“There are no drugs in your system.”
Dr. Kathleen Bennett’s words brought Dee a mixed swell of relief and disappointment. Relief over nothing toxic in her system, and disappointment that the answer wouldn’t be simple.
She took in the military doctor, a flight surgeon who wore a green flight suit with a stethoscope around her neck. The woman inspired trust with a brisk no-nonsense confidence that Dee appreciated. She would focus on that, trust that and try not to think overlong about Dr. Bennett’s slight swell of pregnancy that made Dee’s stomach clench.
She forced back the need to take Jacob’s hand. While he’d sat in the waiting room throughout her morning full of exams, she’d asked that he be allowed to join her afterward.
Watching him walk so confidently through his military world at McChord Air Force Base sparked confidence in her—and a yen to see him in his flight suit.
“I’ll send your blood work out for more extensive testing, but so far there’s nothing out of the ordinary.” Dr. Bennett tucked her pen behind her ear into her red braid and flipped through the chart. “You’ve definitely got a bump on you head, but not severe enough for us to be concerned about.”
Jacob swallowed, a long, slow ripple of muscle along his strong neck.
He was worried? For her? He’d hidden it well earlier in the truck, so distant and moody, only relaxing somewhat once they crossed through the front gate of the base.
Regardless, she wanted to clutch his hand in gratitude rather than for comfort. Someone cared what happened to her. How small and incredible a thought.
Jacob pressed, “When will we hear back?”
“A week at the most.”
Dee winced. “So many tests. Expensive tests.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve got it covered.”
Jacob had, she must mean, but Dee couldn’t afford to argue. “Thank you.”
Dr. Bennett flipped another page on the chart. “Your psychiatric evaluation came back basically normal.”
An airplane roared overhead and Dee flinched. Just the jolt of the unexpected noise, right? Not freaking out with a panic attack, damn it. Still she had to ask, “Basically?”
“You’re displaying moderate signs of anxiety, but that’s perfectly normal given the situation. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t at all stressed by the circumstances.”
A calm settled over her for the first time. “You believe me.”
Her brows rose. “Oh, yes, you passed that part of the psyche eval with flying colors. I can prescribe something for the anxiety.”
“No. Thank you.” A thought occurred to her. “Although I was carrying an EpiPen with me and I have no idea what I’m allergic to.”
Dr. Bennett frowned. “Were you wearing a medical alert bracelet?”
A good thought on the doctor’s part, but, “No, and I haven’t found one anywhere in my room.”
She pulled her pen from behind her ear. “It could be any one of a million things. The most common allergies I see are to bees, peanuts and shellfish. You should probably avoid those and keep the epinephrine close. I’ll send you home with a few extra to keep around, just in case one gets lost. I’ll also give you a printout of symptoms to be aware of in case of an allergic reaction.”
Dee slid her hand into her pocket, her fist closing around the medicine. “Thank you.”
“All right, then.” The doctor scribbled a notation on her chart, then tucked the pen back into her red braid. “You’ve managed well so far, but don’t hesitate to let me know if something changes.”
Jacob stepped from behind the gurney as if to block the door. “That’s all you have for us?”
The doctor’s hand fell to rest on the barely visible pregnancy bulge as if to soothe a restless child. “To be honest, Dee, I can’t explain why you’re suffering a memory loss. Until you remember, we have no way of knowing. On the bright side, you’re a healthy young woman, somewhere in your early thirties, I would guess. You’ve had your appendix and tonsils removed. You’re O Positive and don’t wear glasses. You weren’t battered, attacked or raped. No signs of a sexually transmitted disease.”
She paused, shuffling uncomfortably for the first time.
Dee couldn’t take her eyes off that hand circling a pregnant stomach. She already knew the answer before she asked the question. “And?”
“You’ve been pregnant at least once, delivering by Cesarean section.”