healing is not linear - A Memoir by Frances Edelstein

Chapter 5: Hospital pt. 2-Food Therapy

Trigger warnings: self-deprecation, negative body image, eating disorder thoughts, forced eating, quick mention of self-vomiting, slight mention of physical harm

I got home to pack my stuff before heading to the hospital.  I forget where my mom went but she wasn't home, and my dad was in the shower.  I decided to grab an Ensure my mom bought and sit out back on my patio with my dog, her sitting at my side, my feet swaying back and forth over the edge.  It was pretty close to the ground, so no harm.  I was too scared to not give myself nourishment, and I figured this would be a quick and easy way to buy myself some time, as if this one drink would save my life.  Maybe it did, I don't know.  I'm still amazed that I lived through that period of my life.  All signs pointed to me having a heart attack and dying, and somehow, I didn't. 

So, I sipped on the Ensure and talked to my pittie-mix dog, Dixie, about my life (she's a good listener).  I told her how my life just felt like a crazy rollercoaster.  I wasn't upset, more reflective than anything.  It was a surprisingly calm conversation.  I guess I kind of just zoned out, suddenly humbled and afraid of myself with the information I just got.  I waited there until my mom and brother got home, then we are set to leave for the hospital.  The logical part of me was actually very happy and relieved that I was going to the hospital, finally getting the real help that I needed; the anorexic-ridden part of my brain was silent, and my worries were momentarily gone, replaced by the fear of death and thankful for the medical professionals that are going to save my life.

The staff planned on putting me in the mental health unit of the building, but there was no room at the time, so they placed me in the endocrine unit, which is on the same floor but other side of the hall, so we still had quick access to the nurses and doctors we needed.  Even though the endocrine doctor didn't have to tend to me since I wasn't officially her patient, she still checked up on me from time to time to ask how I was doing.  At the time I didn't realize how important this was.  There are amazing and caring people that see their job than more than just something they have to do to put bread on the table; this sweet young doctor checked on me when she didn't even need to; she just wanted to see if I was alright, and asked if I needed anything.  It's small acts of kindness like this that go a long way, and give me a sliver of shining hope for humanity. (There was also a very attractive young doctor there that my mom and I called "Doctor Handsome," and he was always so proud of my progress.  He was a genuinely caring guy, which made him even hotter.)

Since I was only a merely 92 pounds and the beds weren't the squishiest, I actually developed big, sensitive to the touch bruises down my spine from sleeping on my back most of the nights.  After the bruises were gone, the skin on top of my spine was actually calloused and dry for a while after that, so much so that I assumed the markings would be there forever.  A couple months after I got out of the hospital, though, they started to dissipate and then go away completely.

Anyway, the first couple days there, they ran the same tests as last time, which basically checked to see if I needed a feeding tube again.  Remember how I said I hated it and wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy?  Well, guess what, my fucked-up brain actually wanted the noodle again!  Why, you ask?  I wouldn't have to face eating normally again for at least a couple more days.  I know, it sounds awful, and in retrospect, I'm glad I didn't have to go through all that shit again; the vomiting and explosive diarrhea I got with the noodle last year was enough to last a lifetime.

Since my digestive system wasn't as messed up as last time, I was able to start the eating disorder program effective immediately. The program was basically set up like this: they schedule and plan your meals for you, so you have no say in what you're getting, and one of the nurses sit with you while you eat to make sure that you don't try to hide any food.  You only have 30 minutes to eat all the food they give you, no matter how large the meal is.  Sometimes it feels more like a race than eating.  If you don't finish all the food in the 30 minutes, they make you drink the caloric equivalent via Ensure.  I think they let me choose the flavor, but I'm not quite sure; I didn't finish only once, and when I say it was a mountain of fries and chicken tenders that looked like an appetizer for a family of six, plus a to-go cup of carrot sticks and a can of soda, I am not kidding.