Day 4 Intensive: Appointment Overload

Today didn't end much differently than it started...I am drained and exhausted, and still feeling a bit bratty. Having three back-to-back doctor's appointments (all related to the eating disorder repair and recovery process) makes my day job seem like a resort vacation. Anyone who thinks my time off has been a relaxing little stroll in the park thus far has never spent hours upon hours with medical professionals dissecting a year's worth of eating disorder behaviors and their side effects.

If recovery can be compared to a long journey, today was a little like treading through the swamp waters.

Appointment #1: Dr. Joe, 12:00 PM

Dr. Joe and I were not even close to connecting today, and that was partially my fault. I had subconciously (and probably falsely) decided before even arriving at his office that he doesn't really give a damn about me (just collecting a paycheck), thinks I'm the neediest client he has ever had, and that I did not want to open up and talk to him anymore.

So I just sat on the sofa and cried.

I sipped on a Smoothie King peanut butter banana smoothie and got defensive when he asked if that were my lunch (it is actually allowed to be my lunch given my esophagus issues at the moment, so I wasn't technically being a brat). I gave one word answers and don't remember looking at him even once (I usually remember which marathon race shirt he was wearing during each appointment, but I didn't even make note of that today).

He tells me to call or email him after my appointment with the GI specialist later on this afternoon. I say ok, but secretly think to myself, "Ha! So you won't respond back?". He asks what I have been working on with LA, and I want to scream "Why don't you call her and find out? She thinks I'm making great progress!"

Towards the end of the appointment, I start to unload on him a bit, tears pouring down my face. I tell him I'm pissed at myself for the damage I've caused to my once-strong body, that I am starting to feel as though no one really cares if I get better or not, that very few people understand the amount of effort and work I am putting into getting better, and that I'm just tired and want to go back to bed.

I left his office angry and upset. I received an email from him later in the day that read: "We'll regroup to get through this. Need to move forward, not back. One step at a time."

When I read his words, I realized being a closed-off brat was probably unjustified. I vowed to make the next appointment a bit more productive. The truth is, I do need Dr. Joe to help me get past this.

Appointment #2: LA, 2:00 PM

Like the tuned in mother-type that she is, LA could tell I was upset when I arrived at her office. We chatted for a bit about why I was so distant with Dr. Joe. We agreed he is a guy (this does trump his Ph.D in psychology...in the end, he is really just a guy) and guys don't understand the level of encouragement and support we women need on an almost daily basis. We bond over our female-ness. She says she will tell him to quit being a boy the next time they speak. I am reminded why I adore LA.

LA is beyond impressed with my food intake yesterday. She is actually rendered speechless when I tell her I swapped out some of my usual foods for other options (for example, Kashi Mediterranean pizza instead of my usual grilled chicken/rice/veggies dinner). During past periods of initial refeeding, I have stuck to the same exact list of foods (no thought required) day in and day out. I'm starting to move past that stage, making subtle substitutions on my own. She sees big progress, and can't stop smiling. She tells me she will bring cotton candy and cookies to our Saturday morning meeting. I tell her to chill out and not get carried away.

Both yesterday and today, LA and I have had deep conversations about my relationship with food, my body, and how/when the eating disorder really started to take over. Today, she helped me arrive at several conclusions: 1. I generally purge when I feel I need to "start over" for the day, erase a mistake, or get angry at myself for not being more "disciplined"; 2. I allowed myself to starve in an effort to start over and rebuild my body in a more perfect form, which is indicative of my personality. The only problem is that I did not want to rebuild (gain weight in any way, shape, or form) once I had reached the bottom ; 3. I have always been a healthy eater, so even in the later stages of refeeding, my weight gain will probably not be significant; and 4. There is a very good possibility that I will come back stronger, faster, and better than ever after restoring a positive eating routine once again.

I left LA's feeling revived. But then...

Appointment #3: Gastrointestinal Specialist (hereafter referred to as "GI Guy"), 3:15 PM

Here is the moment I've been dreading all day, and probably the underlying reason for my brattiness: meeting GI Guy to talk about the physical damage within my body, the reason for the intense pain that most recently sent me to the ER.

Hot Doctor in the ER, as well as Dr. K, already warned me that an endoscopy (scope) is in my immediate future. Dr. Joe also enjoys using the looming scope as a scare tactic (Dr. Joe: "You're 28 and you need an endoscopy...that's some scary shit"). Needless to say, the fact that GI Guy wants to shove a camera down my throat and stomach is not a surprise at this point in the game.

The surprise came in the form of the educational video I had to watch about the endoscopy. After taking my vitals, the medical assistant clicks the remote control to bring up a video about the procedure we will be scheduling for me. She leaves me alone in the room to face the horror that unfolds on the screen.

I cannot watch it. I begin to text Mama K frantically. Then, I email LA. Text some other friends. Hell no...not doing this. F&#k the scope. Dr. Joe is right...this is some scary shit.

By the time GI Guy enters the room, I have been reduced to a puddle of emotion. I shake his hand, and he ignores the tears (another guy move...LA may have to call this one up, too). We go through the procedure step by step, and I have to recount every excrutiating minute of my purging espisodes so he knows exactly what he is getting himself into with me. His words are passing in and out of my head without comprehension, but I latch on to random phrases here and there:

"...in patients who binge/purge..."

Me: "Um, I do not binge. Ever. I'm anorexic- purging subtype." I have no idea why I feel offended that he assumed I binge, or why on earth I felt driven to correct him. Either way, I'm a broken, 28-year old girl with a history of some pretty self-destructive behavior patterns. Is the exact label important? Probably not.

The next few moments are surreal: me talking about my eating disorder behaviors as though they belong to someone else. I am answering his questions about caloric intake, purging behaviors, post-purging behaviors, and asked to describe the exact procedure I have used time and time again to bring up the digested food from my stomach. It feels so wrong to disclose this private and sacred information; as if my clothes are being ripped off and I'm naked for the world to see.

GI Guy is blunt with me. He says he feels he will, in fact, find signs of some pretty severe damage to my digestive tract. He asks if I have any questions. I shake my head no, and am sent out to schedule the Procedure From Hell.

Tuesday, October 26 at 3:00. The endoscopy awaits.

Which means I have three days to forget all about it and pretend this isn't happening.