Homecoming (Lesbian)

CHAPTER 19

"Riley Brenan?" the nurse asked. I looked up from my book and stood up, "Dr. Carlson will see you now."

I shoved my book back into my backpack and stood up. Dr. Carlson was woman probably on her forties, and I was thankful it was actually a woman. Why, you may ask? How would you feel if a guy were to undress you and touch parts of your body you didn't allow him to for the sake of testing stuff?

I walked in, closed the door behind me and sat in front of her desk.

She was typing on her computer when she said, "Just give me a second, please. This keyboard needs a replacement," she joked.

I smiled and took the time to look around the room. There was a medical table to the left, where I knew I would be laying in a moment; next to it, a medical scales with the addition to measure your height in both inches and centimeters. To my right, an eye chart and a crystal closet that contained instruments that I hoped never to feel close to any part of my body. Then my eyes went back to her. She already had gray hair, some wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth, and a stethoscope around her neck.

"Riley, right?" the doctor said with her attention still on the computer screen, like she was reading my file.

I replied, "Yes, ma'am."

"Twenty five years old, four years of service, three tours, one in Iraq, two in Syria," she turned to me as if she expected me to verify the information.

Again I answered, "Yes, ma'am."

"It says here that you were discharged three months before your time was up because of several injuries."

"It says all of that?" I asked.

"Of course, the army keeps records of every mission you've ever been sent to and how those mission... affected your physical wellbeing. How else am I going to know what treatment to give you if I don't know what caused it, and how damaging the injuries really were when they occurred?"

"Right."

"I'm going to read you the injuries that are listed here and you tell me yes or no. Sometimes there could be mistakes in the files."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Two-inch superficial cut behind the right ear caused by a grenade splinter,"

I pulled my hair backwards to show her the scar. "Yes."

She typed again in her computer and proceeded. She read everything, all of it. Every single scratch I got while I was serving my country, she could see in her computer, including... "Brain injuries caused by concussion," I nodded again, and then... "Partial amp―" she had to stop herself, she looked at my arm and decided not to ask the obvious. "Okay, Riley, everything seems in order. Any other injuries that we don't know of?"

I shook my head and she asked me to get undress, put on a blue coat that didn't even got to my knees and seat on top the table. I did as she wanted while she stood up and took out a small flashlight from her coat's pocket.

She stood next to me and started looking at my scars, "Are you having memory issues?"

"Yes."

"With what kind of memories?" I opened my mouth but nothing came out, so she decided to be a bit more specific about the question "Are you forgetting places, birthdays, names of people you knew your whole life?"

"No, no, most of those I know. I'm having issues with small things. Like going to the store to buy something and then, when I get there, I don't remember what I was supposed to buy. Or things like, I lose my train of thought really easily so... maintaining conversations can be hard."