TMC

So I hurt myself. I should have it tattooed on my wrist “You are no longer 19!”. Some stupid pulled tendon thing in my hand, right index finger and thumb. That and my foot was acting up from walking on rocks out at that stupid tower detail. Doc Feel Good kept me moving on anti inflammatory meds until I can get to sick call. In the army you have to be sick during certain hours in order to go down to the Troop Medical Clinic (TMC). When I got the flu in Washington State years ago, I had to walk two miles, in the snow at 5am it get to sick call. It has Army logic to it.
I gimp my way a good klick down the road to the TMC, or at least where I vaguely remember seeing it once.
The TMC, is in a different world. There are FEMALES there. There are more women than men. I am checked in by two female soldiers, and then sent to the vitals room. The nice Specialist at the desk puts a BP cuff around my arm and ask me what the reason for my visit is.
“I think I aggravated my foot, and my hand has been hurting. I think I might have smacked it crawling around my truck.”
She writes down my complaint on some form.
“I wouldn’t have even come down here except it keeps me from doing my four favorite things.” My mouth is running its own life, and my brain reaches out to throttle it. This is the Big Army.
She looks at me with innocent brown eyes and asks, “And what are those?”
“Riding motorcycles, shooting guns and writing books.” I say praying she can not add. Damn that reflexive honesty.
“But that’s only three.” She says.
My heart rate bumps from 63 to 111, here goes my a stripe.
“Well I am single, in Iraq, and… well…. Not good at being a lefty.”
Her eyes go wide, for a second, she looks at the monitor and smiles.
“Crap,” I say, “There goes an EO complaint.”
“My fiancé says the same thing, He just got here”
“Same FOB?” I ask.
“No he is down at [REDACTED]”
“Shit we go there all the time, we could just stuff you in the back seat.”
Now she blushes. And quickly ushers me out of room.
The strange thing is I would smuggle her down to his FOB or vice versa in a heart beat. You gotta hook a soldier up when the time comes.
I decided to keep my mouth shut the rest of my time in the land populated by real live women. A good thing too, the doctor was cute, blond and a major. I can’t get hurt again, it will probably cost me a stripe.