That nagging feeling of having forgotten something rang true when my blood sugar level dropped right before dinner on the first night. I guess I have gotten so used to my schedule at home and eating at the right times in order to keep it in check that I forgot to let anyone know that hypoglycemia is an issue for me. The nurses were less than thrilled.

Most of the other girls here are from various places in New York and a majority of them, like me, have been to treatment before. A few have actually been here before. Our ages range from 18-35 with a pretty good balance on either end of the spectrum. Things will change thought since discharge somewhere within a months time is imminent for more than half of them.

The hospital itself, within the little wing we call home, is equipped with 2 rec/day rooms, 2 TVs with a moderate array of channels, 2 computers with both internet access and printing ability, an art room with slightly used but abundant supplies, several “interview” rooms, a dining room harboring a tiny kitchen, the required amount of bedrooms, and a large cabinet stuffed full of games and puzzles. There is a descent amount of freedom and personal responsibility placed on each of us and I, at least, am finding that the lack of constant supervision works to my advantage. Somehow it makes me more proud of my decisions and actions than the parallel of Remuda Ranch and its naughty-child-strictness. I’m slowly growing comfortable, fitting in stitch by stitch, and finding that it’s a great feeling.