This proceeded with three other people. Through friends of friends, I found three other people who had had very similar situations, again passing the information on to the Beverly Hills Police Department. There was so much coming and going and I was interviewed by the police on a daily basis. I organized a meeting in my house to bring all the victims together, of which there were 11 out of 17 at the time. We sat there for hours trying to find a common denominator. Was it the restaurant? Was it the dry cleaners? Was it the MRI Center ?

12 out of the 17 victims were physicians, so I presume the robbers thought I was a physician's wife. How disappointing it must have been for them to find that I was just Mrs. Average, living in a small Valley house, with no jewels, except what I was wearing and some heirlooms my grandmother had given me.

As the months continued one common denominator finally came to the surface, construction. At the time of the robbery I was overseeing the building of a huge surgery center and a physical therapy center. Each of the other victims had either been in construction on their homes, on their street or in their neighborhoods.

Finally, after months with no word, the Beverly Hills Police Department tells us they may have caught the one of the men doing another burglary. For a short moment I felt relieved. However, once in jail, the robber was able to hire himself an attorney for $500.00 an hour. Did he have that kind of money from stealing? Was he well connected? How did he get to me? I was just an ordinary person, living a simple life. All the other people who were robbed were very high profile, very wealthy, with mega jewelry, and mega money. Why me? Why us? Were we a mistake?

Time was passing slowly but I felt no change. I was deteriorating into this black hole. I was beginning to consume me. I had a few doctors watching me, each saying, "If you don't get better, you're going to have to go into hospital. If you don't get better, you're going to have to be on an IV. If you don't start eating, you will be even more ill." It wasn't that I didn't want to eat, I couldn't eat. There was so much acid in my body from fear, from shock, from fright, that I couldn't digest my food. I vomited every time I ate. It burned every time I urinated. I couldn't even go to the bathroom. My eyes were bulging out of my head. And inside I was so lonely, so desperate.

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