Those Bloody Tears

Chapter Nine

          “Are you here for Andy Ciprano?” the doctor asked. I don’t know why he bothered I was the only one in the f******* room.

            “How is he?” I asked skipping the formalities. I could give two flying f**** less what his name was.

            “He was terribly dehydrated and malnourished. It was very apparent that he was suffering from bulimia for months, but as far as the mental factors go we couldn’t determine how long it has gone on. It was lucky that he passed out when he did a couple of days or maybe even hours and he would have been dead. Fortunately, we've ruled out total renal failure, but we suspect that it was in the beginning stages. We think that was the cause of him going down. But he is stable now and resting so it would be okay for you to sit with him. We have done all that we can, now all we can do is wait for him to put on a little wait through a feeding tube we inserted. Then we will hand him over to a residential treatment facility.”

            My heart sank, I swallowed. Feeding tube? He had to be feed through a f****** feeding tube?  And treatment facility? He was going to have to go away for this. I knew that was something he was afraid of.

           “Thank you,” I forced myself to say. At least I could see him.

            He must have paid more attention to my reaction than I realized because he said, “Don't beat yourself up about it, some patients go years unnoticed. They usually hide it from their friends and family because they are afraid they will have to stop. They don’t want to get ‘fat’ again.”

            “I should have noticed he was too skinny, but I was never around him when he ate. I found out two months ago and didn't think he could get any worse. If I would have dreamt anything like this would happen I would have drug him kicking and screaming to a shrink.”

            “It's not your fault, not everyone is informed on eating disorders. Usually a patient can only be helped if they want to be,” he soothed.

            Then he offered to take me to Andy. He was in his own room in a wing especially for patients with eating disorders. He told me that this was to be sure that he would have the best care possible while he was here. The doctor also explained what would happen next over the elevator ride and walk to his room.

            I stepped in and gasped in horror when I saw his pale form buried under tubes and IV’s. I wanted to sink to my knees and beg someone anyone to let me go back to two months ago and get him help. But I didn’t want to make a scene in case the doctor was still watching, so instead I walked over to his side, brushed his dark hair out of his face, and took a seat behind him.

           Before I was in such a hurry to get to him, but after I saw him I wanted to get out. It physically hurt me to see him like this. So pale, and not blushing. I started getting the feeling that I was being overdramatic; I mean it wasn’t like he got hit by a car his kidneys just threatened to fail from the vitamin deficiency, the malnutrition, and the dehydration. Who am I kidding? It might have been better if he was hit by a car. Then at least I wouldn’t feel so d*** guilty for not getting him help, for keeping his secret and determining that he could deal with it on his own.

            I slouched in my chair and watched the gentle rising and falling of Andy's chest. It was a small consolation, all things considering. I just stared at his chest, avoiding looking at anything else, until I managed to doze off again. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was. The incessant beeping of his IV woke me up sometime in the early morning, maybe around eight or nine o’clock. Once I got my bearing I pressed the call button on the side of his bed and requested a nurse. She bustled in within a few minutes with a new IV bag and apologized for letting it go on so long.