Numbers Don’t Count

There is proof, again, that weight is just another number. What it comes down to is the balancing out of how we really feel within ourselves. That doesn’t mean we have to always feel good and it doesn’t mean that we have to always like what we see in the mirror. All it means is that we can’t let our self-images revolve around a couple of little digits. The value we need to find is one that cannot be defined in numbers. They, in reality, are obsolete and the last few days have really highlighted that fact for me.

Ever since I reached my 90%, and eliminated the 2 Ensure Pluses, I have stuck relatively close to that number. Some days I’ll go up a quarter to a half a pound only to find that the next time I am weighed I have lost it again. Overall I have been more comfortable in my body as of late since I got here in July. This past Wednesday, however, added a little more perspective. When you have reached your 90% but then drop below it you have to be under it two consecutive weight days in order to catch any consequences. On this last Monday I checked in at a half a pound above the magic 90 which has been normal for me recently. Wednesday, just two days later, neither the nurse weighing me nor I could believe our eyes when I stepped on the scale – I had apparently lost 5 whole pounds!

I have no idea how that happened and, although I’m generally in tune to my body enough to be able to feel if I have lost or gained, I felt the same as I had on Monday. We blinked at the scale, blinked at each other, I got off, and we tried again just in case it was a fluke, but wound up with the same result. It was written in the book and I signed my name next to it as usual to show that we both saw the same thing on the scale and then I went on to worry about whether or not my passes would be revoked due to the loss. Thankfully, since that was only the first time, nothing was affected, but I was warned that if on Friday it happened again I would not be able to use the passes I had written up for the weekend. Not only that but both the Ensures would be added back into my schedule.

Now, this weekend is the only weekend out of my whole stay here that I have a visitor. My mom was able to come up the coast from Virginia for two nights and we had lots of plan for the short time she would be here. It would be a real shame if, for any reason, I wasn’t able to leave the center.

I was anxious when I got up on Friday – fuzzy with anticipation. It turned out though that I actually had nothing to worry about. Just as I had inexplicably lost the 5 pounds two days earlier, I managed to gain that plus another 1 and 1/2 back. Now, through all this neither my diet nor my activity level has changed in any way that could be described as more than minor, and yet the scale seems to have a mind of its own. For as surprised as I was, yet again, at the numbers I was even more surprised at how comfortable I felt in my skin even knowing the amounts. Just as I hadn’t felt any different the day that I had lost weight, I didn’t feel any different this day that it jumped either.

So, in the end, I got to keep all my weekend passes. I really don’t fee like I have anything to complain about through all this. I just goes to show that the numbers don’t have to make sense. They don’t have to rule your life or even just ruin your day unless you let them. Today is Saturday and I feel just as good today as I have the whole rest of the week…and I thnk thats good enough to rely on.

To Dine Out

Today was my second lunch group outing. Sally, who normally runs it, has been on vacation for about a week now so it has been presided over by her protegé, Calista, and the rec director, Talia. Now Talia has been working here for years and knows her dietary ED info pretty well even though her main focus is recreation. Calista, however, is another story. She is new, still in school, and here for the purpose of completing her dietetic internship. Granted, shes still learning the ropes a bit, but she has been here long enough to at least have figured out how to eat meals around a bunch of eating disordered patients.

Talia is excellent to eat with. When we are out she gets roughly the same amount of food as us and she eats all of it without a hitch. Calista has been consistent as well but not in such a good way. In fact, many of my peers here would much rather not dine with her at all. She is a naturally thin woman of indian origin who, personally, I think is quite beautiful. The problem is that she doesn’t eat enough. There are many dietitians with food issues but they have jobs working with people who are trying to lose weight, not gain. If there is one thing a dietician should do when eating meals with us its to be a good example. One of Sally’s mantras is that we should model our plates after hers.

To make a long story just a bit shorter, Talia asked me a question as we walked back to the inst, ahead and out of ear shot of the rest of the group. She wanted to know if the amount that Calista had left uneaten on her tray had bothered me. After an honest “yes” on my behalf Talia then asked me if I would bring it up at a short meal process group when we got back. Hesitantly I agreed so long as all the others who had similar complaints would back me up. She asked why no one had addressed the group about it before and found that, although most of us were irked by it, none of us wanted to rock the boat. We are generally a pretty passive bunch.

So I did it. I said it made me uncomfortable that she didn’t practice what she preached on a routine basis. Others agreed with head nods while Calista immediately got defensive. On that note Talia wrapped the group up and too Calista in back. Since it was Talia’s idea and urge to air out the dirty laundry I can only assume that they had a chat about the issue. Hopefully things will change. Just as we are doing our part learning here the is learning as well. In one way or another we are consistantly helping eachother – it just depends on how accepting of it we are.

Everybody has them

Things happen here that you wouldn’t expect. Things forgotten, things remembered, ways of force by means of will we dig deeper than we would have thought possible. There is no real right or wrong way to go about discovery because its only the outcome of the experience that is tangible.

I never reall understood the term “you are as sick as your secrets” and yet it seems to be a common theme for the day. Dr Vanhalen says that I keep them but I don’t really think I really have any. I generally believe that I have only truths and just a lack of people who really care enough to ask me about them. I’ll open up, I have no problem with that, but I’m not going to readily offer up my soft underbelly if I don’t think its going to be treated with fragility by those around me. I figure that if people want to know something about me they will ask and if they don’t then I think its safe to assume that they don’t perticularly want to be burdened with my problems. Thats what therapists are for. Thats why we pay them. Its their job.

I don’t know where this idea that I have to be some sort of pillar of strength came from. I’m not sure why truly breaking down and asking for help seems so out of my nature. Maybe my true feelings on this subject were a secret I was keeping from myself.

So, it wasn’t singularly Dr. Vanhalen that spurred this inner diving session. Creative writing group had a free write seesion with the theme being secrets. Most people seemed to write on the topic with ease but, for some reason, I just couldn’t come up with anything. Naturally I was discouraged because I have been recently priding myself in my written words. I feel like I am going to have to think more on this subject. On the surface, if asked about secrets and the like, I’m sure I would off-handedly say something about trust or truth but after this I believe sompletely rethinking my ready-reply answer is in order.

The Creative Outlet

There is no art therapy on the unit. When I fist got here there was sort of hap-hazard art group that was halfway organized for the weekend slot but mostly we just sat around reading the newspaper. The woman who was supposed to be there for the purpose of the group never had anything specific planned. She was presumably around my age and, although very pleasant to be around, seemed as though she was only with us for the means of filling a quota. One day though, about three weeks into my stay here, she came in and announced that she would be replaced with someone better suited to the eating disorders unit. Its been almost two months since that announcement now and the scant, bedraggled, art supply remnants sit collecting dust.

The general consensus around here seems to be that the lack of an art therapy group, a real art therapy group, is not the ideal. There are few select groups that art therapy seems to be very beneficial to and one of those is the treatment of eating disorders, especially where body image is concerned. All of this, not so much taking it but counseling with art therapy is something that I am extremely interested in. It is something that has caused a whirling excitement of hope for a while now. Every time I think of being able to help others in that way I can’t help but feel almost a giddy centering sensation.

I’m scared too, of course. I can prospectively see myself getting passionately woven into the thick of art therapy dynamics but there are aspects of this dream that I am not so solid on. First off is how the get there. I can’t readily be of any accountable access to others if I’m still engulfed in an eating disorder myself. I have taken that step though. I am on my way to recovery and, although I wouldn’t feel comfortable really practicing with potential clients until I was at least a year in, I now need to bring some focus onto whats next. What scares me about the whole thing is the possibility of disappointment. I’m terrified of wanting something so badly and having it fall through like so many other miscellaneous dreams. If I expect the worst and prepare myself for possible failure then it surely will be laid to rot but if I hold hope too tightly then I’ll be broken if I can’t achieve.

I’ll need help. I know I’ll need help with this just as I’ll need help with recovery once I get home, but it’s hard to say so. I’m so used to not relying on people. sometimes I say that if I’ve learned anything in life it is how to be self-sufficient but thats not always a good thing. In general I don’t like to believe that people will do what they say and, because of that, I try to do everything myself. Past experiences have just taught me that its easier that way so I don;t have to be mad at people if they do let me down. I’ll work something out though. Asking for help may very well be the hardest part of this endeavor.

The lack of descent art therapy here versus the heightened interest in it from the group has put a new and unexpected spin on things though. It seems that I have been voted the unofficial leader of a new impromptu art therapy group. I have checked out project ideas and inventoried the supplies at our disposal so I think I’m at least somewhat close to prepared. Its another new adventure and it kicks off tomorrow morning. I have my fingers crossed.

Know Thyself

Sometimes around the unit things fall into a sort of sync that is what I can only imagine having a whole houseful of sisters feels like. Games are played, secrets are shared, clothes are handed down, hair is styled, and comfort with understanding is doled out on an as needed basis. It was gorgeous out all weekend. We really couldn’t have asked for better through the 3 day hiatus from groups and meetings and, with the great weather, came high spirits and a not always apparent sense of comraderie.Elle, getting ready to leave in a few days and dealing with her own troubles surrounding that, got the shoulders she needed to lean on and some friends to panel as sounding boards. A nail-painting party ensued during a lull on the bright Sunday afternoon. A multi-player game of scrabble roared into competitive action on one side of the room after the day’s visitors had gone. It was busy. Busy in a calmly balanced sort of way.

The best thing, for me, to come out of the weekend was the great clothes swap of Labor Day morning. Each of us here struggles with body image in one way or another. Its more or less a multifaceted battle that creates conflicts on a daily basis. within the confines of such tumultuous inner struggle thats different for every person it is hard to find the solace needed to break away. Mirrors become gateways to depression, the clothes that once were so a part of us become the enemy, and the practice of body comparisons morphs into a second nature. Its hard to fare and hold our own when we each have such distorted views of ourselves that are apparent to our eyes alone. Its a hard beast to keep on a leash, this negative body image issue.

The great clothes swap started just after breakfast with a knock on the bathroom passageway door from Elle. I had been feeling somewhat crummy (thats putting it lightly) about the small amount of clothing items I had shown up with. This was purely to do with how they now fit on me even though I had attempted to bring things that could “grow with me”. Shirts were awkward and tight in places they hadn’t been before, pants required a little squirming to pull up, and all of it had been making me self-conscious enough to wheedle my wearable wardrobe down to just two outfits. I wasn’t thrilled.

When I opened the door for Elle I was surprised at the large stack of clothes in her arms. It was all items she knew she wasn’t going to wear anymore and we stood together, sifting through them on my bed, as I got first pick. I sorted out what I liked and tried on what I could. Keeping what worked for me in one pile I sorted through my own clothes to add to the donation heap before it got shifted off to Amy who was next in line. This went on through most of the girls on the unit, the clothes pile decreasing and then growing again to varying degrees. In the end, each of us getting a few new items, we all had new wardrobes that held articles we could actually feel good in.

By the time it was all over I wound up with 4 new pairs of pants, 5 new shirts, and a good new attitude as to my appearance. Elle didn’t take anything new, because she already had so much, but she got to see her clothes find loving new homes. In turn I gave away the pair of jeans I had arrived in and they wound up looking great on Brynn who, being orthodox, had never owed any denim. In this fashion the cycle went on and, at the end of the day, it seemed that the overall self-esteem of the unit had risen a few notches. Its back to routine tomorrow but at least we’ll all be comfortably happy in our new attire.

The Slow Climb

Okay. I am officially frustrated with my weights. Not because they are going up but because, despite my best efforts, the gaining process has slowed to the speed of one of those living statues that are seen all over Europe. You know, those people whose movements are so fractionally minute that you can’t tell they have done anything at all unless you leave and don’t come back for a few hours. That is what my metabolism is doing to me at this point. Still, each meal, every single time, I’m eating 100%. Beyond that I have not only drank my 2 daily Ensures but I have also taken the one additional PRN Ensure for the last 5 days. Its almost like the more I give my body the more it uses.

I know that for many anorexics those last 5-10 pounds needed to reach a healthy weight can be the hardest to put on. I have heard that many times, and part of me is very glad to see my body complying to the laws of reality, but I’m so close. My next goal is reaching my 85% and, right now, I am 3/4 of a pound away. At 85% I will be able to go out with Sally’s lunch group on Wednesdays and do shopping for cooking group along with various other things. I think most on my mind though, what I’m most anticipating, is the upcoming level change that 85% brings.

Level 4b, the ‘b’ standing for ‘building’, is the next step. Its not much really. All it means is that I will get to go out and walk around without a staff members accompaniment so long as I stay inside the institution. There are a couple of things this allows, such as being able to visit the fresh air park when I want, the invitation to explore the building’s multiple floors, and the freedom to hang out in the cafe with its beautiful view of the Hudson. Its hard to find alone time on the unit these days and I think that, too, just being able to get away for a few minutes will make a big difference. With so many new patients, their emotions running amok, still trying to get settled in, its pretty hectic around here lately.

Originally I had wanted to reach my 90% by now but I can see that thats going to take longer than I expected. I would have thought, if someone had asked when I first got here, that I would have been more adverse to the gain as I watched the scale rise. Its a daily surprise each morning when I find that I’m actually relatively comfortable with my body and am actively trying to gain more. I don’t want to say its easy because its not. At all. It takes more work than is explainable to someone who hasn’t actually gone through the recovery process themselves.

The reason I had wanted to be at my 90% by now is because all the patients that I have known since I got here are now getting ready to leave. Elle, Benji, Laura, all 3 are going home within the next 2 weeks and I’ll be the patient who has been here the longest. I wanted the level 4a change that came with my 90% so I could start going out on passes with my friends, even just a few, before they left. Well, things are what they are. As much as I may feel somewhat stagnant at this point in the program I know my body is smart. It will get there when it needs to.

It will be good to go on passes when I am able. I know that thats the next thing I am going to need to practice with – picking my own meals out of a lot more diversity and not being held so accountable for my actions. I know its going to be though, too, and I want as much time as possible before going home. I think I’ll just chalk up this whole snail’s pace of progress as a practice in patience. Yeah, theres meaning behind everything.

Gaining

Every body is different. Thats something that I have to remember. We all gain and lose in different places and the skin we wear is suited to fit each of us perfectly. I say the now as a reassurance because lately I have caught myself thinking more and more about how this recovery looks on me. I have to call it that – Its not weight, its health that I’m regaining. I know, too, that when I look in the mirror, what I see may be the common view but I interpret it differently than others would.

When I look in the mirror I try to point out the good things about where recovery is working its wonders. My waist, for instance. In my eyes it is all settling around my waist there is scads of logic and miles of reasoning to rebuke that. Its a fact that in the refeeding process the initial weight does seem to amass in the abdomen. This is because of a few things such as your stomach, not used to food, is digesting slower. It makes sense. Your body, not knowing when it is going to be deprived of food again, tries to hang on to what it does get for a longer period of time than normal.

Its also a fact that, when a person starving themselves of the nutrients that supply energy, the body takes that energy that it needs from internal things in a certain order. Fat goes first. When it has used that up the energy stored in muscle is the new target. Those get used and limbs start looking gaunt and thin, and so it goes down the line. Eventually the energy needed starts getting taken from some organs to keep other, more vital, ones working. Organ mass is lost and shutdown of different ones can occur as your body does its best to keep the two most crucial, your heart and brain, going as long as it can. Thus, when your body is gaining everything back, it regains first what it last took from and things in your torso get replenished before arms and legs do.

All of this comforts me when my mind starts to wander into the questioning black hole realm and I know that what I see around my middle will disperse through the rest of my body in time. I also know that I am going to gain differently than some of the other girls here by comparison for one very BIG and important (and cute as can be) reason. Reese. I have had a child and most of them have not. My amazing, now 8-year-old, son is the driving force behind so much of my work here and there will never come a day when I would choose a flat stomach over him.

We are all different, in all unique shapes and sizes, and if defined by no other label, I am ME.

The Danger Zone

I’m going to start off by saying that it is very hard to talk about or to the new girl, Lisa. Heck, its hard to just look at her. She is tall with chin-length brown hair, brown eyes, dainty fingers, a slow speaking voice, and she is nothing. There is nothing to her. Her thin translucent skin stretches over each and every curve of bone to give pure definition to the movements of skeletal structure. By the laws of science and human anatomy its a miracle that shes breathing, let alone standing up, and thats something she can’t seem to stop doing. Lisa is a self-admitted exercise addict as well as anorexic and she is never just sitting. She is either asleep or walking around.

Lisa has been living in Seattle up until recently when she moved to New York to start law school. After only a week of classes she gave in and made the critical decision to come here and, for her, at 29, its not the first time in treatment. One of the scariest things is that one of her previous treatments was this program which she left, at a healthy weight, just last January. Thankfully she knows, at least on some level, that she needs to be here. Although I don’t know what her mindset was like before, at this point shes vocally appalled at herself for having fallen down that familiar rabbit hole again and so quickly.

I look at Lisa and see the sickest thinnest (at this point the two words are interchangeable, so take your pick) person I have ever seen in my life. At Remuda, someone thinner than me coming into the program, was triggering. Here, at Columbia, all it does is scare the pants off me. I had been so close to that myself, definitely mentally, if not physically. I was too close for comfort to being so entirely lost. I can’t express how glad I am to be given the chance to find my life again. (Big sigh of relief from a set of working lungs now.)

Right now Lisa is settled into the quiet room. Its the same room I was in when I first got here. For me it was just transitional, until another room opened up, but for Lisa its for medical surveillance reasons. She is deemed critically unstable and has the orders, for the moment, to do only 2 things – eat and sleep. Above it all though, no matter how she looks or how slow and disjointed her speech may be, her mindset of recovery seems to be in the right place. She is eating 100% so far and comes off outwardly positive. We’ll have to see what the next few weeks bring but I do, emphatically, hope the best for her.

Weekending

It seems that lately things around here have been a strange oscillation of slightly uncertain, a bit topsy-turvy, and relatively quiet. Its almost as though everyone is waiting cautiously to see whats going to happen next but they have no idea what that might be. Then again, maybe thats just the take I am getting from things. Although there havent been any recent arrivals, apart from the new med students starting their monthly rotations, there have been a few departures and pending dates to return home announced.

Right now I am RTU (restricted to unit) for the weekend. This is because I didn’t gain the minimum of 3/4 of a pound between Wednesday and Friday. When I got on the scale I was only off by a quarter of a pound and half-heartedly cursing myself for using the bathroom when I first awoke this morning. It is what it is though and theres not too much I can do about it at the moment. I’m still eating 100% of everything so the slight slip isn’t from lack of trying. All it really means is that I can’t go outside for fresh air breaks until the next weights on Monday. There isn’t any reason why I shouldn’t make that one unless my metabolism goes truly haywire and Wednesday morning is the one I really need to be sure to make anyway.

This coming Wednesday is the Target trip everyone has been waiting for. We are supposed to leave here at 11:30 am, lunching at Applebees first, and then carrying on to shop at Target and it’s surrounding stores. Then we are supposed to be back by 5 pm, just in time for dinner. I don’t plan on buying anything clothes-wise because I’m in such a transitional period as far as my body size goes right now, but I’m still looking forward to the outing whole-heartedly.

There is an Applebees menu floating around here somewhere too because most of us have to preplan our lunch order so no one is caught off guard when we are at the table and only have about 5 minutes to decide. I’m pretty excited about Applebees because the group of us eating there is probably going to prove to be very interesting. I think I am prepared for just about anything to possibly happen. I just need to make my Wednesday morning weights…my fingers (and toes) are crossed for it!

Other than that the weekend looks like its going to be pretty slow. Not being able to spend time outside, art being cancelled, and recreation being held in the gym tomorrow where I can’t go on RTU, theres not a whole lot left on the docket. Oh well, Maybe I’ll be able to get some artwork done. That would be nice and I have been eager to try out the brand new liquid acrylic paints my boss from the tattoo shop bought for me before I left. So thats the wekend – relaxation…its not a bad thing.   🙂

Clickety clack

The scale clicks as one of the nurses moves the little weights around. It takes a minute to get it right. The final verdict has to be perfect, safe, and secure. There can not be room for error. It’s an important process and, after a few minutes, Tiffany emerges from the exam room and holds the door for me to take her place.

I rise from my sitting position on the hallway floor and get a couple of “good luck” comments from Amy, Elle, Benji, and Laura who are next in the queue. Today is the day that I am aiming to meet my 75% of ideal body weight goal. If I can do this I can move up to level three and assume all the privileges that come along with it. There is the ability to go on staff-accompanied outings to pretty much wherever they are willing to take us. There is the emergence of new activities on the schedule that I wasn’t eligible for below 75%. These include some of the more physical things like going to the gym for a game of badminton on Sunday, participating in the yoga group thats held twice a week, and going food shopping off the unit in preparation for coffee klatch. At 75% there is also the cooking group that is immediately followed by a lunch in which we dine on what we have cooked. There is now the Wednesday lunch group in where the unit’s dietician, Sally, takes a few of us out to lunch at one of the many nearby restaurants or delis. Then, at 75%, there is the group that has been my aim for a while now – Menu Planning.

Finally I will get to decide from, limited mind you, list of meal options for each week. I have been here long enough to go through the rotation and try everything they have to offer, for better or worse, and now I can have more say over the composition of the meals I am consuming. I consider this with a slight smile bringing light to my still sleepy 6 am face as I enter the exam room.

The heavy door closes behind me and i start to get undressed. Its just me and today’s nurse in there and she is busy updating and organizing the charts on her clipboard while I lay each article of clothing on the counter as it comes off. The room is not as chilly on my bare skin today and I am thankful for that. I am down to the one thing we get weighed in, my underwear, and she follows me into the tiny bathroom where the scale stands tall and intimidating. The authority this hunk of metal takes on is almost eerie; its extreme influence unnerving.

I am used to the nurses doing double and triple takes when they first see me undressed. At first glance it almost looks like I am still clothed due to all of my tattoos but this nurse has been through weights with me before. It’s not new to her. I step up onto the scale’s platform with determination, feeling the rough non-slip surface beneath my bare feet.  The nurse slides the bottom weight around, first to the 100 which proves too much, and then back down to the 50 pound mark. The upper, smaller weight takes a little longer to adjust, a bit more back and forth. I watch the needle on the side do it’s slow shimmy.

Finally, with one reassuring glance at the exact numbers, I get my answer. In the last 48 hours I have gained the one pound needed to hit my 75% goal. Its just the first of many accomplishments in this arena and I can’t wait to see what is behind the new doors it will open for me. I dress again and head back to my bedroom giving the others in the hallway a thumbs-up as I go.