he smiled, showing me to a seat. Kneeling next to me, he closed his eyes, held out his hands and, without touching me, ran them over my body. ‘Mmmm, yes...' he muttered.
Opening his eyes, he shook his head gravely. ‘There's low energy from your heart,' he told me. ‘And something on the left of your womb.' He was spot on!
‘Ovarian cysts,' I confided. ‘And I do have a heart condition.'
‘Judith, you're in a very bad way,' he whispered. ‘I need to examine you further. Can you undress?'
Stripping off, I lay on his couch while he began to feel my breasts. ‘Lumpy,' he muttered. Then he moved to my thighs.
‘May I give you an internal?' he asked. Panicking now, I nodded. What was wrong with me?
 ‘Just as I thought,' he said. ‘I don't want to frighten you, but you have cancer.'
‘W-what?!' I gasped. Don't you need more tests?'
Reginald shook his head. ‘It will have started in your womb, spread to your breasts,' he explained. ‘I know it's a shock, but I can cure you.'
Tearful, I looked down at my naked body. I felt so fragile, so afraid. I'd been fobbed off by doctors when, all the time, this cancer was growing inside me.
I thanked my lucky stars Reginald had spotted it - and now he could get rid of it, too.
‘This is an IFAS machine,' Reginald explained, attaching a glass probe to a long plastic tube. ‘It will push ozone into your body to kill the cancer.'
I winced and grimaced as he slid the attachment into me.
‘It'll soon be over,' he soothed, but it wasn't. After 20 minutes, I made him turn it off.
‘I need to do your breasts now,' he said, rubbing iodine around my nipples. Next, he lowered me into a Jacuzzi, and turned on what he called the Ozone machine.
‘It will help get the ozone into your system,' he explained. Within minutes, I felt sick, and could barely breathe.
I groaned. ‘Can I get out?'
‘This is an hour-long treatment, you've still got 20 minutes,' he said. No way! I stumbled from the tub.
‘You're too weak to get dressed,' he tutted.
Head throbbing, I closed my eyes, but I could feel him start the IFAS machine again. There was a groan, but it wasn't me...
‘What are you doing?' I gasped, as he stood over me.
‘You don't have good circulation down here,' he gestured at my private parts. ‘I need to make you feel sexy.'
‘I don't think... ' I began, but he cut me off.
‘I have sex three times a day,' he boasted. ‘Grateful women throw themselves at me.'
‘Erm... well, I've never thrown myself at anyone.'
He took my hand and I noticed something. He wasn't wearing gloves, hadn't the whole session.
‘Come to Reggie... ' he said, huskily. Suddenly, the machine beeped, and I grabbed the excuse to get dressed. Then I paid, and scurried out.
I felt sick to my stomach. What had happened in there?
For days, I lay in bed. I couldn't eat, had a terrible headache, and was covered in a rash. When I finally felt well enough, I looked up ozone on my computer.
‘It's an industrial disinfectant!' I gasped. It was very harmful and could even cause cancer!
Shaking, I phoned trading standards, who contacted the police. The detective told me they'd had another complaint.
On April 11 this year, Reginald Gill, 77, appeared at Swansea Crown Court in a flat cap and scruffy blazer, riding a mobility scooter. He acted like a shadow of the confident man who'd told me I'd die without his help. Liar!
He was jailed for eight years on nine counts of sexual assault and one of fraud.
Afterwards, a lady approached me. ‘Thank you for helping put him away,' she smiled. ‘My son was his patient, but Stephen really did have cancer. Gill convinced him to stop having chemo. Ten weeks later, he died.'
‘I'm so sorry... ' I gasped. The judge described his behaviour as a ‘gross betrayal of trust', but I'd say he was a sexual predator. I don't know if I'll ever get over what he did, but at least no one else will suffer the same.
Judith Green, 60, Risca, Monmouthshire