In my logical mind, I knew that sticking it out at camp would be the better option, but my other half disagreed. I wanted to stick to my habits and goals and that would be impossible to do if I stayed there working. I was quickly losing energy and I would not make it through the rest of the summer. Ultimately, I decided to leave the kids and my fellow co-workers in order to stay on track. Admittedly, I felt guilty for quitting and backing out on my promise, but my promise to myself was much more important. I let my boss know that I would be leaving for personal reasons. He did not ask any questions, which relieved me.
Instead of telling everyone the truth and saying goodbye in person, I left a note for the whole group to read. I failed to mention to anyone why I was truly leaving because I do not think anyone would believe that it was a valid reason. Leaving out the truth was my best bet and it saved me from any humiliation or questions. I just wanted to leave and be on my way, my way back to striving for excellence and perfection by way of weight, calories, and food. I would have more time to think and obsess, and my body would be able to regain its strength lost from the harsh regime during camp.
There was no turning around again; I only saw a "One Way" sign ahead, pointing to the path of happiness and confidence. I saw the obstacles in the way but I continued on any way. The obstacles ahead did not scare me one bit.
3
The Body Fights Back
What a fun week. Lots of sickness, but at least I did not have to put up with the bratty campers. This morning I sound like a man since my throat is rough and hurts a bit. My body is on a very different clock now, since I'm used to waking up early at camp every day. I thought I'd sleep in a little later since I'm at home, but I woke up at 8:45. That's actually late considering I usually wake up at 6:45 every day, but still. Waking up early has its benefits though. I love the peacefulness of night time, but waking up early makes me feel like I'm living my day to the fullest.
Up until the time my body started reacting to the pressure I had placed upon it, I thought that I was invincible and that nothing would be able to hurt me. My body did not need food like everyone else, my body could function just fine with the little calories I was eating, I thought. I still was not fully convinced that what I was doing was harming my body, but unfortunately, my body disagreed. When I got back home after returning from camp, my body sighed with relief.
And then crashed.
At first, I thought that maybe I was just catching a summer cold, since many people I came in contact with had the virus. I did not pay much attention to it until I got out of bed the day after I returned home. When I stood up, the floor shook and my head spun. My world was completely unstable and I had to sit back down in order to keep myself from falling over. I rested my head in my hands and I heard my heart beat through my skull. I was not feeling so well. I yelled to my mom and asked her to bring me the thermometer so I could take my temperature. I was not one to use the thermometer too often, one because I was never sick, but I always sucked it up even when I did have a fever.
"Here you go." She placed her hand on my head to see if I felt warm. "Hmm. You feel fine to me."
I stuck the thermometer into my ear and waited for the beep. It read 98.7. The reading confused me a bit since I was starting to feel very sick but I dismissed it and decided to lie down.
"Do you want anything?"
"No, I'm fine. I'm just gonna go to bed."
As soon as my head hit the pillow and my eyes shut, I was out and had entered dreamland.
Not only had food taken over my mind while I was awake, it had started to take over my dreams, as well. The same dream kept coming back to me, night after night. In the dream, it seemed like any other day. I woke up, brushed my teeth, got dressed, everything that is routine for any person in the world. But instead of skipping breakfast like I would normally do in real life, I ate a mountain of food and binged until my stomach ached and I could not move from the kitchen chair. Food was haunting me through my dreams just the same way it was haunting me while I was awake. Drifting out of sleep and back into the real world, my heart raced and I panicked at the thought of inhaling so much food at once. I could not believe that something so simple could keep me so terrified.
I glanced at the clock and noticed that eight hours had passed since I first rested my head on my pillow. Confused, I looked at my watch to make sure the time was correct. I started to question the validity of my sight since I had just woken up, but I soon realized that I had, in fact, slept for eight hours straight. I first fell asleep during the early afternoon and now it was time to head back to sleep again.
My mom was surely still awake so I started my journey downstairs to find her.
"You're awake!" She did not seem too concerned about the amount of time I spent in bed.
"Why'd you let me sleep so long?? I'll never be able to go to sleep tonight."
"Yes, you will. You need your rest when you're sick."
My mouth was dry and sticky so I went to fetch a glass of water. I gulped down the liquid in record time and my thirst was quenched for the time being.
She also suggested that I grab a snack while I was in the kitchen.
"You're looking really thin. Have you lost weight?"
I shrugged my shoulders and declined to answer. Of course, I knew I had lost weight, quite a bit of it, but I was not going to admit it. If I admitted it, I would for sure be asked questions about why. My weight was significantly lower than it was at the beginning of the year and I was surprised at why more people had not asked or commented on how different I looked. My clothes were hanging off my body, forcing me to wear belts and drown in oversized shirts. I could feel my hipbones through my jeans and as I ran my hand up my spine, I could feel each vertebra through my shirt. These signs showed me that what I was doing to myself was working. I wanted to see those bones and even though I was starting to look like a malnourished prisoner, I appreciated the fact that I had accomplished something.
I chose not to get a snack as my mom suggested. Hunger was not a problem and I did not think a snack was necessary, any way. It was only extra calories. Instead, I went back to my room to sleep. The fatigue was still apparent as my body laid on my bed, even though I slept the day away. I closed my eyes and welcomed the peaceful darkness of slumber.
The next morning, I was awoken by my mom shoving a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in my face.
"Good morning! You have to be hungry. Eat this, I made it for you."
I grabbed the plate and smiled, pretending to be thankful, secretly disgusted on the inside. I used to enjoy the nice breakfasts my mom cooked for me.
"Thanks."
A genius plan entered my head when my mom left the room. My plan? I decided to dump my breakfast down the toilet, leaving only a few bites and crumbs on the plate, leaving others to think that I had eaten the meal. I had never been a liar or liked to deceive any one, but now as I was diving into the world of obsession, lying came easily to me. It was not hard to lie about the food I had supposedly eaten or how I was really feeling. As long as the outcome was in my favor, everything was fine. The guilt I felt was only a minor consequence.
About an hour after I flushed the meal down the toilet, I was informed that I would be going to the doctor's office that afternoon. My mom called my doctor earlier in the day and asked to schedule an appointment. She was worried about my excessive sleeping and wanted to make sure there was not something seriously wrong with me. I had seen the same doctor for years and she would have to notice the shift in my weight, but I wondered if she would say anything to me about it. To make sure, before I left to see the doctor, I dropped a bag of pennies in each of my pants pockets. The pennies would ensure I would weight a little bit more on the scale, but not so much that it would be obvious.
I had never liked going to the see the doctor, even for routine check-ups every year. Even though doctors see many different bodies of all different shapes and sizes, from a very young age I was self-conscious about my body. Before eve
ry appointment, I would beg my mom to cancel the appointment. After all, I was never sick and there was nothing wrong with me. Only, she insisted I go. She was a responsible mom, and I needed my shots and vaccinations. I had never been comfortable being around people while I was naked, even slightly showing skin. In middle school when I needed to change in the locker room for gym class, I would always make sure I was hidden underneath my clothes so that no one could look at me. The other girls were probably self-conscious, as well, but they did not show their fear.
The worst part about seeing the doctor was sitting on the examination table waiting for my body to be viewed. I always tried to suck in my stomach and sit up straight because I had to look my best. And as much as I knew that looking at the intimate parts of the body was routine, it made me very insecure when the doctor would have to look. I was not even comfortable viewing my own body and I did not want any one else to see, either.
When I arrived at the doctor's office, I was immediately placed in the sick room to the side, just in case I had the flu so I would not infect other healthy patients. The television in the room was showing “Finding Nemo,” a movie I had only seen parts of while sitting around at camp. The other kids did not pay attention to the animated fish and were instead building a castle with the wooden blocks. After about a half hour of painfully waiting, I was called back into the examination room.
"Hi, Erin. I am going to ask you to put on this gown, and then I will be back in a minute to take a few simple tests before the doctor comes in. Ok?"
"Ok...thanks." It slipped my mind that I would have to change into a gown before I was weighed. There were no pockets in the gown for my bags of pennies. Where would I hide them? I was out of luck; there was no way to fool the doctor today. I changed into the uncomfortable paper gown and waited for the nurse to come back into the room. Disappointed, I tried to think of an excuse to tell the doctor in case she asked why I lost weight. A few things came to mind:
I exercised a lot this summer, unintentionally. (Not totally false.)
I was not really trying to lose weight but it just happened. (Not true.)
I have been starving myself. (True, but there was no way I would come clean.)
The nurse came back into the room and we headed out to the hallway where the scale was sitting. It was a much more elaborate scale than the one at my house and I wondered if the numbers would be the same.
"Ok, stand up straight for me."
I already knew how to take a proper weight. I had been stepping on the scale every day, multiple times per day, for months now. The machine beeped and let the nurse know the number to write down on my chart. She compared the number with the one from my last visit.
"You've lost weight. Good for you!"
Ha! She congratulated me on losing weight! Maybe if she did not notice anything, then the doctor would not notice anything, either. We walked back into the exam room so she could take my temperature and blood pressure. The temperature gauge poked my ear and the blood pressure cuff was pumping my arm at the same time. The first blood pressure attempt did not work so the nurse had to take it again.
"Your temperature is a little low. Let's see how your pressure is...." We waited for a moment until the result showed on the screen. "So is your blood pressure. No wonder you don't feel well." She placed the instruments back where they belonged and made her way out the door. "I'll go get the doctor, she should be with you in a few minutes."
My blood pressure had always been normal and my temperature was never lower than the norm, either. The fact that both were unusually low concerned me for a second, but I chalked it up to being sick. I figured that when someone was ill, the body would try all sorts of tricks in order to fight off the enemy.
My eyes wandered around the room and I got lost in the paintings on the walls. There were pictures of serene mountains from a far away land, some place I wished I could travel. Interrupting my thoughts, the doctor came in to greet me.
"Hello, Erin. It's been a while since I've seen you!"
She performed a routine exam and asked me the basic questions that were asked at every doctor's visit. Then she began talking about something I hoped she would not mention: my weight.
"I've noticed you've lost a significant amount of weight since I last saw you. Now, I know you have grown up a bit and probably lost your baby fat, but I am a bit concerned about the dramatic change. What's going on?"
I stared at her with a blank expression on my face. I froze in fear and did not know how to answer her. The excuses that I thought of only a few minutes before had escaped my brain and I was left with a blank slate. I could both lie and pretend like I had become so good at, or I could tell the truth and be the honest girl I had always been.
"Ummm...." My voice trailed off and my stare moved down to the floor. My shoulders shrugged in response.
"I am worried that you have possibly done this to yourself. Your tests and weight show that you are severely dehydrated. Dehydration is not uncommon, but with your symptoms and weight loss, I am concerned that this is something more serious than a common cold or fatigue." She looked worried and she had connected the puzzle pieces together without me saying a word.
"I don't drink that much." A reason left my mouth so that I was not admitting or denying anything.
"Well, I can see that. But I want you to get some tests so you can see how your body is holding up, ok?" She turned around to a panel of handouts and grabbed a brochure. "Also, I am not accusing you of anything, but take a look at this. Since you are 19, I am not allowed to tell your parents anything and your information is confidential. Your health is your responsibility now."
A blue pamphlet was handed in my direction with a sad looking teenager on the front. The title read, "Eating Disorders: How to Know When to Get Help"
Eating disorders? My doctor thought I had an eating disorder? I did not look like those dying anorexic girls I had seen on television and I did not throw up my food, so I was not bulimic. I was just a little obsessed, that was all. And even though I lost weight, I was still not very underweight. I did not have an eating disorder! I thanked her for the information, though.
"You're sick from dehydration. You are going to need to drink plenty of fluids and rest for the next few days. Proper meals are essential, too. Do not strain yourself. And no exercise. Alright?"
I agreed. I was sure that I was sick, not just dehydrated, but I accepted her diagnosis. After all, she was the doctor. I picked up my clothes from the chair, got dressed, and headed out to the waiting room to meet my mom.
"Let's go." I said.
"Is everything ok? What's wrong?"
"I just need to drink more fluids, that's all. I must have overworked while I was at camp. I just need to take it easy for a few days." I told my mom nothing about the doctor’s comments and I hid the pamphlet on eating disorders in my bag. My mind was spinning and I began to doubt myself for the first time.
But I really did not have an eating disorder, did I?
4
Test Anxiety
The next day, I traveled to the outpatient medical clinic near my home in order to complete some tests my doctor wanted me to have done. I held in my hand two white prescription sheets, one for blood work and one for a bone density scan. I decided to get my blood work out of the way first since I knew what to expect. I entered the office and noticed that I was the only patient in the waiting room. The receptionist called me to the desk straight away and asked me for my information and prescription.
"You're here for a routine test? A complete blood test?" She wore dark blue scrubs and looked as though she had not slept much the night before. I did not think being nice was one of her strong suits.
"Yes. I think so." I was not sure what a complete blood test entailed and I only knew that I was there for a blood test. The doctor never told me which one.
"Take a seat, it won't be long."
I turned around to find a chair and spotted the television in the corner of the room. Coinci
dentally, "Finding Nemo" was playing at this office, as well. I let out a giggle and half-questioned whether or not somebody was playing a joke on me. As I grabbed the "People" magazine sitting next to my chair, I heard a soft voice call my name.
"Erin? You can come back."
I followed the woman in white to a tiny room in the back of the suite. There were colored balloons plastered on the wall to keep children's eyes occupied as they waited. The radio was set on a pop music radio station and I started to relax in the stiff chair.
"Which arm?" I held up my right arm and placed it on the armrest assuming that it would be a better target to give blood. I only had blood drawn a few times before and I remembered that my left arm had given the nurses trouble for some reason. The nurse tied the elastic band around my bicep and rubbed a wet cotton pad where she was going to prick me. The alcohol from the cotton cooled my arm. I clenched my fist together and patiently waited for the jab of the needle.
"Ready?" She took a breath and carefully injected the needle into my vein. I only felt a prick and it was pretty painless. "Hmm..."
Whenever I heard any health professionals questioning what they had done, I started to panic. I assumed that because they do procedures numerous times, nothing could go wrong.
"What's wrong?" I asked, starting to get worried.
"I'm not getting a flash. Your blood isn't coming up into the vial. Let me try again."
Just what I wanted, another stabbing with the needle, but it had to be done. She repeated the process and stuck the sharp stick into my arm once more. Still, nothing happened.
"Jane, could you come over here for a minute? I'm not getting a flash."
Another nurse walked over to us and grabbed the needle from the woman's hand. It was still planted in my arm but Jane tried to maneuver the tip in different directions to get a blood flow.
Restricted: A novel of half-truths Page 3
