Years ago, I actually enjoyed cooking. Close friends recall a time during which I used to prepare elaborate meals, cater parties, and watched the Food Network until noon on weekend mornings to learn about how to prepare healthy and unique meals. I found stress relief in chopping up mounds of vegetables, trying to make traditional recipes "healthy", and sipping on glass after glass of wine while stirring up something incredible in the kitchen.
Somewhere along the line, this passion faded. When I started to feel an unfounded and extreme guilt for nourishing my body, our refrigerator became a hell of a lot emptier and the homecooked meals became few and far between.
My anorexia is not solely to blame for this shift, as The Mr. and I shared meals less frequently when he started taking graduate school classes in the evenings. The conflict in our schedules made it easier for me to hide my growing obsession with starvation, and I began using my alone time to over-exercise and forego dinners. I can remember many, many nights during which I would return home after spending three hours working out intensely at the gym and force myself to go to sleep immediately, ignoring hunger pains as I felt for my ribs and hip bones under the covers.
Only this week have I begun to recall the enjoyment I used to receive from preparing meals. Having now experienced the struggle of an eating disorder, I do not think I will ever have a "normal" relationship with food. However, LA has singlehandedly helped to ease the anxiety surrounding preparing and enjoying meals this week.
Twice this week, I have prepared full meals for The Mr. and I. Sure, I approach meal preparation as any recovering anorexic would: I need to keep the meals as "clean" as possible, stick to small portion sizes, and create combinations using only my "safe" food list. Nevertheless, I am slowly dusting off the kitchen appliances I thought I had forgotten how to use.
Tonight was no exception. I had already forewarned The Mr. that we would be having one of LA's suggestions this evening for dinner, and he was (honestly) not thrilled at first. Earlier in the week, LA had told me about her vegetarian tacos, explaining that she replaces the meat with a mixture of black beans and corn (seasoned like taco meat). I would not consider myself a full-fledged vegetarian, although I am about as close as one can get without the actual label, so this sounded rather appealing to me. After talking about this meal with her, I realized I could recreate it using all "safe" foods of mine, so I decided to bust out the cookware that has been collecting dust in the kitchen and give it a shot.
I poured a (giant) glass of wine, and got to work. I sliced open avocados and scooped out the soft center. I chopped up a bushel of cilantro and took in a mild, fragrant scent I haven't experienced in over a year. I quickly diced up tomatoes with the knife skills I learned years ago when I worked as a creative assistant for a catering company, and I nibbled on some cheddar cheese shreds before placing a mound in a serving dish I had forgotten I even owned. I set the table with our matching dishes (something I used to fuss over), and called The Mr. to the table to try something new.
He was hesistant at first, looking skeptically at the meatless mixture he was expected to roll up in a corn tortilla. But, driven by hunger, he dug in anyhow. I watched him load his tortilla up with lots of condiments(probably to cover up the taste of the foreign bean/corn mixture).
He ate three tacos. I had two, and ate them slowly, taking in all the flavors I'm learning to love again. We refilled our wine glasses until the bottle was empty. And I, once again, was provided with a bittersweet glimpse of how life used to be; before food became my enemy.
I vow to thank LA for reminding me that food is something to be enjoyed, and not something to be feared.
The eating disordered response to tonight's dinner is not obsolete; I still feel as though I overate (I did not...not even close) and purging has crossed my mind. I started to add up the ingredients' calories in my head like I have done so many times before. I regretted not using reduced-fat cheddar cheese, and obsessed over whether or not the taco seasoning mix contained too much sodium. I have stood in front of the mirror several times this evening and tried to grab "fat" that I swear is there, but have to trust is not. These thoughts will probably always haunt me, but at least I am learning to rationalize them, brush them off as distorted, and move on.
This past week, I prepared dinner using my "safe" foods twice. Next week, I want to meet this goal again, and perhaps aim for three complete meals. I'm beginning to actually like cooking again. It will take some time until I can cook without overanalyzing the ingredient list or eliminating "unsafe" components. But as long as The Mr. is willing to put up with a few uber-healthy meals, I think I may begin to spend a little more time in the kitchen in the coming weeks.
In other news, I received a sad email from LA this evening. I was scheduled to meet with her tomorrow morning, however, she and her family have been forced to move out of their home due to smoke damage from a house fire. While missing my appointment with her would normally throw my Type-A personality into a tailspin, the situation at hand motivates me to do well this weekend without her. LA has done so much to help me throughout this process that I owe it to her to pull myself up, work through my own emotions related to food, and make progress independently. I would love to meet with her on Monday and be able to tell her that I ate well, avoided purging, and took some chances on my own. And I am, of course, thinking of her and her family...I can only imagine how stressful and upsetting such an experience can be. She believes so strongly in me that I cannot help but send lots and lots of positivity her way during this time.
I think a celebratory "I Beat Anorexia" party at my house is just around the corner. Perhaps I'll even prep all the food, just like old times.
It's long overdue, is it not?
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
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.
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.
Being a Brat Today
I think every girl working intensely with a treatment team reaches a point where she reverts back to the bratty teenage version of herself. Today, the mature, positive, pleasant version of myself did not get out of bed. But the bratty, rebellious, defiant 15-year old did. The nice thing about being in eating disorder therapy is that it is perfectly acceptable to take this version of myself to my appointments today, as it will allow LA and Dr. Joe to "explore" what is currently going on with my emotional side.
But wouldn't it be nice if it were acceptable to take this version of ourselves to work, to meetings, to a family gatherings? Maybe it would take away some of the pressure we all feel to be "mature", "put on our happy faces", and "play nice."
Although most of us would end up in timeout and nothing productive would come of that.
I usually don't blog before my appointments, but I am, as stated earlier, feeling like a brat today. I don't know why, and I don't really care. I do not have to be the perfect patient all the time, and today I have chosen to throw a little bit of a tantrum. I'm entitled to. I've been a good girl for the last three days, and now I can be a brat if I want to be.
Hmph.
Here are some of the reasons I am feeling bratty today:
1. Dr. Joe wants me to bring my lunch to his appointment. I don't want to eat in front of him, and I won't be able to talk if I'm eating. And he is paid to get me to talk. Seems counterproductive to me.
(I still have yet to decide if I'm taking my lunch to his office, and I have to leave in about 15 minutes. This will be a last-minute decision).
2. The Mr. implied I was being a bum this morning when I just wanted to lie in bed. Um, hel-lo...last time I checked I've been working my butt off to fight off physical pain, play with plastic food, and ward off the demons that tell me not to eat dinner. It's been a rough week so far, I can lie in bed if I want to (love you, The Mr! I know he reads this blog sometimes...) :)
3. I am supposed to email Dr. Joe if/when I have to go to the ER or experience anything out of the ordinary. I followed the rules and fired off an email to him when I was leaving the ER two nights ago. In it, I told him I was scared and this seems very real right now. He never wrote back. This confirms the Voo-Doo Doll Theory I referred to yesterday. I don't want to talk to Dr. Joe today. He sucks.
4. Yesterday's assignment from LA was to go 24 hours without thinking about food. In plain speak, I was supposed to just eat what I wanted within my own house (because I know all the foods we keep are healthy and safe). I did just that. But today I am obsessing over the fact that I probably did not eat enough fruits and vegetables during that 24-hour timeframe. I think that counts as "thinking about food", so I probably just failed that challenge. Damn.
5. My dog is obnoxious and does not let me rest. I want to send him to doggie day camp for the remainder of my leave, I no longer care about the price.
6. I really, really, really want to run. I've continued to cycle, lift, and swim this week, but I'm over it. I am a runner. Runners need to run.
7. The GI specialist I am meeting with at 3:15 is probably going to have me come back for the actual scope procedure, which means I will have to fork over my $30 copay twice. I hate it when they pull that. Greedy, money-sucking assholes.
8. I miss my work friends and I hate knowing they are in the office and I am not. I'm probably not missing a damn thing, but I love them all the same and am starting to miss the day-to-day ridiculousness that is my crazy office. LA and Dr. Joe are my BFFs this week, and I'm not sure that is a healthy thing for any of us to continue...good thing there is a two-week window for this bonding time.
Please do not interpret my throwback teenage angst as a slip into negativity. Somewhere inside I remain positive about this process, know I am doing what I should be doing, and am making huge progress. I just want to be a brat today.
You can almost hear the foot stomping, door slamming, and "f##k you, I hate you and never want to talk to you again!"'s, now can't you?
Off to share my angst with the doctors. Good thing they can take it in stride and they have no ability whatsoever to ground me. I guess they should be happy I'm not perfect all the time...isn't that what we're working on, anyhow?
But wouldn't it be nice if it were acceptable to take this version of ourselves to work, to meetings, to a family gatherings? Maybe it would take away some of the pressure we all feel to be "mature", "put on our happy faces", and "play nice."
Although most of us would end up in timeout and nothing productive would come of that.
I usually don't blog before my appointments, but I am, as stated earlier, feeling like a brat today. I don't know why, and I don't really care. I do not have to be the perfect patient all the time, and today I have chosen to throw a little bit of a tantrum. I'm entitled to. I've been a good girl for the last three days, and now I can be a brat if I want to be.
Hmph.
Here are some of the reasons I am feeling bratty today:
1. Dr. Joe wants me to bring my lunch to his appointment. I don't want to eat in front of him, and I won't be able to talk if I'm eating. And he is paid to get me to talk. Seems counterproductive to me.
(I still have yet to decide if I'm taking my lunch to his office, and I have to leave in about 15 minutes. This will be a last-minute decision).
2. The Mr. implied I was being a bum this morning when I just wanted to lie in bed. Um, hel-lo...last time I checked I've been working my butt off to fight off physical pain, play with plastic food, and ward off the demons that tell me not to eat dinner. It's been a rough week so far, I can lie in bed if I want to (love you, The Mr! I know he reads this blog sometimes...) :)
3. I am supposed to email Dr. Joe if/when I have to go to the ER or experience anything out of the ordinary. I followed the rules and fired off an email to him when I was leaving the ER two nights ago. In it, I told him I was scared and this seems very real right now. He never wrote back. This confirms the Voo-Doo Doll Theory I referred to yesterday. I don't want to talk to Dr. Joe today. He sucks.
4. Yesterday's assignment from LA was to go 24 hours without thinking about food. In plain speak, I was supposed to just eat what I wanted within my own house (because I know all the foods we keep are healthy and safe). I did just that. But today I am obsessing over the fact that I probably did not eat enough fruits and vegetables during that 24-hour timeframe. I think that counts as "thinking about food", so I probably just failed that challenge. Damn.
5. My dog is obnoxious and does not let me rest. I want to send him to doggie day camp for the remainder of my leave, I no longer care about the price.
6. I really, really, really want to run. I've continued to cycle, lift, and swim this week, but I'm over it. I am a runner. Runners need to run.
7. The GI specialist I am meeting with at 3:15 is probably going to have me come back for the actual scope procedure, which means I will have to fork over my $30 copay twice. I hate it when they pull that. Greedy, money-sucking assholes.
8. I miss my work friends and I hate knowing they are in the office and I am not. I'm probably not missing a damn thing, but I love them all the same and am starting to miss the day-to-day ridiculousness that is my crazy office. LA and Dr. Joe are my BFFs this week, and I'm not sure that is a healthy thing for any of us to continue...good thing there is a two-week window for this bonding time.
Please do not interpret my throwback teenage angst as a slip into negativity. Somewhere inside I remain positive about this process, know I am doing what I should be doing, and am making huge progress. I just want to be a brat today.
You can almost hear the foot stomping, door slamming, and "f##k you, I hate you and never want to talk to you again!"'s, now can't you?
Off to share my angst with the doctors. Good thing they can take it in stride and they have no ability whatsoever to ground me. I guess they should be happy I'm not perfect all the time...isn't that what we're working on, anyhow?
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Spending the Night in the ER
Well, the title of this post just oozes with optimism, now doesn't it? But somehow, despite spending roughly five hours in the emergency room last night, I still remain overwhelmingly positive about my recovery. There really is no turning back now.
Around midnight, my sleep (a rather sound one, too) was broken by the intense burning in my throat and esophagus, and the ever-enjoyable feeling of a knife stabbing me in the back. These are precisely the excrutiating symptoms I had been feeling before, and this time we followed Dr. K's advice and headed for the ER.
Given that I am a pretty tough person (thanks to years of sports, a tough-skinned father, and some brutal "I- don't-care-about-the-pain-just-do-it" coaches), I have had very few visits to the ER during my 28 years. I am more inclined to sit on a very serious injury or illness for a long period of time rather than to rush in to the ER or to a doctor for help.
I should note that this is exactly the mentality that perpetuates my eating disorder. Hunger pains? Just ignore 'em and go run 13 miles! Lightheaded from no food? That's ok, you're super woman, remember?! That shooting pain in your shin? Your bones aren't fracturing, just suck it up!
Yeah. It's working real well for me, let me tell ya.
I digress. Back to the ER visit...
I sign the clip board (M., age 28, anorexic- purging subtype, severe esophageal and back pain,) and am taken back immediately. Given my naivety related to the Ways of the ER, I think to myself: "Awesome, I don't even have to wait. In minutes I'll be lying down and pumped with painkillers to make this hell go away."
The nurse takes my blood pressure and temperature. She asks me to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10. Despite the stabbing sensation in my back, the fact that I am seconds from vomiting on the floor, and can hardly sit up straight, I tell her "um, maybe like a 5?". The Mr. shoots me a look of death. He knows I have no concept of pain, and my response is grossly underestimated.
"Ok, you can have a seat in the waiting room."
Well, shit. So I'm not being seen right away. Should've known better.
We take a seat amongst the late-night ER crowd: the college girl wrapped in a blanket who looks like she has gone days without so much as brushing her hair, the child screaming in Spanish to her mother, the wheel-chair bound older woman passed out with her mouth open.
The pain hits me hard. I instantly regret telling the nurse it was only a 5 on the stupid scale of 1-10. I get angry at them for even using that godforsaken subjective system of evaluating pain. I imagine the hoards of people with runny noses who have entered the ER and proclaimed "It's a ten!" to be moved up a few spots before me on the triage list. I decide I played that hand wrong. Crap.
Many, many curse words and an hour later, I am finally taken back to a room. I curl up in a ball on the bed while The Mr. tries to finagle the gown to fit me. He gives up and just throws it on top of me to cover my body.
Enter Hot Doctor. Great, I think. I have to tell Hot Doctor all about my stomach issues. He asks the standard set of questions, and comes to the one I never know how to answer (and I doubt any anorexic, bulimic, or EDNOS patient does): "Any vomiting recently?"
"Um, like intentionally or unintentionally?" I'm not sure if he has read the clipboard and seen "anorexia- purging subtype" written next to my name.
He looks puzzled. "Um...I guess just vomiting at all?" (He clearly has not seen the clipboard).
"Yes. Some intentional, some unintentional." I leave it at that. He makes some notes and then leaves the room.
When he returns it is my chance to explain this whole thing. I tell him I am normally not the type of person to just run into the ER for pain, but that Dr. K has requested I do so. I explain the pain I'm in as best I can, trying to fight the urge to downplay it (my natural reaction). They do some chest X-rays, hook me up with an amazing little concoction that numbs my esophagus the whole way down, and an anti-nausea medication. I pass out on the bed.
Several hours later, I am discharged, referred to the GI specialist I am seeing Thursday anyhow, and told to get in touch with Dr. K. The pain had subsided for the most part, and I was free to go home and curl up in my own bed.
As I sit here blogging, the burning has stopped. However, the sharp back pain continues and this is Dr. K's main concern. When it comes on, it comes on strong and it is not easily sent away.
Despite the pain, trip to the ER, and overall fatigue I'm feeling from that experience, I still remain optimistic today. I plan to pop some painkillers and head off to see LA this afternoon no matter what. I've emailed Dr. K and Dr. Joe to keeep them in the loop (although they will probably get the medical records from the ER anyhow) and we'll go from there.
This time, I'm not being knocked down. Sure, there are many physical signs of the abuse my body has endured in the last year, and they need to be dealt with. But I intend to keep moving forward and using this time to break free of my eating disorder for good this time.
I also secretly imagine Dr. Joe sitting at home, jabbing a voo-doo doll in the back with a pushpin, thinking to himself: "I don't want her to forget just yet!"
Bastard!
Around midnight, my sleep (a rather sound one, too) was broken by the intense burning in my throat and esophagus, and the ever-enjoyable feeling of a knife stabbing me in the back. These are precisely the excrutiating symptoms I had been feeling before, and this time we followed Dr. K's advice and headed for the ER.
Given that I am a pretty tough person (thanks to years of sports, a tough-skinned father, and some brutal "I- don't-care-about-the-pain-just-do-it" coaches), I have had very few visits to the ER during my 28 years. I am more inclined to sit on a very serious injury or illness for a long period of time rather than to rush in to the ER or to a doctor for help.
I should note that this is exactly the mentality that perpetuates my eating disorder. Hunger pains? Just ignore 'em and go run 13 miles! Lightheaded from no food? That's ok, you're super woman, remember?! That shooting pain in your shin? Your bones aren't fracturing, just suck it up!
Yeah. It's working real well for me, let me tell ya.
I digress. Back to the ER visit...
I sign the clip board (M., age 28, anorexic- purging subtype, severe esophageal and back pain,) and am taken back immediately. Given my naivety related to the Ways of the ER, I think to myself: "Awesome, I don't even have to wait. In minutes I'll be lying down and pumped with painkillers to make this hell go away."
The nurse takes my blood pressure and temperature. She asks me to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10. Despite the stabbing sensation in my back, the fact that I am seconds from vomiting on the floor, and can hardly sit up straight, I tell her "um, maybe like a 5?". The Mr. shoots me a look of death. He knows I have no concept of pain, and my response is grossly underestimated.
"Ok, you can have a seat in the waiting room."
Well, shit. So I'm not being seen right away. Should've known better.
We take a seat amongst the late-night ER crowd: the college girl wrapped in a blanket who looks like she has gone days without so much as brushing her hair, the child screaming in Spanish to her mother, the wheel-chair bound older woman passed out with her mouth open.
The pain hits me hard. I instantly regret telling the nurse it was only a 5 on the stupid scale of 1-10. I get angry at them for even using that godforsaken subjective system of evaluating pain. I imagine the hoards of people with runny noses who have entered the ER and proclaimed "It's a ten!" to be moved up a few spots before me on the triage list. I decide I played that hand wrong. Crap.
Many, many curse words and an hour later, I am finally taken back to a room. I curl up in a ball on the bed while The Mr. tries to finagle the gown to fit me. He gives up and just throws it on top of me to cover my body.
Enter Hot Doctor. Great, I think. I have to tell Hot Doctor all about my stomach issues. He asks the standard set of questions, and comes to the one I never know how to answer (and I doubt any anorexic, bulimic, or EDNOS patient does): "Any vomiting recently?"
"Um, like intentionally or unintentionally?" I'm not sure if he has read the clipboard and seen "anorexia- purging subtype" written next to my name.
He looks puzzled. "Um...I guess just vomiting at all?" (He clearly has not seen the clipboard).
"Yes. Some intentional, some unintentional." I leave it at that. He makes some notes and then leaves the room.
When he returns it is my chance to explain this whole thing. I tell him I am normally not the type of person to just run into the ER for pain, but that Dr. K has requested I do so. I explain the pain I'm in as best I can, trying to fight the urge to downplay it (my natural reaction). They do some chest X-rays, hook me up with an amazing little concoction that numbs my esophagus the whole way down, and an anti-nausea medication. I pass out on the bed.
Several hours later, I am discharged, referred to the GI specialist I am seeing Thursday anyhow, and told to get in touch with Dr. K. The pain had subsided for the most part, and I was free to go home and curl up in my own bed.
As I sit here blogging, the burning has stopped. However, the sharp back pain continues and this is Dr. K's main concern. When it comes on, it comes on strong and it is not easily sent away.
Despite the pain, trip to the ER, and overall fatigue I'm feeling from that experience, I still remain optimistic today. I plan to pop some painkillers and head off to see LA this afternoon no matter what. I've emailed Dr. K and Dr. Joe to keeep them in the loop (although they will probably get the medical records from the ER anyhow) and we'll go from there.
This time, I'm not being knocked down. Sure, there are many physical signs of the abuse my body has endured in the last year, and they need to be dealt with. But I intend to keep moving forward and using this time to break free of my eating disorder for good this time.
I also secretly imagine Dr. Joe sitting at home, jabbing a voo-doo doll in the back with a pushpin, thinking to himself: "I don't want her to forget just yet!"
Bastard!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Day 2 Intensive: Double Teamed
Today I felt a little like a child of divorce going between homes. Dr. Joe jokes at times that I play him and LA as though they are my parents (running to one about something the other said, going to the one whose support style matches what I am looking for at that moment, and so forth), and today was no exception.
Though I am in constant contact with both of them almost daily (and they are in contact with one another about me), I rarely see them back-to-back. But since we're hitting the therapy hard these next two weeks, I had the pleasure of working with both of them within a three hour time span.
Today was, overall, another productive day. I can see myself really starting to break free of the eating disorder cycle and create some new patterns.
Appointment #1: Dr. Joe, 12:00 PM
Today I saw a side of Dr. Joe I have never really seen before: he seemed extremely concerned, worried, and serious. On the way down the stairs to his office, he said to me: "where is your lunch?"
Me: "Um, I don't have a lunch with me. You didn't tell me to bring a lunch today." I had been planning to stop by Subway on the way to LA's office.
Dr. Joe: "I thought that was the plan- you were going to eat lunch here?" (I was not aware of this plan...I think he thought he had mentioned this previously, but did not).
Me: "Ok, I will bring it with me on Thursday." I shrug.
I take my usual spot on the couch. I pull my knees up to my chest and sit like a kid, like I always do. I've been here so many times it has started to feel a little like home.
"I'm concerned about your teeth," he starts. Dr. Joe rarely talks about the physical side effects of my eating disorder, unless he has spoke with Dr. K or seen a red flag on my labs and medical records. To date, no one has examined my teeth, so this catches me off guard.
"Okay..." I look at him, puzzled. I am aware of the dental problems that can result from purging, but I have yet to experience any issues and had already planned to see a dentist...soon. I'm not in denial, it's just that other physical side effects have taken priority. I planned to deal with the teeth in time.
I sit there for a moment, with my closed food journal resting next to me on the sofa. Dr. Joe tells me to open it. I do what he says. He gets up, grabs a bright yellow post-it note and hand it to me. He sits back down, leaning forward on the front on his chair and looking me dead in the eye.
"You are feeling better, right?"
I nod.
"I want to make sure you never, ever forget the pain you were in last week." His tone is the most serious I have ever heard, and he is still looking me straight in the eye. "I was extremely concerned. I still am. You are not out of this yet, but you need to always remember how bad it got."
Dr. Joe then told me to write the following words on the yellow post-it note: PAIN, BLOOD, FRACTURE, HOSPITAL, SICKNESS, SCOPE. He tells me to keep the yellow post-it note front and center in the food journal.
I placed it on the inner front cover. Dr. Joe and I talked a great deal after that serious moment. But to be honest, I don't remember much of our appointment except for that exchange.
That was probably his goal. He intends to never, ever let me forget the seriousness of what I am battling...and that's why he's an amazing doctor.
Appointment #2: LA, 2:00 PM
When I get to LA's office, she is coming up the stairs with an empty bowl and spoon. Without thinking, I say to her, "what did you have for lunch?"
LA: "Wait...you're asking me what I had for lunch?" She laughs, but tells me anyhow. It sounds healthy enough. I decide to let her off the hook. I tell her I had Subway. She is pleased.
I pull out my notebook. LA ignores the graphic yellow post-it note on the front as I flip to my homework assignment, a page I titled "My Rules About Food." This list reveals fourteen "rules" I have somehow developed about food; the rules I have rigidly adhered to throughout the past year.
These rules have led me to eating disorder destruction, sickness, bodily harm. These rules have destroyed my confidence, brought me to a place of such extreme darkness, and whittled my body down to nothingness.
I read them to LA one by one. She is quiet for a moment. There it was...the rules of my eating disorder hung between us. We both knew, without saying a word, that the only way to restore me to health was to begin to break the fourteen rules I have followed for months and months, one by one. It will not be easy. But at least we now have a list from which to work.
The details of the conversation that happened thereafter are not important, and I have chosen not to disclose the rules within my blog (for some reason, it is an incredibly personal piece of information I'm not sure I can ever share outside of my very close inner circle). So I will leave you with this positive note:
When I left LA's office, I had to go grocery shopping. Grocery shopping has become a very robotic activity for me during the last several months. After I had eventually restricted my diet down to about a half dozen items, the process of buying food didn't require much thought. I just bought the items The Mr. requested for himself, and that was that.
Given that I had the time to do so (the whole not working thing, if you recall), I decided to actually look around the store and try some new things. I did something I haven't done for about a year: I planned out a few meals for The Mr. and I. I kept them simple and mostly comprised of my "safe" ingredients...but meals nonetheless.
I tossed in about six new items. I used my Blackberry and emailed LA from the check-out line to share with her the new items I was bringing home. I texted Mama K too. And then I called The Mr. and told him I would be cooking dinner tonight when I get home from teaching a class at the gym.
Only those who have watched me try to overcome this can truly appreciate the accomplishment and growth represented by those extra food items in the cart. It sounds absolutely ridiculous, but it was hard to fight back tears while standing there in the checkout line. I can see an end to this. I'm starting to break free.
Though I am in constant contact with both of them almost daily (and they are in contact with one another about me), I rarely see them back-to-back. But since we're hitting the therapy hard these next two weeks, I had the pleasure of working with both of them within a three hour time span.
Today was, overall, another productive day. I can see myself really starting to break free of the eating disorder cycle and create some new patterns.
Appointment #1: Dr. Joe, 12:00 PM
Today I saw a side of Dr. Joe I have never really seen before: he seemed extremely concerned, worried, and serious. On the way down the stairs to his office, he said to me: "where is your lunch?"
Me: "Um, I don't have a lunch with me. You didn't tell me to bring a lunch today." I had been planning to stop by Subway on the way to LA's office.
Dr. Joe: "I thought that was the plan- you were going to eat lunch here?" (I was not aware of this plan...I think he thought he had mentioned this previously, but did not).
Me: "Ok, I will bring it with me on Thursday." I shrug.
I take my usual spot on the couch. I pull my knees up to my chest and sit like a kid, like I always do. I've been here so many times it has started to feel a little like home.
"I'm concerned about your teeth," he starts. Dr. Joe rarely talks about the physical side effects of my eating disorder, unless he has spoke with Dr. K or seen a red flag on my labs and medical records. To date, no one has examined my teeth, so this catches me off guard.
"Okay..." I look at him, puzzled. I am aware of the dental problems that can result from purging, but I have yet to experience any issues and had already planned to see a dentist...soon. I'm not in denial, it's just that other physical side effects have taken priority. I planned to deal with the teeth in time.
I sit there for a moment, with my closed food journal resting next to me on the sofa. Dr. Joe tells me to open it. I do what he says. He gets up, grabs a bright yellow post-it note and hand it to me. He sits back down, leaning forward on the front on his chair and looking me dead in the eye.
"You are feeling better, right?"
I nod.
"I want to make sure you never, ever forget the pain you were in last week." His tone is the most serious I have ever heard, and he is still looking me straight in the eye. "I was extremely concerned. I still am. You are not out of this yet, but you need to always remember how bad it got."
Dr. Joe then told me to write the following words on the yellow post-it note: PAIN, BLOOD, FRACTURE, HOSPITAL, SICKNESS, SCOPE. He tells me to keep the yellow post-it note front and center in the food journal.
I placed it on the inner front cover. Dr. Joe and I talked a great deal after that serious moment. But to be honest, I don't remember much of our appointment except for that exchange.
That was probably his goal. He intends to never, ever let me forget the seriousness of what I am battling...and that's why he's an amazing doctor.
Appointment #2: LA, 2:00 PM
When I get to LA's office, she is coming up the stairs with an empty bowl and spoon. Without thinking, I say to her, "what did you have for lunch?"
LA: "Wait...you're asking me what I had for lunch?" She laughs, but tells me anyhow. It sounds healthy enough. I decide to let her off the hook. I tell her I had Subway. She is pleased.
I pull out my notebook. LA ignores the graphic yellow post-it note on the front as I flip to my homework assignment, a page I titled "My Rules About Food." This list reveals fourteen "rules" I have somehow developed about food; the rules I have rigidly adhered to throughout the past year.
These rules have led me to eating disorder destruction, sickness, bodily harm. These rules have destroyed my confidence, brought me to a place of such extreme darkness, and whittled my body down to nothingness.
I read them to LA one by one. She is quiet for a moment. There it was...the rules of my eating disorder hung between us. We both knew, without saying a word, that the only way to restore me to health was to begin to break the fourteen rules I have followed for months and months, one by one. It will not be easy. But at least we now have a list from which to work.
The details of the conversation that happened thereafter are not important, and I have chosen not to disclose the rules within my blog (for some reason, it is an incredibly personal piece of information I'm not sure I can ever share outside of my very close inner circle). So I will leave you with this positive note:
When I left LA's office, I had to go grocery shopping. Grocery shopping has become a very robotic activity for me during the last several months. After I had eventually restricted my diet down to about a half dozen items, the process of buying food didn't require much thought. I just bought the items The Mr. requested for himself, and that was that.
Given that I had the time to do so (the whole not working thing, if you recall), I decided to actually look around the store and try some new things. I did something I haven't done for about a year: I planned out a few meals for The Mr. and I. I kept them simple and mostly comprised of my "safe" ingredients...but meals nonetheless.
I tossed in about six new items. I used my Blackberry and emailed LA from the check-out line to share with her the new items I was bringing home. I texted Mama K too. And then I called The Mr. and told him I would be cooking dinner tonight when I get home from teaching a class at the gym.
Only those who have watched me try to overcome this can truly appreciate the accomplishment and growth represented by those extra food items in the cart. It sounds absolutely ridiculous, but it was hard to fight back tears while standing there in the checkout line. I can see an end to this. I'm starting to break free.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Day 1 Intensive: Play Date with Fake Food
Here we are...Monday and Day One of intensive work with the team over the next two weeks.
This morning, I woke up, showered, threw on jeans, my favorite long-sleeved t-shirt, glasses, beloved North Face jacket, and running shoes. I have to admit, despite the way I dress in my professional life, I am much more in tune with my tomboy side, and dressing this way for the next two weeks falls in the "positives of treatment" column.
LA's office is located in a wellness facility that also includes a gym, so it's familiar territory for me. I enjoy going there because I have grown to trust her, can be completely open about my fear of weight and foods, and she respects me a great deal for my drive and insistence on kicking this disorder. This morning, we caught up a bit at first: her relaying information from Dr. K in exchange for my account of the weekend and how I've been feeling. She tells me I look totally different in my glasses, I ask her about her weekend (which consisted of swiping the credit card repeatedly to purchase all the necessary items for her girls' upcoming formal dances). Then, we get down to business.
LA grabs a giant box from the corner of her office and sets it on the desk, brushing away the dust that had settled on the top (LA no longer works exclusively with eating disorder patients now that she is at the wellness center, so it's probably been awhile since this magic box has made an appearance). She opens it up and pulls out plastic versions of the following: a slice of cherry pie, a chocolate chip cookie, a baked potato, an orange, a glass of orange juice, strawberries, a slice of wheat bread, and a rather disgusting looking pile of pasta. I know by looking at them that the theme of the day is carbohydrates.
The sight of the rubbery imitation pasta makes me want to hurl immediately. I start cracking up. Then LA starts cracking up. She tells me to imagine the pasta is of a whole grain variety, thinking this will help me accept the pasta model. I can't stop laughing...it is the worst imitation of a plate of pasta I've ever seen. She agrees with me, shoves it back in the box, and pulls out a pile of equally-disgusting fake brown rice.
"Ok...we'll use this instead. How's that?"
It looks like a pile of vomit to me, but I agree to let it go and move on.
LA asks me to separate the plastic food into two groups: what I would eat, and what I would not. I immediately move the cookie and slice of cherry pie to the side. I hesitate for a minute, and eventually move the baked potato over to join them. I ask her if the orange juice has added sugar. She says no. I decide it is acceptable.
"I'd eat it all except for those." I point to the offending desserts and the baked potato.
I know what is coming next. I now have to explain my decisions. I tell her I immediately moved the desserts because I have no idea what is in them, therefore no idea how many calories they contain. The amount of sugar in them freaks me out too. It's just easier to say no to them, as my mind starts to go into overdrive trying to process through their nutritional content. She nods. She knows how my mind works at this point.
The baked potato surprises LA, though, so she probes. I just shrug on that one. It's been so long since I've eaten one, I guess I automatically moved it to the "no" group. Also, it is a white starch and I have forgotten the fact that potatoes actually carry a lot of nutrients. This illustrates her point exactly...I was unable to articulate why I moved the potato to the "no" side of the desk, so I immediately realize my decision to remove it was irrational.
LA turns to her computer and pulls up a nutritional breakdown of the baked potato. We go through it together. I see it is ok. I add baked potatoes back to my list of "acceptable foods"...and that's that.
Now on to the desserts...more complicated. We talk about the need for treats. We discuss my recent "binges" (in quotation marks because the term 'binge' is relative) and why they are happening. My body is craving sweets. It wants me to indulge a little from time to time. LA explains that the body doesn't care where the energy comes from, it just needs it; and that foods are simply chemical combinations and there are no "good" or "bad" foods. The foods on the desk before me are all just carbohydrates that will eventually be turned into glucose by the body. I cautiously agree with her, remembering this from my personal training studies.
I decide cookies are probably okay now. But the pie is out. I'm not eating that jelly-like filling crap. No thanks. Maybe after a few more play dates with her plastic food.
LA tells me her strategy on handling treats, and I decided to adopt it as my own. She indulges, but makes sure that when she does, it's worth it. For example, if LA is going to eat a cookie, she's going to eat a damn good cookie (not a Chips A'Hoy, if you get what I'm saying) and gets a gourmet one or makes a batch herself. She treats herself daily, but is a self-proclaimed food snob. I decide to do the same.
I'll begin to indulge a little, but only if I really want something and know I will enjoy it. And now it is Dr. Joe's turn to help me let go of the guilt associated with doing so and avoid purging...we'll tackle that during my appointment with him tomorrow.
LA gave me homework, too, and I will oblige because I like to learn, am a perfectionist, and want feel accomplished (it works in my favor at times). I have to 1. Go an entire week without checking labels or googling ingredients in the foods I decide to eat, and 2. Make a list of the statements that run through my mind related to food choices.
After my meeting with LA, I went into work just to teach my college orientation/ career exploration class (the only piece of my job I kept on the calendar this week). My students this semester are outgoing, energetic, and engaged, and today's activities provoked great conversation, debate, and interaction. For an hour, I forgot about what I am currently trying to overcome and just enjoyed their company. Those 28 college freshmen will never know that their instructor is battling an eating disorder, or have any sense of the motivational impact their laughter and jokes had on me today. I felt a little like myself again: creating community, kidding around with them, and helping them learn.
I also went to lunch with an extremely supportive friend, K, and her two kids and nephew. I planned ahead, ordered safe food, and unloaded some of my frustration and stress onto her (she didn't mind and was happy to listen).
I am now at home for the rest of the day, and plan to take a nap, read, and do my homework for tomorrow's meetings with LA and Dr. Joe. All in all, a successful Day One.
I'm just hoping we're done with the revolting plastic noodles and vomit-like brown rice pile for the rest of the week!
This morning, I woke up, showered, threw on jeans, my favorite long-sleeved t-shirt, glasses, beloved North Face jacket, and running shoes. I have to admit, despite the way I dress in my professional life, I am much more in tune with my tomboy side, and dressing this way for the next two weeks falls in the "positives of treatment" column.
LA's office is located in a wellness facility that also includes a gym, so it's familiar territory for me. I enjoy going there because I have grown to trust her, can be completely open about my fear of weight and foods, and she respects me a great deal for my drive and insistence on kicking this disorder. This morning, we caught up a bit at first: her relaying information from Dr. K in exchange for my account of the weekend and how I've been feeling. She tells me I look totally different in my glasses, I ask her about her weekend (which consisted of swiping the credit card repeatedly to purchase all the necessary items for her girls' upcoming formal dances). Then, we get down to business.
LA grabs a giant box from the corner of her office and sets it on the desk, brushing away the dust that had settled on the top (LA no longer works exclusively with eating disorder patients now that she is at the wellness center, so it's probably been awhile since this magic box has made an appearance). She opens it up and pulls out plastic versions of the following: a slice of cherry pie, a chocolate chip cookie, a baked potato, an orange, a glass of orange juice, strawberries, a slice of wheat bread, and a rather disgusting looking pile of pasta. I know by looking at them that the theme of the day is carbohydrates.
The sight of the rubbery imitation pasta makes me want to hurl immediately. I start cracking up. Then LA starts cracking up. She tells me to imagine the pasta is of a whole grain variety, thinking this will help me accept the pasta model. I can't stop laughing...it is the worst imitation of a plate of pasta I've ever seen. She agrees with me, shoves it back in the box, and pulls out a pile of equally-disgusting fake brown rice.
"Ok...we'll use this instead. How's that?"
It looks like a pile of vomit to me, but I agree to let it go and move on.
LA asks me to separate the plastic food into two groups: what I would eat, and what I would not. I immediately move the cookie and slice of cherry pie to the side. I hesitate for a minute, and eventually move the baked potato over to join them. I ask her if the orange juice has added sugar. She says no. I decide it is acceptable.
"I'd eat it all except for those." I point to the offending desserts and the baked potato.
I know what is coming next. I now have to explain my decisions. I tell her I immediately moved the desserts because I have no idea what is in them, therefore no idea how many calories they contain. The amount of sugar in them freaks me out too. It's just easier to say no to them, as my mind starts to go into overdrive trying to process through their nutritional content. She nods. She knows how my mind works at this point.
The baked potato surprises LA, though, so she probes. I just shrug on that one. It's been so long since I've eaten one, I guess I automatically moved it to the "no" group. Also, it is a white starch and I have forgotten the fact that potatoes actually carry a lot of nutrients. This illustrates her point exactly...I was unable to articulate why I moved the potato to the "no" side of the desk, so I immediately realize my decision to remove it was irrational.
LA turns to her computer and pulls up a nutritional breakdown of the baked potato. We go through it together. I see it is ok. I add baked potatoes back to my list of "acceptable foods"...and that's that.
Now on to the desserts...more complicated. We talk about the need for treats. We discuss my recent "binges" (in quotation marks because the term 'binge' is relative) and why they are happening. My body is craving sweets. It wants me to indulge a little from time to time. LA explains that the body doesn't care where the energy comes from, it just needs it; and that foods are simply chemical combinations and there are no "good" or "bad" foods. The foods on the desk before me are all just carbohydrates that will eventually be turned into glucose by the body. I cautiously agree with her, remembering this from my personal training studies.
I decide cookies are probably okay now. But the pie is out. I'm not eating that jelly-like filling crap. No thanks. Maybe after a few more play dates with her plastic food.
LA tells me her strategy on handling treats, and I decided to adopt it as my own. She indulges, but makes sure that when she does, it's worth it. For example, if LA is going to eat a cookie, she's going to eat a damn good cookie (not a Chips A'Hoy, if you get what I'm saying) and gets a gourmet one or makes a batch herself. She treats herself daily, but is a self-proclaimed food snob. I decide to do the same.
I'll begin to indulge a little, but only if I really want something and know I will enjoy it. And now it is Dr. Joe's turn to help me let go of the guilt associated with doing so and avoid purging...we'll tackle that during my appointment with him tomorrow.
LA gave me homework, too, and I will oblige because I like to learn, am a perfectionist, and want feel accomplished (it works in my favor at times). I have to 1. Go an entire week without checking labels or googling ingredients in the foods I decide to eat, and 2. Make a list of the statements that run through my mind related to food choices.
After my meeting with LA, I went into work just to teach my college orientation/ career exploration class (the only piece of my job I kept on the calendar this week). My students this semester are outgoing, energetic, and engaged, and today's activities provoked great conversation, debate, and interaction. For an hour, I forgot about what I am currently trying to overcome and just enjoyed their company. Those 28 college freshmen will never know that their instructor is battling an eating disorder, or have any sense of the motivational impact their laughter and jokes had on me today. I felt a little like myself again: creating community, kidding around with them, and helping them learn.
I also went to lunch with an extremely supportive friend, K, and her two kids and nephew. I planned ahead, ordered safe food, and unloaded some of my frustration and stress onto her (she didn't mind and was happy to listen).
I am now at home for the rest of the day, and plan to take a nap, read, and do my homework for tomorrow's meetings with LA and Dr. Joe. All in all, a successful Day One.
I'm just hoping we're done with the revolting plastic noodles and vomit-like brown rice pile for the rest of the week!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Panic Setting In
It's Sunday night, which means I am in my usual spot on the sectional sofa in the basement, watching Sunday Night Football. After yet another Browns loss, it's nice to be able to watch my beloved backup team (the Colts) play textbook football against the Redskins. Hey, every Browns fan has to invest some energy into a second team, as it keeps us watching football long after the season appears to be "over" (that feeling sets in around Week #3 when you are a Browns fan).
This Sunday night feels strange to me, as I know I will not be going into the office tomorrow or tackling another crazy, jam-packed week. Instead, my calendar has been cleared with the exception of medical appointments, therapy appointments, and the daily work with LA.
This weekend has been a bit of a blur, as I'm still feeling a little beaten down physically and mentally. On Friday night we had dinner and drinks with our neighbors and friends. While we are all busy living our separate lives (popping out kids, working our jobs, being grown-ups), it was nice to touch base and catch up. I taught back-to-back classes at the gym on Saturday morning, ran a bunch of errands, met another friend to catch up, and took the dog for a long walk in the woods before becoming a vegetable and watching the OSU-Wisconsin game (for the record, I hate OSU). We also went to a late-night showing of the movie "Social Network" (thank you, Mark Zuckerberg for making "relationship status" and "poking" the conerstones of my generation's social interactions).
This morning involved a lifting/ swimming morning workout during which I felt like crap (and Dr. Joe watched it all unfold from a few lanes over, giving me that parental look of disapproval...I sometimes hate that we use the same gym), listened to my body, and surrenderred to the couch for the rest of the day to watch the NFL games.
Medical leave will begin tomorrow at 9:00 am. Instead of putting on my high heels, trying to cram as much as possible into a 12-hour day, and making the professional decisions I'm paid to make, I'll be fully engaged in eating disorder treatment and resting my deteriorating body. It's an odd feeling, and I am still talking myself into this decision even as it is lingering on the horizon.
One of the feelings that keeps creeping up is a sense of urgency. While I know the anxiety about getting better is probably self-induced, I can't help but feel that "this-is-your-last- shot" message from those in my life. I sense it from those I work with, my husband, and my close friends who have been watching my eating disorder take over my life. This pressure, whether real or sensed, motivates me at times, yet frustrates and cripples me during others. Many times this weekend, I found myself experiencing thinking "everyone in my life is going to walk away if I don't get it together immediately" or "my husband, friends, and coworkers cannot possibly put up with this much longer; I have two weeks to fix this".
Bring on the panic.
I may be sick. I may need to rest, but that doesn't mean my natural inner drive has been turned off like a light switch. Just as it has been the catalyst driving my eating disorder, I'm feeling an (unjustified) drive to overcome this quickly, to show others I can beat it, to restore a sense of normalcy to my life (and the lives of those around me) as soon as possible.
That is going to need to change, or else these two weeks are sure to end in disappointment.
I wish eating normally and having a balanced relationship with food was easy; I want nothing more than to indulge in life's pleasures (I really do), but it is a very slow and painful process. At times, I simply want to scream "it's not as easy as you think!" when people gently encourage me to have a slice of pizza, a few beers, some chips and salsa...I want to be normal. I really do. But it isn't going to happen overnight, and it certainly isn't going to happen over the next two weeks, especially given the physical challenges I currently face. I'm honestly not sure what to expect out of the next two weeks (although I highly doubt I'll be indulging in junk food or ripping up the "not acceptable" list of foods by the end of this leave), but I am hoping LA and Dr. Joe can help me set some realistic goals within the next few days...
...and get me to settle the f%&* down.
So what do I need from others right now? I'll just be blunt and say it:
1. Patience- It's didn't take me two weeks to get here, and it's going to take a hell of a lot longer to get better. I'll be working my hardest, but I'm after long-term success and recovery, not a temporary fix. Eating a slice of pizza is not a sign of progress if it is followed by extreme guilt and a burning desire to purge.
2. Understanding- I've been amazed by friends (or the small group I have trusted in confidence, anyhow) who have started to read up on eating disorders, watch documentaries, and ask questions. I can honestly say that striving for understanding and knowledge is the best way to support a loved one who is trying to be refed, learning to eat again, and tackling the psychological motivation behind the disorder. Those efforts mean the world to someone who is going through this because it's tough to verbalize it all the time...trust me!
3. Encouragement- Hey, when your own mind screams at you that you can't do anything, are nothing, and have failed miserably, you need a few positive comments to pull you up...at least until you can start to say them to yourself.
4. Hope- I am not myself right now. But I will be back soon. Just keep hanging on.
I am not perfect. If I were, I wouldn't be writing this blog, now would I? But I do give everything in my life my all, and I intend to do the same during my intensive treatment over the next two weeks.
Deep breath...here we go.
This Sunday night feels strange to me, as I know I will not be going into the office tomorrow or tackling another crazy, jam-packed week. Instead, my calendar has been cleared with the exception of medical appointments, therapy appointments, and the daily work with LA.
This weekend has been a bit of a blur, as I'm still feeling a little beaten down physically and mentally. On Friday night we had dinner and drinks with our neighbors and friends. While we are all busy living our separate lives (popping out kids, working our jobs, being grown-ups), it was nice to touch base and catch up. I taught back-to-back classes at the gym on Saturday morning, ran a bunch of errands, met another friend to catch up, and took the dog for a long walk in the woods before becoming a vegetable and watching the OSU-Wisconsin game (for the record, I hate OSU). We also went to a late-night showing of the movie "Social Network" (thank you, Mark Zuckerberg for making "relationship status" and "poking" the conerstones of my generation's social interactions).
This morning involved a lifting/ swimming morning workout during which I felt like crap (and Dr. Joe watched it all unfold from a few lanes over, giving me that parental look of disapproval...I sometimes hate that we use the same gym), listened to my body, and surrenderred to the couch for the rest of the day to watch the NFL games.
Medical leave will begin tomorrow at 9:00 am. Instead of putting on my high heels, trying to cram as much as possible into a 12-hour day, and making the professional decisions I'm paid to make, I'll be fully engaged in eating disorder treatment and resting my deteriorating body. It's an odd feeling, and I am still talking myself into this decision even as it is lingering on the horizon.
One of the feelings that keeps creeping up is a sense of urgency. While I know the anxiety about getting better is probably self-induced, I can't help but feel that "this-is-your-last- shot" message from those in my life. I sense it from those I work with, my husband, and my close friends who have been watching my eating disorder take over my life. This pressure, whether real or sensed, motivates me at times, yet frustrates and cripples me during others. Many times this weekend, I found myself experiencing thinking "everyone in my life is going to walk away if I don't get it together immediately" or "my husband, friends, and coworkers cannot possibly put up with this much longer; I have two weeks to fix this".
Bring on the panic.
I may be sick. I may need to rest, but that doesn't mean my natural inner drive has been turned off like a light switch. Just as it has been the catalyst driving my eating disorder, I'm feeling an (unjustified) drive to overcome this quickly, to show others I can beat it, to restore a sense of normalcy to my life (and the lives of those around me) as soon as possible.
That is going to need to change, or else these two weeks are sure to end in disappointment.
I wish eating normally and having a balanced relationship with food was easy; I want nothing more than to indulge in life's pleasures (I really do), but it is a very slow and painful process. At times, I simply want to scream "it's not as easy as you think!" when people gently encourage me to have a slice of pizza, a few beers, some chips and salsa...I want to be normal. I really do. But it isn't going to happen overnight, and it certainly isn't going to happen over the next two weeks, especially given the physical challenges I currently face. I'm honestly not sure what to expect out of the next two weeks (although I highly doubt I'll be indulging in junk food or ripping up the "not acceptable" list of foods by the end of this leave), but I am hoping LA and Dr. Joe can help me set some realistic goals within the next few days...
...and get me to settle the f%&* down.
So what do I need from others right now? I'll just be blunt and say it:
1. Patience- It's didn't take me two weeks to get here, and it's going to take a hell of a lot longer to get better. I'll be working my hardest, but I'm after long-term success and recovery, not a temporary fix. Eating a slice of pizza is not a sign of progress if it is followed by extreme guilt and a burning desire to purge.
2. Understanding- I've been amazed by friends (or the small group I have trusted in confidence, anyhow) who have started to read up on eating disorders, watch documentaries, and ask questions. I can honestly say that striving for understanding and knowledge is the best way to support a loved one who is trying to be refed, learning to eat again, and tackling the psychological motivation behind the disorder. Those efforts mean the world to someone who is going through this because it's tough to verbalize it all the time...trust me!
3. Encouragement- Hey, when your own mind screams at you that you can't do anything, are nothing, and have failed miserably, you need a few positive comments to pull you up...at least until you can start to say them to yourself.
4. Hope- I am not myself right now. But I will be back soon. Just keep hanging on.
I am not perfect. If I were, I wouldn't be writing this blog, now would I? But I do give everything in my life my all, and I intend to do the same during my intensive treatment over the next two weeks.
Deep breath...here we go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)