added. “And no feeling at all in my foot. But you know that already, right?”
She ignored his question. “I see you’re taking medication. What about your diet? Are you eating well—a balanced diet, nutritious foods?”
“If it was up to my father and stepmother, I’d be eating ten meals a day. I’d be big as a barn.” He looked down at his body, which was not only thinner but much less muscular than it had been months ago when he shipped out of Fort Bragg.
Gena’s mouth twisted in a half smile. “What’s your social life been like since you’ve come back?”
“Social life? What’s that?”
Her eyebrows went up a notch. “Do you see any friends? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No . . . nothing going on like that right now. I lost touch with the guys I went to high school with. Most of them have moved away. I wouldn’t have much to say to them now anyway.”
He thought of Christine. She was a friend. But seeing her that one time wasn’t what Gena meant, and David was sure he wouldn’t be seeing Christine again anytime soon.
“Friends from the army?”
“Once in a while there’s an e-mail. My life is pretty dull. I don’t have too much to say. Most of the guys I was tight with in my squad are still over there . . . except our sergeant. He died that night we got hit.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”
David shrugged. He didn’t know what else to tell her. He hadn’t known those guys too long. But they had grown tight, especially the nine guys in his squad. They had depended on each other for their very survival. Training together, sleeping together, eating together, going through life-threatening experiences together—he felt a bond with them that he had never felt with anyone before. And never expected to feel again.
It had been pure, blind chance he had not died when the Humvee was hit and later, when it exploded. He knew that there was nothing he could have done to save Sergeant Nolan. To change the flip of that coin. But he still felt a nagging guilt, as if he had somehow betrayed the man by surviving him.
“Any trouble sleeping?” Gena asked.
He paused, wondering how truthful he should be. “Not great,” he admitted.
“Because of the pain?”
“Sometimes.”
“Any other reasons?” she persisted. “Headaches? Nightmares?”
“Yeah, sometimes. But that’s pretty common, I hear, for someone like me.” He looked up at her. “Are you a shrink, too? It was my understanding that you just covered the physical repairs. I didn’t know you were qualified to get into my head.”
His question held a challenging edge. If he wanted to see a psychiatrist, he would make an appointment with one. Why did she need to ask him all these questions?
She tucked the folder under her arm and met his gaze. “Everything’s connected, David. Your emotional state, your attitude, your body. Your physical recovery is greatly impacted by your psychological state. And so is any work that we do together.”
“Well, maybe, but it seems to me if I go to a gym and press weights for a month, I still get a muscle in my arm. Whether I’m smiling or crying.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe. But this is different. This isn’t just body-building. It’s healing, inside and out. Have you met with a counselor at any point to talk about your night traumas or your feelings about the friends you’ve lost?”
David sighed and sat back. She wouldn’t give up, would she? “Yeah, once or twice. I didn’t get much out of it. I’m okay,” he insisted. “I mean, considering what I went through. Hey, anybody would feel down, a little messed up. I need to start walking again. That’s what I need. Talking isn’t going to help me. Walking is.”
He knew he sounded angry but he couldn’t stop himself. She had pushed his buttons with all her questions.
“If that’s how you feel, counseling probably won’t help you,” she agreed. “But you ought to think
She ignored his question. “I see you’re taking medication. What about your diet? Are you eating well—a balanced diet, nutritious foods?”
“If it was up to my father and stepmother, I’d be eating ten meals a day. I’d be big as a barn.” He looked down at his body, which was not only thinner but much less muscular than it had been months ago when he shipped out of Fort Bragg.
Gena’s mouth twisted in a half smile. “What’s your social life been like since you’ve come back?”
“Social life? What’s that?”
Her eyebrows went up a notch. “Do you see any friends? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No . . . nothing going on like that right now. I lost touch with the guys I went to high school with. Most of them have moved away. I wouldn’t have much to say to them now anyway.”
He thought of Christine. She was a friend. But seeing her that one time wasn’t what Gena meant, and David was sure he wouldn’t be seeing Christine again anytime soon.
“Friends from the army?”
“Once in a while there’s an e-mail. My life is pretty dull. I don’t have too much to say. Most of the guys I was tight with in my squad are still over there . . . except our sergeant. He died that night we got hit.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”
David shrugged. He didn’t know what else to tell her. He hadn’t known those guys too long. But they had grown tight, especially the nine guys in his squad. They had depended on each other for their very survival. Training together, sleeping together, eating together, going through life-threatening experiences together—he felt a bond with them that he had never felt with anyone before. And never expected to feel again.
It had been pure, blind chance he had not died when the Humvee was hit and later, when it exploded. He knew that there was nothing he could have done to save Sergeant Nolan. To change the flip of that coin. But he still felt a nagging guilt, as if he had somehow betrayed the man by surviving him.
“Any trouble sleeping?” Gena asked.
He paused, wondering how truthful he should be. “Not great,” he admitted.
“Because of the pain?”
“Sometimes.”
“Any other reasons?” she persisted. “Headaches? Nightmares?”
“Yeah, sometimes. But that’s pretty common, I hear, for someone like me.” He looked up at her. “Are you a shrink, too? It was my understanding that you just covered the physical repairs. I didn’t know you were qualified to get into my head.”
His question held a challenging edge. If he wanted to see a psychiatrist, he would make an appointment with one. Why did she need to ask him all these questions?
She tucked the folder under her arm and met his gaze. “Everything’s connected, David. Your emotional state, your attitude, your body. Your physical recovery is greatly impacted by your psychological state. And so is any work that we do together.”
“Well, maybe, but it seems to me if I go to a gym and press weights for a month, I still get a muscle in my arm. Whether I’m smiling or crying.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe. But this is different. This isn’t just body-building. It’s healing, inside and out. Have you met with a counselor at any point to talk about your night traumas or your feelings about the friends you’ve lost?”
David sighed and sat back. She wouldn’t give up, would she? “Yeah, once or twice. I didn’t get much out of it. I’m okay,” he insisted. “I mean, considering what I went through. Hey, anybody would feel down, a little messed up. I need to start walking again. That’s what I need. Talking isn’t going to help me. Walking is.”
He knew he sounded angry but he couldn’t stop himself. She had pushed his buttons with all her questions.
“If that’s how you feel, counseling probably won’t help you,” she agreed. “But you ought to think
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