The doctor didn't respond. The wand pressed lightly, and the soft hum deepened as images began appearing on the screen, gray and white patterns shifting in real time. Chris couldn't look. He didn't want to see what a decade of suppressants had done.
After a while, the physician said softly, "There's no permanent damage."
Chris blinked. "What?"
"No scarring," the doctor clarified, voice gentle. "The tissue's irritated, yes. Some swelling. But it's recoverable. You're lucky."
Lucky.
Chris almost laughed again, but the sound got stuck somewhere in his chest. He turned his head toward the wall, blinking hard against the pressure behind his eyes. "Lucky's not the word I'd use."
"Still," the doctor said, "it could have been worse."
He finished the scan in silence. The machine's hum faded, the wand clicked against the tray, and the soft sound of gloves being discarded filled the air.
