“I know,” I said. “It’s awful.”
“I can’t drink it,” Sophia repeated.
“It’s gross,” I said. “We all hate it. But you can do it. You just have to plug and chug. Observe.” I pinched my nose, shut my eyes, and poured the whole thing down my throat.
Tears filled Sophia’s eyes. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t drink this.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. This wasn’t like Sophia. It was starting to remind me of my showdown with the eggs, my first breakfast here.
“Can’t I put it on my dislike list?” she asked Baldy. She sounded on verge of hysteria. “Can I put prune juice on my dislike list?”
“You have to drink it this time,” he said. “Then it can go on your dislike list.”
“But if I know it’s going to be a dislike, why do I have to drink it?” Sophia was officially crying now.
“What’s the issue?” Trendy asked.
Sophia rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrists. I handed her my napkin. “It smells like ipecac,” she said. “I took ipecac once. To try to throw up and…”
Trendy huffed. “It’s not fair to the other patients if you don’t drink it. They all had to eat their dislikes first.”
“It’s fine with me,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
“Fine by me, too,” Charlotte interjected from another
table. “Don’t make her drink it because of us.”
“If the reason she has to drink it is because it’s not fair to us, and we all say it’s fine, can you let Sophia not drink it?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” Trendy said. “Rules are rules.”
“But you didn’t say she has to drink it because it’s the rule,” I said. “You said she has to drink it because it would be unfair to us. And we all agree, don’t we?” I looked around the room. “It’s okay with us.”
Everyone nodded, or shrugged, murmuring things like, “Yeah. Okay. It’s fine.”
I looked at Baldy, who was more likely to cave. “So it’s okay then?”
I was walking a fine line. I felt like I needed to push staff into a decision, but I couldn’t seem like I was being insubordinate, because then they’d clamp down.
“Well…” Trendy hesitated. “If it’s truly all right with you other girls.”
“It is!” I said quickly.
Baldy took the dreaded Styrofoam cup from Sophia’s tray. He replaced it with a plastic container of apple juice.
“Thank you,” Sophia said to Baldy. “Thank you,” she said to everyone. Then she turned to me and whispered, “Thank you.”
I smiled and wiggled my eyebrows.
Victories were so rare here. It was fricking awesome to be able to help a friend.
Tuesday, January 3, 1989
“This is Patty,” Charlotte said. We always started our weekly Community Meetings with introductions if there had been a new admission. “She was admitted last Friday.”
Yes, Patty had already been here for four days. And if, after four days of living, eating, and therapizing with someone, you still needed an introduction, you were either catatonic or dumber than a box of rocks (or both). These introductions were as silly as having to state your name during in-house OA meetings.
Things I already knew about Patty: She was twenty-four. She was a demi soloist in the Houston Ballet. She just broke up with her long-term boyfriend. She was in Syracuse to visit her parents, who were rich. She came here straight from University Medical, because of acute dehydration and potassium deficiency from laxative abuse. She was bulimarexic, relatively physically messed up, and quite underweight. So she was about as far up the eating disorder hierarchy as a bulimarexic could get.
“Her likes include Baskin-Robbins mint chocolate chip ice cream, the Talking Heads, and foreign movies,” Charlotte continued. “Her dislikes include racism, cilantro, and socks.” Charlotte had a strong upstate New York accent, speaking in short, sharp vowels, so when she said “socks,” it sounded like “sex.” We were all used to it, but in this case, it was too good to ignore: Her dislikes include racism, cilantro, and sex.
Boy howdy, did that get staff’s attention. Trendy, Baldy, and Ratched had all been looking bored, but they snapped to attention. They scribbled this down. Patient lists sex as a dislike! I could just imagine the field day Dr. Wexler would have with Patty’s “issue.”
I raised my hand. “Charlotte? Sorry to interrupt. But does Patty dislike all socks? Or just certain socks, like the itchy wool ones?”
“All socks,” Patty answered for herself. She looked relieved to be able to put the kibosh on sex-dislike misunderstandings.
Then it was time to brainstorm possible “recreation outings.” Staff loved to shoot down our ideas for anything good as too expensive, too dangerous, too far to travel. We invariably ended up seeing a movie at the two-dollar theater, because it was cheap, safe, boring, and easy for staff to chaperone.
“How about sledding?” Amanda suggested quietly.
“Yes!” I said. “Great idea.”
“Fresh air,” sighed Sophia.
“That sounds great,” Monica said, and everyone agreed.
“Ah, hold on a minute, girls. I think you are in serious denial about the state of your health,” Trendy said, right on schedule.
“Oh, come on, please let us? It would only be the medically cleared girls,” I said. Sorry, Patty. Sorry, Thriller—who would possibly never get medically cleared, in this decade or the next.
Ratched stood and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t think so. Trudging up a hill, over and over, in the cold? You girls think just because you’re medically cleared that you’re healthy?”
“Exactly, exactly,” Trendy agreed. “You are not healthy individuals. We know it, and so should you. You’ve got a long way to go.”
Ratched said, “And one of the first steps is acceptance. You need to accept the fact that you have brought ruin upon your bodies.”
Brought ruin upon our bodies?
“Sledding would be freezing, anyway,” Monica grumped.
“About as freezing as showers have been lately,” I commiserated.
“Wait. Have your showers been cold, too?” Sophia asked. “I thought maybe you were using up all of our room’s hot water or something.”
“Mine’s cold,” Amanda said.
“Mine, too,” Bronwyn added.
“My showers have been ice-cold for days,” Monica said.
Even Thriller nodded.
“Why didn’t you girls say anything?” Ratched asked.
“Maybe we didn’t want to be seen as whining,” I said, treading carefully. I didn’t want to piss her off. Though I was annoyed that she didn’t seem to understand that anything you said in here could and would be used against you.
Baldy asked, “Don’t you see the difference between whining and being assertive?”
Bronwyn made a tooth-sucking sound. “That distinction has more to do with which staff is on shift than with the situation.”
Ratched crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”
Bronwyn looked at Ratched, then down at her hands. She seemed to be backing down a little. “I just mean…staff can be inconsistent. Sometimes.”
The air between Ratched and Bronwyn felt heavy. Ratched looked meaningfully at Bronwyn. “Inconsistent. How?”
Bronwyn didn’t answer.
Sophia took up the slack. “I agree with what Bronwyn’s saying. One nurse might say that breaking a dinner roll apart is diseased behavior, but another nurse will acknowledge that yes, that’s how most civilized people eat a roll. Or you might say we can’t have two juice cups in a row, but someone else will think it’s fine.”
Bronwyn added, “Two juices in row is not bingeing behavior.”
“You are eating disordered,” Ratched declared. “A
ll of you. You have a disease. You’re not the judge of what is or isn’t diseased behavior.”
“You need to be careful about the way you consume things,” Trendy agreed.
“When you complain about food, you might could be avoiding something else,” Baldy said. “You could be substituting food for whatever the real issue is.”
“Do you ever eat the food here?” I asked. “It’s disgusting.”
Some of the girls giggled.
“Food isn’t the real issue,” Ratched said, unamused. “What is the real issue, Jennifer?”
“Sometimes food is the real issue,” I said.
“Didn’t you guys study Freud in nursing school?” Sophia asked. “‘Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.’ Sometimes food is just food.”
Ratched cocked her head. “You’re changing the subject. You accused staff of being inconsistent.”
We all nodded.
“Well. What am I supposed to do about that?” Ratched asked.
“You’re the head of nursing staff,” Sophia said. “You’re supposed to do…everything…about that.”
Ratched lifted her hands, palms up. “What can I do? People are inconsistent. Should I just fire everyone?”
“No, you shouldn’t just fire everyone. That’s flippant,” Sophia said. “Patients aren’t supposed to be flippant; you shouldn’t be flippant either. We’re trying to have a conversation.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s anything that can be done.”
“The showers,” I said, rescuing Sophe from what might turn into a major showdown with Ratched. “Can anything be done about the hot water?”
Ratched nodded. “Yes. We will talk to custodial and see what can be done about that.”
“But you girls aren’t the judge of whether nursing staff is doing our jobs,” Trendy said. “You need to learn how to be assertive without being passive-aggressive.”
Opening your mouth to speak in here: still a lose-lose proposition.
But Sophia was my new hero.
Wednesday, January 4, 1989
Lately, I’d been having major trouble with maintenance weight.
To clarify: I was having trouble thinking about my maintenance weight.
I was not going to stop maintaining it. No no no. Privileges, privileges, give me more privileges.
But lately, I had been feeling enormous. Obese. Disgusting. Huge.
Chuck was off today, so I forced myself to talk to Ratched about it. I had to appease the beast once in a while.
“I’m having a hard time with the fact that I’m bigger,” I said.
“Well,” she said, picking at her sweater, “that’s par for the course. If you want recovery, you’ll learn to accept your healthy weight.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“What’s the real issue, Jennifer?”
The woman was like a broken record with her real issues.
“Um…I’m not sure. I mean, sometimes, can’t it just be that I liked being skinny? And that it’s hard not being skinny?”
“That’s your disease talking. You need to get to the real issue. I bet it’s because of your separation issues, and individuating, and finding out who you really are.”
“But—”
“Gaining weight is not the issue, growing up is.”
“Fine. But I still feel fat.”
“Fat is not a feeling. Sad, happy, angry, frustrated, those are feelings. Fat is not a feeling.”
I was pretty sure anger was a feeling.
Because I was feeling a lot of it right then. Toward Ratched.
She was the most unhelpful person to talk to in the history of the world. That flower metaphor she came up with was the one exception to prove the rule.
Yes! Fine! There were underlying reasons for my eating disorder! I knew I had to deal with them. It was a disease. I needed to individuate. I had to learn to express my feelings. Blah blah blah. But I couldn’t help it: I still worried—what if being skinny was part of what had made me special, what made me me? Who was I, at my new weight? Sometimes it just sucked, how much I had to suck in my sucky stomach to fit into my favorite jeans anymore.
Samuel Tuke Center
Wellness and Nutrition—Homework
Write a letter to yourself, from the point of view of your body.
Be prepared to share your letter with the group at our next class meeting.
January 5, 1989
Dear Jen,
Thank you so much for finally listening to me! I feel so good since you’ve been feeding me nutritious and nourishing meals (even if the food can be kind of gross), and since you’ve put me at a healthy weight. Now I can defend us against feeling so sick!
You don’t need to be tiny to be taken care of. Your mother or friends or future boyfriend or whoever will nurture you that much more now that you are getting healthy, because you are learning how to reach out and ask for what you need.
I know that sometimes you feel very fat, and you wish you could be stick thin. But I also know that you know I am feeling better. More healthy. And when I feel more healthy physically, you can focus on feeling healthy emotionally. You can’t work on your feelings and thoughts and beginning recovery with a sick, weak body. Now you can begin learning who the real Jen is!
I love you,
Your body
P.S. We have nice feet, don’t you think?
Friday, January 6, 1989
Treatment-planning Objectives for Jennifer
Patient request for breakfast downstairs—approved.
Patient request for jog-walks—denied. Continue walks on mornings when resting heart rate is less than 120 BPM. No walks if resting heart rate is greater than 120 BPM
Patient will continue to individuate by limiting phone calls to family to every other day.
Patient requests for weekend passes—approved.
“So. Did you guys figure out the rules for me when I go home?” I asked during family therapy, just like Dr. Wexler and Dr. Prakash had instructed me to do. This session was just me, Mom, and Dad. Rich was at school.
Mom pulled out their list. It looked long. Way too long. I got a bad feeling about it.
Mom read out loud:
Rules for Jennifer When She Returns Home
Jennifer must attend individual therapy as prescribed by Dr. Wexler or Dr. Prakash.
Jennifer must attend the outpatient support group at Samuel Tuke (led by Dr. Wexler, Thursday evenings) and Overeaters Anonymous in Norwich (Monday evenings).
Jennifer must attend family therapy as prescribed by Dr. Wexler.
Jennifer may not miss school unless she is sick with a fever greater than 100 degrees. No exceptions.
If Jennifer is absent from school without her parents’ approval, she will be restricted from all activities (e.g., the YMCA dance, seeing friends, babysitting, etc.) for one month.
Jennifer will have a minimum of one hour of “quiet time” each night, during which there will be no television, phone calls, or music.
Jennifer will be limited to one hour of watching TV each school day. She may watch unlimited television on the weekend.
Jennifer will clean her room and both house bathrooms on a weekly basis.
Jennifer will participate in family “work projects” (e.g., mowing the lawn, washing the car, raking leaves, etc.) if she is asked to do so.
Jennifer will attend “family time” each Sunday from 5:00 p.m. until 7:00 p.m.
Jennifer will attend one church activity per month.
Jennifer will engage in no outside activities (e.g., dance class, babysitting, school clubs, etc.) during the first month after she returns home from the hospital.
Jennifer will use no alcohol, drugs, diet pills, laxatives, diuretics, or other substances that her parents deem harmfu
l.
Jennifer will not use sarcasm with her father. Mom set the paper down.
“Oh, is that all?” I asked.
“That’s sarcasm,” Dad said. “And it’s against the rules.”
“That rule is preposterous,” I said. “What happened to freedom of expression? I believe it’s in the Bill of Rights.”
“I just love how you know everything at the age of fifteen,” Dad said.
“He can be sarcastic, but I can’t?” I said to Dr. Wexler. “That is so unfair.”
“Unfair! You don’t know what’s unfair,” Dad said.
“Yes, I do!”
Dad laughed.
“Nice, Dad. Laugh at your daughter.” I looked at Dr. Wexler. “How am I supposed to deal with this? ‘Jennifer can’t use sarcasm with her father.’ But he can be as nasty as he wants? What a hypocrite!”
“Jenny,” Mom said. “We are your parents. We are supposed to act like your parents. We are supposed to set clear boundaries. You wanted us to protect you, right?”
I couldn’t believe she was using my own words against me.
“Listen to your parents, Jennifer,” Dr. Wexler said.
I started crying. “I feel like you’re all ganging up on me. Yes, I need you to be my parents, but nice parents! This is way too many rules! It will be like prison.”
Or the hospital, all over again.
I had wanted to go home more than anything. Cripes. Be careful what you wish for.
Saturday, January 7, 1989
Breakfast downstairs was awesome. Awesome awesome awesome. It was a buffet!
The main dining room was about the size of my high school cafeteria, but carpeted, and with smaller tables and nicer chairs. All the patients from the Adult and Addictions units (I didn’t know anything about the Addictions Unit, except that it was the biggest one at Samuel Tuke) ate in the dining room, as did their nurses, and any other staff who were foolish enough not to have brought food from home.
We weren’t supposed to mingle with patients from other units, which was fine by me. I wasn’t looking to strike up a friendship with a middle-aged heroine addict. Or Jesus Lady. It was weird to think I was in the same room as Jesus Lady—which one of these women was she? Everyone looked pretty normal and subdued. If anything, it felt like the EDU patients were considered the weird ones, based on the strangely wide berth other patients gave us when we went up to the buffet.
Believarexic Page 26