One fruit and veg for the tomato sauce? Another for the salad?
An additional fat exchange for the dressing?
Now I understood what Sophia meant. When you applied your meal plan to real food in the real world, it looked like a lot more. Or a lot less. I couldn’t even tell.
Chuck slid back into the booth, setting a fork on one of my napkins.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You okay?”
“How do you know how much to eat?” I asked.
“In general, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged. “I eat what I feel like eating, and I stop when I’m full.”
Chuck was a little chubby, though. He had a small potbelly. So could I truly trust what he said? Was that really what you could do? Eat what you felt like eating? Stop when you were full? How would I even know if I was full? My satiation meter was broken from bingeing. How would I not get fat?
Meal out was a big, cold dose of reality.
But it was a delicious reality. Chuck was right: it was the best pizza I’d ever had. So, so good. So thick. So gooey. Delectable.
Plus, it was lovely, just me and Chuck—and a bunch of college kids. But no annoying patients, no nurses. And we were in an actual restaurant. In the wild.
So, even though it was difficult, I felt like a real person again. And that felt good.
On the way back, I claimed control of the car radio. As Chuck maneuvered through the hilly streets, narrowed by snowbanks, we rocked out to “Cherry Bomb,” “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” (speak of the devil), and “Got My Mind Set on You.”
Then “Never Gonna Give You Up” came on. I turned up the volume.
“No! Noooo! Change it!” Chuck shrieked, not taking his eyes from the road.
“I will never change it. This is a good song!” I crooned, “‘Never gonna give you up…never gonna let you down…’”
“Change it! Change it! My ears are melting! Change it!”
“Heh heh, never!” I sang, “Never gonna change the ray-ay-ay-dee-oh-oh.”
As soon as Chuck unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, we heard Baldy calling out, “Special Community Meeting, ladies. Right now. In the lounge, please.”
Now what?
My mind flashed to the piece of Bazooka hidden in the lining of my coat. Please, don’t let this be a room search.
Chuck and I went directly into the lounge.
“How was meal out?” Sophia asked.
“Good, but scary,” I said.
“I know what you mean.” She raised her eyebrows. “So. The legendary Special Community Meeting.”
“Exciting, isn’t it?” I said. “Aren’t you glad to be back for this one?”
“Overjoyed,” she said. “What’s it about, do you think?”
“No idea. Enabling, accusations, room searches?”
“Oh my.”
Baldy said, “Let’s get started. Staff has an announcement.”
Trendy and Bosom were there, as well as Baldy and Chuck.
Trendy said, “We need you to know, this is something that will very much affect our community.”
They were so solemn and serious that I shivered. Had someone died? Monica! Or Amanda, who had left yesterday? Someone else? Bronwyn?
Bosom said, “I’m afraid this is going to bring up a lot of issues for all of you. So remember, staff is here to support you. Reach out to us and let us help. Okay?”
Curious, concerned heads nodded all around.
Baldy cleared his throat. “You may have noticed that Sheryl has not been on shift the past few days.”
I breathed my relief. It wasn’t about a discharged patient. Or Bazooka gum.
This was about Ratched. Hm.
Bosom said, “Girls, today Sheryl checked herself into a treatment center. In Pennsylvania. For anorexia.”
I burst out laughing.
I slapped my hand over my mouth.
I shouldn’t have laughed. This wasn’t funny.
But oh my God!
“Ow!” Sophia had pinched me, hard, to try to get me to stop. She knew that if I didn’t settle down immediately, staff would make it an “issue.”
Too late.
“Jennifer,” Trendy said. “You think this is funny? You think someone’s disease is funny?”
“No.” I pressed my lips together. I squirmed and wiggled. I tried to keep it in. But giggles bubbled out. I started shaking with laughter.
I could tell Sophia was about to join me.
“Sorry, I’m sorry.” I took deep breaths. “Whew, sorry.”
“I think it’s brave, what she’s doing,” Thriller said. She was talking more and more lately, coming back to life.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, then crumpled into giggles again.
“Jennifer, this is incredibly inappropriate,” Trendy said. “What do you think is so funny?”
“You guys don’t think this is funny?” I wiped my cheeks; I was laughing so hard I was crying. “Seriously? Not funny ha-ha, but ironic funny?”
Sophia put her hand on my shoulder. “Jen and I can’t possibly be the only ones who find this ironic. And not a little problematic. The head nurse of the Eating Disorder Unit has been sick with her own eating disorder? I mean, look what she’s put Jen through.”
Holy shit. Things were clicking into place:
Ratched always looking so pale, tired, thin.
Ratched being such a stick-up-the-ass control freak.
Bronwyn going apeshit that time Ratched told her to eat an extra fat exchange. Hadn’t Bronwyn said something like, “I have a problem with you, in particular, telling me to eat this”? Had Bronwyn known?
And Eleanor! Way back when, Eleanor had said Ratched was a sick puppy.
Ratched accusing me of things other staff didn’t back her up on.
Dr. Prakash’s willingness to believe I hadn’t tanked or used weights my first week. I’d taken it as a sign of Dr. Prakash’s faith in me. But she had barely known me. It was more likely that Dr. Prakash knew Ratched was sick and out of control.
Dr. Prakash feeling guilty before vacation, talking about leaving me surrounded by “all this…muck.” I’d thought it was about patients signing themselves out. She’d said, “That, and other things.”
Dr. Prakash letting me do my discharge planning with Chuck instead of Ratched “at this time.”
How much had Dr. Prakash known? How much had all staff known? Another secret kept, like Heather’s, even when it was to the detriment of others.
“Did you guys know about this?” I asked, scanning from Bosom to Trendy to Baldy to Chuck. “Did all of you know?”
Chuck shook his head slowly but emphatically. I believed him. Either he wasn’t in Ratched’s inner circle, or he was a little clueless in a good way. But he hadn’t known.
“Some of us were aware of it,” Trendy said. “Sheryl asked us to keep it confidential. She didn’t want this to get out.”
I said, “Because she knew we wouldn’t have listened to a thing she said. And we would have been right not to! What a hypocrite.”
“No, because it was private,” Trendy said.
“We wanted to respect her confidentiality,” Bosom added.
Baldy, like Chuck, wasn’t talking a lot. I bet he hadn’t known, either. When had he found out? Today? Were Baldy and Chuck just as shocked as we were? Were they just better at hiding their surprise?
“Sheryl trusted us to keep it confidential, so we did,” Bosom continued. “We have integrity.” She sounded defensive.
“Trust? Integrity?” Sophia said. “What about the integrity of this program? What about our trust in this program?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What does it say when the head nurse
is anorexic? It’s like having an alcoholic in charge of a
Chemical Dependency Unit. Not a recovering alcoholic. A drinking, drunk alcoholic. A three sheets to the wind, wasted
alcoholic.”
“That’s true,” Charlotte said. A couple of other heads nodded.
“We get your point. We didn’t all know,” said Chuck gently. “And even if we had, would that make us any less effective as staff?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe?” I hadn’t wanted to offend Chuck. I really hadn’t.
“I think it’s good she’s getting the help she needs,” Thriller said, repeating her earlier sentiment.
“It’s also a structural issue,” Sophia said, somewhat ignoring Thriller. “We’re talking about the supervisor of nursing staff. She set the tone, the culture of this unit.”
I said, “She established a culture of accusing patients of things we didn’t do. Of making us eat things we didn’t have to eat. I think that was her disease.”
“Also.” Sophia looked pointedly at Trendy and Bosom, “What about letting her be sick?”
“Letting her be sick?” Trendy asked.
“Yes!” I saw where Sophia was going. “What does it say about the people who knew? You just went ahead and let her be sick?”
“You girls, of all people, should know that you can’t force someone to get better,” Trendy huffed.
“No, but if you keep their secrets, isn’t that enabling?” I asked. “Did we not just have a special meeting, exactly like this one, where you guys talked about how terrible it was for patients to enable each other? How is this any different than the milk trick?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trendy said.
“Why? Did you guys stage an intervention?” Sophia asked. “How long has this been going on?”
Bosom crossed her arms. Trendy’s cheeks were flushed.
It was a standoff. Me and Sophia versus Trendy and Bosom.
It was the Old West.
I waited for a buzzard to screech.
I waited for tumbleweed to roll through the lounge.
Baldy cleared his throat. “There are a lot of feelings in this room right now. And it’s all completely valid. Maybe you should talk about this in group tomorrow.”
“Jennifer is terminating in group tomorrow,” Sophia said.
“Oh, that’s okay.” I met Sophia’s eyes, but I was talking to the whole group. “We can make time to squeeze this little nugget in.”
Baldy said, “Regardless of our feelings about this, there’s some practical stuff we need to take care of.”
“Yes.” Trendy sat up a little straighter. “Those of you who had Sheryl as your primary, your secondary will now be your primary. We will assign you new secondaries later this week.”
I looked at Chuck. A slow smile was spreading across his face. His mouth, cheeks, eyes—everything was smiling.
He was now a primary.
Friday, January 27, 1989
I terminated in group today. It wasn’t very sad, because there were a bunch of new people I barely knew. I really only had to say good-bye to Charlotte, Thriller, Patty, and Sophia.
I didn’t have a lot to say to Charlotte or Thriller or Patty.
As for Sophia, I wasn’t going to say everything I wanted to say to her in group; we had already set aside our own time to say good-bye.
No, scratch that. Not goodbye. See you later, alligator.
Or something a little less dorky.
Still, Sophia was so sad. She kept crying, which was not her usual modus operandi.
Last night she said, “I can’t believe you’re leaving. You’re my only ally.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But there are so many new girls. I bet some of them will turn out to be cool.”
“Maybe. But they won’t be as awesome as you.”
“Well. Obviously.”
I terminated with Chuck after dinner. That was far and away the hardest termination. The rest of staff—some were fine, some were annoying, I honestly didn’t really care that much. And Dr. Wexler and Dr. Prakash I’d see next week. But Chuck…
He had been more than my secondary; he’d been a big brother and a good friend.
“Will I ever see you again?” I asked, tears streaming.
“You can visit the EDU after six months,” he said. “But kid, I have to tell you. I’m not sure if I’ll be here.”
“Where—” I hiccuped. “—where will you be?”
“I think I’m going back to school.”
“For what?” I asked.
“I’ve decided to complete my degree so I can apply to grad school.”
“Oh,” I said. I knew I should be happy for him. But I couldn’t imagine my new, recovery life without him in it. “Um, for what?”
“Social work, maybe. Or a Ph.D. So I can run my own programs.”
“That would be really good,” I sniffed. “You would be so good.”
“Thanks.” His eyes were glassy, like he was about to cry, too. “I want to figure out a way to use music. Music therapy. Rock band therapy. I don’t know how it would work yet.”
“You’ll figure it out.” I got up and went to my dresser.
“Where are you going?”
I grabbed a tape from my box of cassettes. “Something to remember me by. You can use it in your programs.” I handed it over.
He looked at it. “No matter how much I love you, kid, I will never, ever use Rick Astley in my programs.”
I thought packing would cheer me up, but it didn’t.
Sophia kept giggling.
“What’s with the total one-eighty?” I pouted. “Now you’re happy I’m leaving?”
“Oh, nothing.” She was trying not to smile. “While you’re packing, don’t you need your things from the closet?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Sophe. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s something to do with the closet?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she repeated, emphasizing the I.
Tentatively, I touched the sliding door. “You’re freaking me out. What did you do?”
“Just open it.”
I slid the door open. A long thread snagged. And suddenly a urine hat tumbled off the high shelf, spilling onto my head. I was soaked.
Sophia double over with laughter. “He worked on that for like, an hour!”
Chuck jumped into our room. “Did it get you? Yes! Victory! Sophia helped.”
“You guys,” I said. “You got me.”
Chuck’s key ring jangled as he unlocked our bathroom. “Why don’t you go ahead and change,” he said. I caught him looking slyly at Sophia.
“Yeah,” Sophia said. “You should get changed. You’re all wet. Um…why don’t you change into something special?”
“Something special. Why on earth would I change into something special? Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s your last night here. Let’s make it a celebration or something.”
Chuck was nodding his head like a maniac. “I’ll get your basket so you can do your hair.”
“Why would I—”
“Just humor me, okay?” Sophia said. “I’ve never seen you all dressed up.”
“Fine. But you have to do it, too.”
“I totally will!”
Chuck came back with my basket and a big towel, which he laid on the floor, stepping on it to sop up the puddle.
“Thanks,” I said. “I certainly hope that was water and not urine.”
“Gross.” He giggled—a grown man giggling. He was super pleased with himself. He picked up the towel and left.
I sighed, sad again. I rooted through my suitcase to find something decent. What special outfit could I possibly cobble together out of these clothes? My pants had gone from hip-dangli
ng to almost unbuttonable.
“All my tops are oversized sweatshirts or extralarge sweaters,” I told Sophia. “Here. Does this count as something special?” I held up my Edie Brickell-esque big black shirt.
“Good grief. Definitely not.” She opened her side of the closet and slid plastic hangers around. “Here. This.” She handed me a sequined tank top.
“You must be high,” I said.
“Please? For me? You’ll look adorable in it.”
I groaned. “Fine. For you.”
I took the shirt and my jeans and my basket into the bathroom. Moussed my hair again and blew it dry. Changed into the top and jeans. My tummy pouffed over my waistband. But the top hung loose and sparkly and didn’t look too bad.
I emerged from the bathroom. Sophia had changed into jeans and a shiny red top. She looked great.
“Shoes, too,” she said.
I pulled on my button loafers. I twirled around for her to inspect. “Happy?” I asked.
“And earrings.”
“Sophia—”
“No arguing.”
I grabbed big gold hoops from my basket and put them on.
“Perfect. Now. Check your basket back in and come with me.”
The nurses’ station was empty. I set my basket on the shelf.
Sophia beckoned me, waving her hand, walking backward toward the lounge.
The lounge door was closed.
I had never seen it closed.
“Sophe, what’s going on? You’re being weird. And this is weird.”
“Weirder than usual, you mean?”
“Definitely,” I said.
“Ready?”
“For what?”
She swung the door open. “She’s here!”
The lounge was dark. A focused stream of light popped on, shooting circles of white light onto the dark walls.
A disco ball. In the lounge. Hanging from the ceiling.
“Surprise!” a chorus of voices called out.
“Sophia, hit it,” Chuck said. Sophia flipped a switch.
Colored flashing lights came on.
And music. Synthesizer, drums. “‘We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind…’”
“‘Safety Dance’!” I yelled over the music. “I love this song!”
“We know you do!” Sophia said.
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