Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
I’m shaking and holding on to Daddy’s hand with my good one as we enter the clinic. The place is quiet. After all, it’s a Sunday. They don’t take appointments on Sunday. The doctors only come in on special request or when there is a Little who needs medical attention that can’t wait.
Daddy stops just inside the clinic to remove my harness before he guides me through the waiting room and down a hallway. He finally stops and raps his knuckles on an open door.
I grab on to Daddy’s arm, almost hiding behind him as I look into the room to find a man rising from behind a desk. It’s an office, not an exam room.
The man beams as he approaches. “Brian, you’re back.” He shifts his gaze to me. “Hi there. I’m Dr. Morgan. And you must be Lacey.”
“Yes, Sir.” I feel compelled to be polite. There’s a vibe in the air. I can sense it all over the island.
“Come on back. Let’s get you in an exam room.”
I’m nervous, but I don’t say anything. I know the doctor is going to ask me hard questions. He’s also going to examine me more than he would another patient. How many abuse survivors does he see each day?
Daddy doesn’t even shut the door as he follows Dr. Morgan into an exam room. He lifts me up and sets me on the end of the exam table.
“I’ve read through the notes you sent me yesterday. Sounds like this Little one has a number of past and present injuries.”
“Yes. She’s been doing well for the past two days, improving slowly, but I’m still worried about internal injuries or even past fractures.”
“Understandable.” Dr. Morgan turns toward me. His smile is warm even though I’m certain I’m about to be very embarrassed. He takes a few minutes to do normal things like look into my ears, eyes, nose, and throat.
He lifts my arm next and examines my wrist. I’m sure Daddy told him about this particular injury.
The doctor is quiet as he presses on several spots, making me occasionally wince. He lifts my other hand and compares them before setting them down. “When I finish your exam, I’ll get some X-rays. I don’t think your wrist is broken, but I want to make sure. Can you tell me what bones you think might have been broken in the past, Little one?”
He speaks so kindly to me that it’s hard to avoid his inquisition.
“Maybe my ribs,” I whisper, “and this wrist once before.”
“This is your dominant hand, right?” the doctor asks.
He’s very observant. “Yes, Sir.”
He picks up his stethoscope next. “Can you take her shirt off for me?” he directs toward Daddy.
I whimper as Daddy pulls my T-shirt over my head, leaving me in nothing but a diaper. It’s even wet because I couldn’t hold it any longer.
Daddy stands on one side of me. Dr. Morgan stands on the other. The doctor lifts the little disk toward my chest. “Sit up tall for me, Little one. Shoulders back, hands at your sides.”
I try to obey him. I want Daddy to be proud of me. I want to be agreeable even though I’m scared.
“Good girl,” Daddy says in that tone he uses when he’s pleased with me and praising me.
The doctor listens to my chest in at least a dozen places. He takes his time, moving the disk around my breasts and between them. Eventually, he switches to my back and repeats the slow listen. “You say she’s had a cough?”
“Yes. It was noticeably worse when I took her to her home. Her father is a smoker. I suspect she will stop coughing altogether now that she won’t be exposed to the impurities.”
When the doctor lowers the stethoscope, he says, “Her lungs and heart sound really good. I bet you’re right. Some people can’t tolerate smoke and improve as soon as they aren’t around it. Can you lie back for me, Little one.”
Daddy helps me recline before gently lifting my arms above my head.
The position makes me feel unbelievably exposed. My breasts are on full display, and my legs won’t lie fully straight. My knees are bent and splayed open to accommodate my diaper.
The doctor leans over the bruising on my tummy first. “Was this from a kick, Little one?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir,” I mumble.
He feels around the area. “Let me know if my prodding hurts, Lacey.”
It hurts, but not nearly as badly as yesterday. I’m starting to heal. I’m familiar with this routine. It takes about ten days for the bruises to heal, especially on my tummy.
The doctor moves on to the other side of my stomach. “Any pain anywhere else, Little one?”
“No, Sir.”
He lingers on one side, pressing against what I assume is my bladder because I suddenly feel like I need to pee again. I draw my knees up and whimper.