Chapter 46: The DNA Changes

I was back about six months when I came face to face with some of the complications of spending several years in the past and only aging a few minutes back here in real time.

I guess I should not say “real time” by referring to the present as the only reality. In a way, I had considered the travel to the past as more exciting and real than supposed reality itself. That probably sounds crazy to most and I would be cautious about saying that to some shrink I didn’t trust one hundred percent or to some medical person with connections to the government grid.

The development of a slight cough prompted me to check in with the VA (Veterans Administration) to make certain I wasn’t harboring some bug from the past that would prove troublesome here in the modern world. Strangely, I had never gotten sick in the past other than injuries from some outside reason like a stab wound, etc. I had seen those around me taken by all sorts of germs and viruses too numerous to mention but I had a sort of bubble around me that let me escape all that dreaded stress.

Now that I had time to think about it clearly, it seemed to me that I was actually in a time bubble that did not let the illnesses of the past affect my body from the future. Conversely, it was probably the likelihood that I did not pass along any of my newfangled bugs from the future to the citizens from the past like European settlers landing on the shores of a New World beginning in 1492. (At this point, I would like to add a little disclaimer about the starting date of 1492 ... the date that Columbus supposedly “sailed the Ocean blue to the New World and started the waves of settlers and refugees that made America great. I have grave doubts that the famous explorer was the first to land on American shores. In fact, I plan to write a book about the earlier explorers going all the way back to hundreds of years prior with expeditions of Viking chiefs and even a contingent or two of Knights Templar to round out the picture of previous travels.)

The VA hospital was gleaming clean and the hordes of fading old soldiers moved slowly through the front doors like some “extra” cast from the Walking Dead up in Atlanta, Georgia. I hated to include myself in the herd but I guess in all honesty, it was an inescapable fact that I qualified to be in the count. The fact that I got shot up younger than most and retired from military life was certainly no excuse to exclude me from the others with assorted ills and issues. I remembered my mentor Sergeant Noble calling it the lineup of sick, lame or wounded going down on the “or accounted for” column on the morning report.

There was the usual little clique of volunteers that always filled me a sense of gratitude for their efforts to make like a little easier for the ones that were either stumbling or confused and even a little bit fearful in the sterile environment. Reminders about “Take your Flu Shot” decorated the walls and an ominous huge sign that reminded all patrons that “Firearms are not allowed” set the tone for watchful caution. All too recently some poor PTSD (Post-Traumatic Syndrome) came to set things straight with his shrink in a way that was not appropriate for good patient-doctor relations.

I kind of liked the VA despite the bad publicity they received in recent years. I liked their “by the book” way of doing things and the fact they would order up testing without any regard for cost just to be sure the patient was ready for release and off the sick roll. They were real good at diagnosing a problem and if you weren’t happy with their proposed program of treatment, you could always go elsewhere and see another doctor. Of course, it helped if you had already qualified for disability or had the benefit of continued insurance under the retiree system and not just cut loose after a short term of service with no life-long promises.

They pooh-poohed my description of symptoms and sent me straightaway to the “Lab” for testing. Now, I was in the hands of the people that really know how the system worked. They poked me, prodded me and generally did things that would expect from some qualification board to pass a certain threshold. The upshot of the whole thing was that I was in adequate shape and needed some medication in others. I did get sent to a hot young female doctor for some added testing. She was obviously Vietnamese and her name confirmed it. Miss Lei was second generation and didn’t speak a word of Vietnamese. Her English was precise and she took my blood pressure I am certain as a distraction as she interrogated me about “Have you made any trips lately” questions that I was reluctant to be fully transparent about.

Miss Lei showed me two sheets of paper.

The first one was a copy of a dog-eared report on my individual DNA done at the time of my release from active duty. I have no idea why they did a DNA test so long ago when the science was just starting but it must have been related to the fact they were giving me extra money for getting mucked up in a combat zone. At that time, I was basically your “follow the order and don’t question it” sort of guy that was reluctant to make waves under any circumstance.

Doctor Lei’s long black hair was almost down to the top of her crack and she had a way of stroking it with her delicate fingers that was sheer torture as I hadn’t had any since getting lucky a couple of months ago. I suspected she knew the bulge in my crotch was caused by her close proximity and she was not the shy type because she made no effort to put some more space between her luscious self and my carefully restrained hands. She must have been using some sort of strawberry body-wash because it clung to my nostrils like a delicious invitation to “dig in” and make a glutton of myself. I was extra cautious because I did not want to cause any problems to my benefits or cash flow and I was determined I would not be the one to make a first move.