I’m here guys. And I’m fine. In so many more ways than one. I have been sitting in my little isolation for four years imagining myself to be suffering from an eating disorder. I have been horrified inside my own life to witness the potential that my mental space was capable of restricting or withholding nutrition from itself and from my body. I’m heartbroken that I’ve wasted that space with questioning my sanity because today – in one meal alone – I have witnessed the true demonstration of eating disorders. And it’s horrendous. These women are going through purgatory, through a very strange sort of hell. And the bizarrest thing is that it is nothing like the hell I have experienced over the last four years of illness. My illness has been lostness and confusion. My weakness has been internally inside my head from my doubt, my self-doubt, my worried-ness about whatever any specific thought, action, behaviour or word meant or signified. In such rarefied and isolated environments such as hospitals, Darlington and travelling the worlds with Mum there has been no comparative factors, no comparison applicable except with Mum – who couldn’t give a fuck about food and uses it as how to survive in her life.
That’s not the way I’m supposed to be in my space and I had a most amazing insight in the ambulance. Even if some part of the way I perceived food was still somehow abnormal or not ‘regular’ it was OK…because the way I saw it now guaranteed my survival. And so even if there are certain foods I may want to avoid for the rest of my life then that’s OK. Because any weirdness around food now is experiential memory, not disorder and beyond that I can live with it – because I can literally survive through and despite – and with it.
And then I arrived. And felt totally at ease with putting the doctors and nurses at ease with me. I think I presented the most admirable side of me – honest and totally enthusiastic. Accepting of rules, regulations, willing to play along and go wherever they decided they needed me. It was beautiful, actually, to feel quite comfortable at being quizzed around what I was eating and to feel totally embracing of whatever the dietician wanted to do with me…put me on Standard Menu straight away – eating ‘upstairs’ for now.
I was to find out that this meant with the ‘difficult patients’. These are the people who find eating traumatic and difficult. I sat for 45 minutes with 5 other girls – patients. They range in age from 18 to 31 – most averaging 21-24. They’re all haunted, fucked up and depressed. They never smile. Not once has one of them simply smiled. They’ve laughed hysterically at some unfunny comment but not once has one shown genuine kindness or placidity. (I think that’s my favourite word of today). Nevertheless…the 31 year old concealed salts and peppers which were found and confiscated. It turns out that salt is restricted (along with water, coffee, access to food and fridges etc….but I’ll detail the boring rules later…tomorrow even.)
Tonight I want to explain to you what I’ve just seen. I want to reflect, to reveal and to share my story…the horrendous observation of two nurses tucking into a delicious looking lasagne bake with vegetables followed by strawberries and cream whilst the 31 year-old (Annabel) had a side salad of lettuce and beetroot which took her half an hour to cut up smaller and smaller and then eat before she played with a jacket potato and baked beans – eating one bean with a fork at a time and struggling so hard she didn’t finish it. Then she warmed a Muller Rice in the microwave and played with it with her spoon.
The girl next to me (about 22, name Chantelle) spent 40 minutes playing with a blackcurrant yoghurt then was given one banana Fortisip which she finished. Then another came out of the fridge and she left a few mouthfuls in the bottom which she was told to drink by the nurse. When she refused there was a massive argument, Chantelle tried to storm out…it was horrible.
A Cypriot new arrival had two fish fingers and a pathetically small helping of mashed potato. She hated every mouthful but finished quickly and was excused to go and wave her husband goodbye. Fiona (21) had a ham and lettuce sandwich – stupidly small and cut into triangles. She, head down and with her eyes covered and head in hands permanently, cut the sandwich smaller and smaller and nibbled tiny bites until she had, after 40 minutes, finished it. Then her afters was 2 scoops of Strawberry ice cream and strawberries – the same performance ensued with her head in her hands permanently.
An Irish girl of 18 sitting next to me had two pieces of toast and baked beans and played with that non-stop until her plate was clean. Then we all have to leave for the lounge, write our time on the board of when we finished next to our name and stay in there for an hour to ‘rest’ after eating. This happens every meal – 8.30am breakfast, 45 minutes rest. 10.30am is a 20 minute morning snack, 20 mins rest. Lunch at 12.45, 45 minute meal then 1 hour’s rest. Mid-afternoon snack 3.30pm 20 mins with 20 mins rest. Evening meal at 5.45pm – takes 45 mins then rest for an hour. We’re perpetually resting!!!
Still – they’re investigating a physio three times a week, a bone denseometry test, a pain specialist to identify better ways of treating my pain and then I have to attend mandatory art therapy and group support once a week. Anything else is planned tomorrow with the therapy co-ordinator. I have a delightful room, delightful view, delightful privacy and am really quite happy…I’ll find the way with the meals tomorrow…
Oh yeah – me…I tucked into a bland jacket potato (no butter or marg provided, though I ordered it) with a tin of tuna (separate plate, I think from a large tin but in brine not oil). It was OK, if bland and dressing-less with a side salad of two lettuce leaves, 3 cucumber slices and a tomato…ummm…not calorifically astounding I don’t think. This was followed by 2 scoops of quite tasty vanilla ice cream which I thoroughly enjoyed…and I wolfed it down, no playing, no qualms and no hesitation…
…if ever oh ever I thought I was in any way challenged by food all I have to do is look at these girls and reel back in horror. Whilst physically we may bear a resemblance to one another, inside we are worlds apart. And all I feel is a swiftness of progression necessary to move through dining room eating to being allowed downstairs to eat in the restaurant, allowed outside alone and be freed from 10 minute observations and daily watching – with 2 walks and lots of rest built in – to more freedom, more trust, more recognition and belief. And hopefully I’ll gain weight soon and be building up to building a life out of here. For now, guys, I’m safe and fine – and I’ll let you know more tomorrow when I know more myself.
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