Hey everyone - I wish I were feeling up to writing a coherent post, but I'm just not. Sorry this blog is turning into such a snooze fest. I'm doing a lot better than last week - no more crying or wallowing. The change of scenery (from Home City to College City) has made a big difference, and I'm trying to see this move as a new beginning. My roommate and I had a really fun weekend in the city, which lifted my mood a lot, but I'm still just feeling kind of hollow and alone.
I don't really like to talk about this much, but I have a chronic pain condition that makes things seem pretty bleak at times. No one has ever been able to tell me definitively whether the anorexia contributed to it, and I don't really want to dwell on that.
On the bright side, I started my new internship today and LOVED it. My boss is a sweetheart and the work is really fun and interesting. At lunch, two other interns and I trekked over to Whole Foods. I had packed my own food, but decided to be spontaneous and buy with the other girls. I'd never been to a WF before, if you can believe it, and I had fun making a massive salad with all sorts of exotic ingredients. Score one for recovery...not so much for my wallet. I'll be packing my lunch from now on.
Anyway, that's my life for now. I promise to be in a better mood soon and regale you all with scintillating tales of my summer exploits.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Privacy Violation
I almost forgot to mention another development from my appointment with R the other day. Remember this doctor who lectured me about my recovery and made me get (expensive) blood work done at the lab a few weeks ago?
She called R. To confirm that I was, in fact, receiving treatment for my eating disorder as I had claimed. I had only told her the name of the treatment center, and not R's name specifically, but somehow she managed to dig up that information and contact him directly. How??? I have no fucking clue. But I know that this is an insanely inappropriate violation of my privacy. I am planning to compose a letter to the director of College Health Center, as well as the head doctor, to make a formal complaint.
This is the kind of encounter that terrifies me about the world of medical care. I've always felt safe going to doctors, knowing that they are there to treat and to help and to cure. My pediatrician - really the only doctor I ever really saw throughout my entire childhood - was the kindest, warmest, most compassionate woman ever. But over the last couple years, I've had more negative run-ins with doctors than I can even count...so much time and money spent on useless appointments, treatments, and drugs.
I guess I've just learned to be my own biggest advocate, or else I'll to fall through the cracks. It also makes me so thankful for my treatment team - my therapist, my dietician, my GP, and now my new psychiatrist. I know they're looking out for me, they aren't giving up on me, and I trust them. Wish I could communicate that to them, even when I'm failing miserably at the recovery stuff.
She called R. To confirm that I was, in fact, receiving treatment for my eating disorder as I had claimed. I had only told her the name of the treatment center, and not R's name specifically, but somehow she managed to dig up that information and contact him directly. How??? I have no fucking clue. But I know that this is an insanely inappropriate violation of my privacy. I am planning to compose a letter to the director of College Health Center, as well as the head doctor, to make a formal complaint.
This is the kind of encounter that terrifies me about the world of medical care. I've always felt safe going to doctors, knowing that they are there to treat and to help and to cure. My pediatrician - really the only doctor I ever really saw throughout my entire childhood - was the kindest, warmest, most compassionate woman ever. But over the last couple years, I've had more negative run-ins with doctors than I can even count...so much time and money spent on useless appointments, treatments, and drugs.
I guess I've just learned to be my own biggest advocate, or else I'll to fall through the cracks. It also makes me so thankful for my treatment team - my therapist, my dietician, my GP, and now my new psychiatrist. I know they're looking out for me, they aren't giving up on me, and I trust them. Wish I could communicate that to them, even when I'm failing miserably at the recovery stuff.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Terrible Week Recap
It's been a while since I wrote a real juicy update, hasn't it? The last week or so has been quiiiite a roller coaster, you might say. For several days last week/weekend while at home, I was stuck in this intense hell-on-earth depression. No idea what triggered it, but I was crying nonstop and getting seriously unstable. I've definitely had bouts of depression before and had times where I cried lots, but not like this constant sobbing for days. Part of it was definitely just physical stuff - I'd been feeling crappy for a while and it seems like the health complications keep mounting. It's hard to be chipper when you're sick and hurting and generally unwell all the time.
By Tuesday or Wednesday of this past week, I was a total wreck. My mom couldn't figure out why the heck I was moping and wailing and dissolving into tears over and over day after day, and I couldn't explain it. She made me call R, which was mortifying, but then it actually made me feel a little better. I hadn't seen him in about a month, so it was kind of nice to be reminded that I actually do have a support system. Thursday was a travel day (boo planes and airports and suitcases) and then I had an appointment with him on Friday morning.
By that point, I was doing a little better and thus felt like an idiot for having called him in crisis mode two days earlier. But R, being the experienced professional that he is, talked me down from the aforementioned mortification and reminded me that it's okay to lose it sometimes, and that that's what he's there for, and that it doesn't make me a helpless, worthless loser. (Longest sentence ever?)
That was the good part. The bad part: I lost X pounds at home, which meant that we spent the rest of the session discussing why I fail at recovering from an eating disorder. He told me that he had attended a lecture at a conference earlier this month that reminded him of me (I'm one of his more difficult patients, apparently) and that he wanted to try a new strategy. Wait for it, guys - I had to sign a CONTRACT. Yes, I am now under CONTRACTUAL AGREEMENT to a) gain back the X pounds I lost and b) follow my meal plan until I see him again. If I don't gain, I have to add an extra Boost every day for the following week. If I ever drop below a weight of XXX pounds in the future, I'll get admitted to a treatment program.
Then he got me an appointment with a psychiatrist in his office. Enter another member to my ever-expanding medical team - Dr. L. And you guys, I love her. I almost wanted to cry just because of how nice she was to me. My appointment lasted over an hour because she was so thorough, asking questions all about my history, my medical stuff, my moods and emotions, my friends, my family, my work with R and J, everything. We talked about medication and I explained about my problems with it before, and how I was really nervous to go back on something, and she was totally understanding and compassionate. I'm still really unsure and conflicted about the whole thing, but talking to Dr. L made me feel a lot better. She said: "You look sad, and I want to help you get better."
And I am still pretty sad. I'm struggling a lot not just with the food stuff, but with the emotional stuff too, and sometimes that's a lot harder. Things have been going a bit better since being back in College City for the past couple of days, but there's still a long empty weekend ahead. So, that's where I'm at now. Trying to keep my head above water and hang in there.
By Tuesday or Wednesday of this past week, I was a total wreck. My mom couldn't figure out why the heck I was moping and wailing and dissolving into tears over and over day after day, and I couldn't explain it. She made me call R, which was mortifying, but then it actually made me feel a little better. I hadn't seen him in about a month, so it was kind of nice to be reminded that I actually do have a support system. Thursday was a travel day (boo planes and airports and suitcases) and then I had an appointment with him on Friday morning.
By that point, I was doing a little better and thus felt like an idiot for having called him in crisis mode two days earlier. But R, being the experienced professional that he is, talked me down from the aforementioned mortification and reminded me that it's okay to lose it sometimes, and that that's what he's there for, and that it doesn't make me a helpless, worthless loser. (Longest sentence ever?)
That was the good part. The bad part: I lost X pounds at home, which meant that we spent the rest of the session discussing why I fail at recovering from an eating disorder. He told me that he had attended a lecture at a conference earlier this month that reminded him of me (I'm one of his more difficult patients, apparently) and that he wanted to try a new strategy. Wait for it, guys - I had to sign a CONTRACT. Yes, I am now under CONTRACTUAL AGREEMENT to a) gain back the X pounds I lost and b) follow my meal plan until I see him again. If I don't gain, I have to add an extra Boost every day for the following week. If I ever drop below a weight of XXX pounds in the future, I'll get admitted to a treatment program.
Then he got me an appointment with a psychiatrist in his office. Enter another member to my ever-expanding medical team - Dr. L. And you guys, I love her. I almost wanted to cry just because of how nice she was to me. My appointment lasted over an hour because she was so thorough, asking questions all about my history, my medical stuff, my moods and emotions, my friends, my family, my work with R and J, everything. We talked about medication and I explained about my problems with it before, and how I was really nervous to go back on something, and she was totally understanding and compassionate. I'm still really unsure and conflicted about the whole thing, but talking to Dr. L made me feel a lot better. She said: "You look sad, and I want to help you get better."
And I am still pretty sad. I'm struggling a lot not just with the food stuff, but with the emotional stuff too, and sometimes that's a lot harder. Things have been going a bit better since being back in College City for the past couple of days, but there's still a long empty weekend ahead. So, that's where I'm at now. Trying to keep my head above water and hang in there.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Feet, Pus, Words
My life currently sucks A LOT, but I don't really feel like dwelling on that. Nor you do want to read about it, I promise. The suckfest can be summarized as a) I suck, b) eating disorders suck, and c) I STILL SUCK.
For real, I'm not gonna bore you with it. Instead I'm going to practice some good healthy avoidance and give a few tidbits unrelated to ED or any equally sucky topics:
- I have really disproportionately big feet compared to the rest of me. Several years ago when I was going through my rapid and traumatic pubertal phase, my pediatrician predicted that I would eventually grow into my feet, because it seemed like they sprouted much quicker than the rest of me. Unfortunately the rest of me never caught up. I'm not like freakishly short or anything, but compared to my height, my feet are BIG. I wear almost the same size as my mom, who is a good 2-3 inches taller than me, and she wears almost the same size as her two sisters, who are both 4-5 inches taller than her. My aunts, therefore, have reasonably and proportionately sized feet for their heights and I am BIGFOOT. This doesn't normally bother me, but I just bought new shoes and was yet again reminded of my gigantic shoe size. On the plus side, I love my new shoes. Too bad they make my feet look approximately 27 inches long with jeans.
- I got my cartilage pierced about six months ago and it still gets this little pussy swollen bubble thing on the back. Is this normal? I made my doctor look at it once and she said it wasn't infected or anything, just irritated, but seriously, when is this damn thing going to heal? I'd like to be able to sleep on my left side again sometime, I don't know, THIS YEAR. I'm debating just taking the earring out and letting the hole close up, my I'm afraid of deforming my ear somehow.
- I'm obsessed with Words With Friends. So obsessed, in fact, that I have multiple games going and I get stressed out when my phone keeps buzzing at me to remind me it's my turn. I KNOW, I'LL GET TO IT, JUST GIVE ME A SECOND. I hate feeling rushed because I always want to play the best word possible and it takes me ages to hit "play" because I always second-guess myself and think there must be a better word I'm not seeing yet. Have I mentioned that I'm super competitive? Losing makes me hate myself.
Okay, officially most random post ever. Maybe I'll be in a less grouchy, angry, spastic mood later and give y'all (what? I'm not Southern) a better update of my life.
For real, I'm not gonna bore you with it. Instead I'm going to practice some good healthy avoidance and give a few tidbits unrelated to ED or any equally sucky topics:
- I have really disproportionately big feet compared to the rest of me. Several years ago when I was going through my rapid and traumatic pubertal phase, my pediatrician predicted that I would eventually grow into my feet, because it seemed like they sprouted much quicker than the rest of me. Unfortunately the rest of me never caught up. I'm not like freakishly short or anything, but compared to my height, my feet are BIG. I wear almost the same size as my mom, who is a good 2-3 inches taller than me, and she wears almost the same size as her two sisters, who are both 4-5 inches taller than her. My aunts, therefore, have reasonably and proportionately sized feet for their heights and I am BIGFOOT. This doesn't normally bother me, but I just bought new shoes and was yet again reminded of my gigantic shoe size. On the plus side, I love my new shoes. Too bad they make my feet look approximately 27 inches long with jeans.
- I got my cartilage pierced about six months ago and it still gets this little pussy swollen bubble thing on the back. Is this normal? I made my doctor look at it once and she said it wasn't infected or anything, just irritated, but seriously, when is this damn thing going to heal? I'd like to be able to sleep on my left side again sometime, I don't know, THIS YEAR. I'm debating just taking the earring out and letting the hole close up, my I'm afraid of deforming my ear somehow.
- I'm obsessed with Words With Friends. So obsessed, in fact, that I have multiple games going and I get stressed out when my phone keeps buzzing at me to remind me it's my turn. I KNOW, I'LL GET TO IT, JUST GIVE ME A SECOND. I hate feeling rushed because I always want to play the best word possible and it takes me ages to hit "play" because I always second-guess myself and think there must be a better word I'm not seeing yet. Have I mentioned that I'm super competitive? Losing makes me hate myself.
Okay, officially most random post ever. Maybe I'll be in a less grouchy, angry, spastic mood later and give y'all (what? I'm not Southern) a better update of my life.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Facebooking Fatness
If I hadn't started hating my body years and years before joining Facebook, I might find this theory a little more convincing: Feeling Fat? Maybe Facebook is to Blame.
I guess it does give me another reason to put off getting Timeline, though...
I guess it does give me another reason to put off getting Timeline, though...
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Post-Op Ramblings
So sorry AGAIN for descending into a weepy yucky negative place while posting. I should probably rate my misery on a 1-10 scale before blogging - anything coming from me at more than 5 is bound to be a train wreck.
On another joyful note, I just home from the hospital. I found out on Tuesday that I was being admitted and thankfully I didn't have to stay longer than yesterday. I had a minor surgery which went fine, until they tried to wake me up from anesthesia and apparently my body decided instead to blissfully snooze the day away. Oops. I guess my heart rate got really low and I was in and out for a while. They eventually did get me awake and somewhat lucid, but my blood pressure was still hanging out in the lower realms. One of the nurses asked me if I was a runner, to which I wanted so badly to answer YES but unfortunately I had to admit that no, I haven't run in months, and my freakishly low blood pressure is not a sign of marathoning greatness.
Now I'm back home, feeling much better but still woozy. I've been trying to eat but my stomach is kind of angry with me. My head is also killing me, which I think is dehydration since I haven't had much water. I get headaches a lot and Advil usually works like a charm, but this sucker is persistent. Trying to drink lots and eat and relax.
So I guess in summary, I'm fine. The whole thing has sort of shaken me, though. It never fails to amaze me how resilient the human body is, but also how fragile. I've probably been to more doctors and hospitals in the last two years than the first nineteen years of my life combined. Stuff just keeps going wrong. Maybe I'm still young enough that I can almost always bounce back, but I'm scared that one day, I just won't. I've gotten used to explaining to doctors that I'm recovering from anorexia, which usually helps account for all the freaky stuff my body tends to do, but it never gets any easier or any less humiliating. As my mom put it last night, "You're twenty-one years old. There shouldn't be anything wrong with you."
One plus of the past few days: I love the doctor who did my surgery, Dr. B. He's a super big deal around here, apparently, but my uncle (also a doctor) knows him and pulled some strings to get me in last minute. When I first was telling Dr. B my medical history, he asked all the right questions, including "How is your recovery going?" and "Have you gained any weight?" Part of me wanted to chuckle and be like, GOOD ONE, DOC BUT COME ON NOW, LOOK AT THESE THUNDER THIGHS but mostly I just appreciated that he didn't draw any premature conclusions about me based on appearance alone. I had a doctor last year who told me my pants looked baggy and that I needed to gain weight without even having me get on a scale, even though I was nearly weight-restored at the time. Or another doctor this past winter who told me that my BMI was "great," even though I was still XX lbs from my goal weight. Of course there was also this meanie who gave me a lecture, or these lovely but clueless nurses.
Okay, now I forget what my point was. Blame the drugs still lingering in my bloodstream for making me rambly and loopy. I'm off to slurp up something to make this headache go away and take a nap. Then my bff from high school has promised me a movie night. Have a happy and healthy weekend!
On another joyful note, I just home from the hospital. I found out on Tuesday that I was being admitted and thankfully I didn't have to stay longer than yesterday. I had a minor surgery which went fine, until they tried to wake me up from anesthesia and apparently my body decided instead to blissfully snooze the day away. Oops. I guess my heart rate got really low and I was in and out for a while. They eventually did get me awake and somewhat lucid, but my blood pressure was still hanging out in the lower realms. One of the nurses asked me if I was a runner, to which I wanted so badly to answer YES but unfortunately I had to admit that no, I haven't run in months, and my freakishly low blood pressure is not a sign of marathoning greatness.
Now I'm back home, feeling much better but still woozy. I've been trying to eat but my stomach is kind of angry with me. My head is also killing me, which I think is dehydration since I haven't had much water. I get headaches a lot and Advil usually works like a charm, but this sucker is persistent. Trying to drink lots and eat and relax.
So I guess in summary, I'm fine. The whole thing has sort of shaken me, though. It never fails to amaze me how resilient the human body is, but also how fragile. I've probably been to more doctors and hospitals in the last two years than the first nineteen years of my life combined. Stuff just keeps going wrong. Maybe I'm still young enough that I can almost always bounce back, but I'm scared that one day, I just won't. I've gotten used to explaining to doctors that I'm recovering from anorexia, which usually helps account for all the freaky stuff my body tends to do, but it never gets any easier or any less humiliating. As my mom put it last night, "You're twenty-one years old. There shouldn't be anything wrong with you."
One plus of the past few days: I love the doctor who did my surgery, Dr. B. He's a super big deal around here, apparently, but my uncle (also a doctor) knows him and pulled some strings to get me in last minute. When I first was telling Dr. B my medical history, he asked all the right questions, including "How is your recovery going?" and "Have you gained any weight?" Part of me wanted to chuckle and be like, GOOD ONE, DOC BUT COME ON NOW, LOOK AT THESE THUNDER THIGHS but mostly I just appreciated that he didn't draw any premature conclusions about me based on appearance alone. I had a doctor last year who told me my pants looked baggy and that I needed to gain weight without even having me get on a scale, even though I was nearly weight-restored at the time. Or another doctor this past winter who told me that my BMI was "great," even though I was still XX lbs from my goal weight. Of course there was also this meanie who gave me a lecture, or these lovely but clueless nurses.
Okay, now I forget what my point was. Blame the drugs still lingering in my bloodstream for making me rambly and loopy. I'm off to slurp up something to make this headache go away and take a nap. Then my bff from high school has promised me a movie night. Have a happy and healthy weekend!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
In the Future
I don't want to waste my two weeks of vacation bouncing from one doctor to another.
I don't want to spend Mother's Day obsessing over the calories in my steak instead of spoiling my mom.
I don't want to turn down a day in Big City with my brother because I'm too tired.
I don't want my gynecologist to tell me that I "have the hormone levels of a post-menopausal woman."
I don't want to watch my friends shoveling pasta and laughing and talking, and wonder why I can't be more like them.
I don't want to guzzle seltzer to fill myself up between lunch and dinner because the thought of choosing a snack is so fucking overwhelming I can't do it.
I don't want to waste another day feeling like crap.
I don't want to take up less space than I deserve.
I don't want to be a child.
I want to be healthy.
I want to eat.
I don't want to spend Mother's Day obsessing over the calories in my steak instead of spoiling my mom.
I don't want to turn down a day in Big City with my brother because I'm too tired.
I don't want my gynecologist to tell me that I "have the hormone levels of a post-menopausal woman."
I don't want to watch my friends shoveling pasta and laughing and talking, and wonder why I can't be more like them.
I don't want to guzzle seltzer to fill myself up between lunch and dinner because the thought of choosing a snack is so fucking overwhelming I can't do it.
I don't want to waste another day feeling like crap.
I don't want to take up less space than I deserve.
I don't want to be a child.
I want to be healthy.
I want to eat.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)