Doctor Headaches, Books, and Sin

More therapy today...more tears, but way fewer than last week so, like, go me! And mostly, go Dr. P! The plan right now is to get me set up with a pain specialist in College City, to whom I will essentially dictate the terms of my treatment (unfortunately, I seem to know more about the nerve pain than 90% of the doctors I've seen)—a.k.a. "prescribe me this drug," "run these labs," "refer me to this subspecialist" etc. Plus, in a perfect world this new doctor would be in contact with Dr. A, who is just about the only one I trust at the moment.

I've gotten over any self-consciousness about being needy, demanding, and skeptical in the doctors' office; I'm THAT patient who's all like, "Why are you doing that? What are you thinking? Could this be anything else? I read xyz online, is that relevant? Why didn't you catch this last time? Should I get a second opinion? How long until I feel better? What are you writing? Can I read my file? What's your home phone number? Where can I find you at midnight on a Friday? What's your cat's name?" ...you get the point. I just figure, if they make me jump through hoops to get an appointment, I might as well make the most of it.

Sorry for that lil rant—I got doctors on the brain. I've probably spent about 4 of the past 24 hours on the phone either on hold, spelling my name and repeating my date of birth a zillion times, negotiating with nurses, demanding politely requesting to speak with the doctor, and refusing to give my social security number. (Seriously guys, they don't need it.)

In other news, I've got a stack of books a mile high waiting to be read. I made the mistake of delving into Freedom by Jonathan Franzen—I don't particularly like it, but have now invested so much time that I should probably just get through it. I hate not finishing books. It feels like a sin comparable to something like throwing plastic bottles in the trash can or not changing my sheets once a week. These things bother me.

Speaking of sin, I went to a Catholic mass on Sunday. Not exactly sure why, other than that I needed something non-active to do that morning besides sit in my apartment and mope. As you may recall, I am not religious. I've attended cousins' first communions and my grandparents' funerals and stuff, but my religious education has consisted of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. That being said, I do find the whole mass ritual quite beautiful. I love the peace offering—there is something incredibly moving about a stranger holding your hand to say, "Peace be with you." Maybe because both my parents were raised Catholic (actually, I was baptized Catholic as well, but have never practiced), it all feels vaguely comforting and familiar.

So anyway, I was sitting in that church, looking like a total imposter as everyone else rattled off the Lord's Prayer and recited the responses right on cue, wondering what I've been missing. I looked up at the gorgeous ceiling painted with scenes from the Bible, the stained-glass windows, and tried to pray. Not sure if I did it right, or if there even is a right way, but I found myself so desperate for some greater power outside the human bureaucracy and the stupid automated phone message systems and the appointment scheduling protocols and the broken fax machines that mean my medical records never end up in the right place, that I tried. Maybe that's the point.

Saturday Notes

Okey doke, I think I am officially pulling out of that yucky period from earlier this week. Seeing Dr. P really did help tremendously, and my mood picked up a lot after talking with her on Tuesday. She gave me a good mix of cheerleading and concrete suggestions for how to move forward in a way that makes everything seem a bit less frustrating and unmanageable. So, stay tuned.

Work: My job is pretty demanding but in a good way. It's the kind of environment where my brain is totally engaged from the minute I sit down at my desk to the minute I stand up to leave (allowing for bathroom- and lunch-breaks, of course...). I actually brought a project home to work on this weekend, which I probably could have weaseled my way out of, but I wanted to see it through. My boss is a sweetheart, and let me peace out for an hour yesterday for a quick emergency doctor's visit with no warning. (Thanks Boss!)

Entertainment: I'm totally into reading, crafting, and TV right now. My current favorite set-up is sitting in my comfy purple chair working on a craft (embroidery and crochet so far) while watching a show on my computer. Favs of the moment: The Killing and How I Met Your Mother.

Food: Still pretty systematic, unvaried, and boring but what else is new? At least I'm being good about taking my vitamins. My cousin and I baked cookies last weekend and of course she was a carefree normal human person and sampled them afterwards (the recipe was a smidge experimental) but alas, I did not partake.
— BUT I have been expanding my dinner repertoire. Progress?
—And I've cut down on weighing myself again. Thank goodness. It was getting to be a problem.

Other Observations: My ESL students are CUTE. And inspiring, to be honest. Both are Chinese immigrants working on their PhDs. They are just so unbelievably grateful to be here in the US getting an education that they work their butts off day and night, and don't take a single minute for granted. As the proud daughter of an immigrant (Go Papa Bear!), I am amazed at how much people will sacrifice for what I was handed on a silver platter at birth.

Can't believe June is already half over. This summer is going to fly!

A Tale of Two Eyes

Yet again, I am reminded of the power and value of a good therapist. Just left Dr. P's office and am feeling way more positive, relaxed, and capable than I did when I walked in. Of course, it took me sobbing on her couch for the first thirty minutes, but hey! I'm feeling better now, so it must have worked.

Without getting into all the details of the session, which would be boring for you and emotionally draining for me and probably not very productive for either of us, I want to (re)tell a story that should give everyone some perspective and a ton of hope: The Story of Kaylee's Eyeballs.

source

For anyone who has been reading for a while, this will be some old news. Once upon a time in the summer of 2010 (post-freshman year of college), I was semi-restricting, overexercising, and not having periods. I started having burning in my eyes, which were red and bloodshot. I went to the doctor, who diagnosed corneal ulcers (ewww ouchies), gave me some antibiotic drops, and sent me on my way. At the two-week follow-up appointment, I was pronounced cured.

Dun dun dun.

Two months later, my eyes were back to burning, red, and painful. By this point, I was dangerously underweight, running miles upon miles every morning, and barely eating. I put off a doctors' appointment because the student health center is STUPID and I didn't feel like dealing with them, even as my eyes got worse and worse. It was allergies, I told myself. Nothing a little Zyrtec and Visine couldn't fix.

Long story short, I ended up at an ophthalmologists' office in University Medical School who diagnosed me with punctate keratitis (MAJOR OUCHIES) caused by severe dry eyes. A three-month course of antibiotics and steroids cleared it up, but I had to switch brands of contact lenses, and started using OTC lubricant drops multiple times a day to keep my eyes from getting too dry.

Over those same three months, I left school (against my will...THANKS MOM AND DAD) and entered treatment for anorexia. I gained XX pounds, up to an almost-weight-restored number, and had one period. My eyes got better.

Then I got back to college, started restricting again, lost most of the weight I'd gained, and didn't have another period for many months. Around the same time (fall 2011), my eyes started hurting again.

I spent the next year bouncing from one eye doctor to the next, using multiple courses of antibiotics, steroids, anti-inflammatories, lubricants, etc. etc. etc. Between Home City and College City, I saw six different ophthalmologists. My father even solicited (unhelpful but well-intentioned) advice from his brother, who is a gastroenterologist but nonetheless gets consulted on every family medical issue.

Meanwhile, my quality of life pretty much sucked due to my eyes. I couldn't read for very long because they hurt so much. I limited computer time to about 20 minutes at a stretch. In spring 2012, I stopped driving for a while because I was afraid my eye would give out and I'd crash. My then-therapist Dr. R once asked me during a particularly, um, emotional session: "Do you ever find it ironic that you're crying about dry eyes?" #notamused

Finally, I found Dr. Q. Why didn't I find his name sooner, when I was scouring the internet for the most highly respected ophthalmologists? He is one of a two-man team running Major Vision Center in College City, and is nothing short of a genius and miracle-worker. He explained the connections between body fat, hormone levels, nerve sensitivity, and mucous membranes (eww I know, sorry—bear with me) and we found a solution that not only protects my eyes, but allows the underlying nerve damage from chronic dryness to heal.

The catch? Dr. Q reminds me at every visit that the only way to truly protect my eyes is by maintaining a healthy level of body fat and having regular periods. Sound familiar?

In conclusion: My eyes feel perfect. Knock on wood, because I'm still superstitious and paranoid....but 99 percent of the time, I don't even think about them because they don't hurt. They aren't dry. I can't even feel them. Six months ago, I was putting in drops continuously, all day long, just to get by. Probably went through about two boxes of these per week:

I should've bought stock in this stuff

Now, I use MAYBE one drop per day. Seriously. One box lasts forever. My monthly Walgreen's bill has probably been cut by 75%.

So, what was the point of all this, you ask? Well, it was to show you guys (well, to show myself, mostly) that miracles can happen. Healing can happen. It may take time, and a ton of persistence, but it can happen. My eyes feel so good now that I almost can't remember what it was like when they were so bad, but I think I should make myself remember. I need to remember, to show myself how much better things can get. And I need to remember so that I never start thinking to myself: Things weren't THAT bad, right? I could skip my snack just this once...I could lose a few pounds, just so my jeans feel a little looser... and we all know how that ends.

More from the Pain Chronicles

Today has been more a struggle than usual, physically and emotionally. Sometimes it's hard to determine which triggers the downward spiral—my body or my mind—but both are feeling pretty crummy right now.

I'm sorry guys—I know I tout this as an "anorexia recovery" blog and it's turned into more of a "chronic pain recovery (or not, who really knows at this point)" blog, so it may not be very interesting for some of you at the moment. But the nerve pain has mushroomed into this giant, overwhelming, all-consuming force that kind of overshadows everything else at this point. My blog would be pretty disingenuous and superficial if I didn't write about it.

Anyway, I'm just having a really hard time sitting with the fact that I don't know when or by how much this will improve. I hate going into a new job, new school year, new apartment—a whole new freaking life, for goodness sake—with this hanging over me. It's hitting me that it may be around for months (or years, God forbid...not gonna think about that...)

There are a lot of reasons that I should feel optimistic, but sometimes my mind can't process them. I'm tired of trying so hard to convince myself that maybe someday things will be better. For now, just doing my damnest to keep my chin up. Happier posts to come.

Recovery Progress Report and Musings

Hmm okay maybe I jinxed myself, or spoke too soon, or got cocky with how relatively well things seemed to be going... but my body image has started heading south in the past few days. Probably because that nasty habit of daily weigh-ins has come back to bite me, as it always does. As soon as the number on the scale edged upwards a few days in a row, I suddenly found myself feeling all jiggly and blobby and gross.

The only thing to do really is to stick it out, and trust that my body will end up where it needs to be. I think I'm about at my set point, although the daily fluctuations definitely still get to me a lot. And I'm still not totally used to being this size, which is objectively much bigger than I've been for at least five years. On the plus side, whereas these feelings once would have completely derailed any good intentions of maintaining my intake, I am now pretty much able to shrug it off and keep going. So at least there's that.

I suppose this is all part of recovery—occasional icky periods in an otherwise upward trend. I am seeing  a lot of parallels with my nerve pain; I am dramatically better than I was a year ago, but that has included lots of good days and bad days along the way. Nothing's ever a straight line, is it? That would be way too simple.

Another ED issue: I can't tell if my eating habits are becoming more rigid and distorted with living alone, or just lazy. For example: I have only cooked dinner for myself twice since moving out here, whereas my roommate and I cooked together almost every night in our college apartment. I don't know—it just seems like a whole lot of mess and hassle for a solo meal. That's not to say that I haven't been eating dinner, of course, it's just been more non-real dinner food like sandwiches, eggs, oatmeal, etc. or other snacky-type combinations. Stuff that doesn't necessarily qualify as "dinner," and stuff that I wouldn't try to pass off as "dinner" if anyone else were around to watch. My calories have stayed about  the same so it's not like I'm restricting per se; it's just the types of foods that have changed. I suppose you could say I'm restricting variety-wise, if we wanted to split hairs. So, is that a problem? I can't decide. I assume that "normal" eaters eat the same way whether or not they're being watched (What's that saying..."Character is what you do or say when no one else is looking"), but my habits definitely depend on whether or not I have an audience. Something to think about, I guess.

Anyway, that's my Saturday update for now. Take care, everyone.

Summer Days

I started work last week, and things are good so far! Everyone in the office seems super nice and the research is fascinating. Plus last Friday was 'Bring Your Dog to Work Day' so I spent much of the morning playing with puppies, which felt like a good omen.

Otherwise, I am doing my best to stay busy and entertained. College City is having a strange stretch of beautiful weather which we all know won't last long, so I'm trying to enjoy it while I can. While taking Dr. A's "no strenuous exercise for at least 1-2 years" to heart, I've been going for walks around my new neighborhood to explore the streets and soak up the sunshine. For the most part, my pain levels have been very tolerable and I want to make the most of it.

On the weekends, I've been going back to that food bank where I worked last summer for AIDS and cancer patients. It never fails to amaze me how much need there is in the world—right outside my doorstep, practically. How many times have I holed up at home and cried because of how goddamn unlucky I am to have been hit with so many health crises? Then I go spend three hours in a North College City shelter packed with people dying of incurable diseases. And they can't even afford food. So in reality, when you think about it, I'm probably among the luckiest people in the world.

Aside from that, I've also been tutoring a couple of Chinese graduate students in ESL, doing random crafts, cleaning/organizing/decorating my apartment, and reading. No joke—between my Kindle and the public library, I've probably read at least 20 books since graduation two weeks ago.

Books of the week:
—The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid—Really interesting take on 9/11 from a Muslim immigrant's point of view. It's a quick read but pretty thematically complex. I'll definitely be checking out this author's other work.
—Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer—My friend has been begging me to read this book for years. I suppose I've been a little slow to get on the JSF bandwagon; he seems to have a bit of a cult following and I'll admit that he's a good writer, but I wasn't in love with this book. The little boy totally stole my heart and I very much related to the story, as I was about his age (couple years older) and several of my friends lost parents on 9/11, but the story-within-a-story and other narrative gimmicks stuff got to be a bit much.
—The Round House by Louise Erdrich—Well-written and heartbreaking. The story takes place on a Native American reservation and takes some concentration to follow, as there are a ton of characters and several overlapping subplots. I could have done without the mythical tangents, but overall this book was a win.

'Fat Talk,' or Lack Thereof

Something my therapist has brought up several times is why I've always had bad body image. Had there been comments from my parents? My brother? My friends? Boyfriends? No, no, no, and no. In fact, no one has ever made a negative comment about my weight—except to express concern when I've gotten too skinny. I suppose that could be a result of me never having been overweight, but I think also because I've been really lucky to have amazing family and friends. Intelligent, thoughtful, compassionate people with the good sense not to make weight or appearance much of an issue.

Which is why it sometimes seems baffling to me that I've always been so gosh darn obsessed with my weight. It just seems so shallow and out of character for me, you know? Anyway, maybe that's why articles like this have never really resonated with me: 'Fat Talk' Compels, but Carries a Cost. When I sit down and think about it, I can count on one hand (well, maybe two hands) the number of conversations I can remember having with friends about feeling fat, wanting to lose weight, or any other general body dissatisfaction. Is this weird? Maybe I'm just lucky. Maybe I've just gotten good at steering conversations away from that stuff that I don't even realize it anymore. Maybe I'm so wrapped up in my own internal 'fat talk' that I'm totally oblivious to all the outside 'fat talk' happening around me.

Anyway, I've been thinking about this because I can honestly say that my body image is better right now that it has been in, like, years. No, I don't love my body, but I'm okay with it. Actually, I'm better than okay with it: I almost-sort-of-a-little-bit-dare-I-even-type-this....like it?

Is it a coincidence that I am also at my highest weight in over five years? Is it the universe's greatest irony that I've spent most of that time killing myself to lose weight in pursuit of that elusive perfect, skinny body when in fact, the best cure to my body image woes was to gain weight? Someone pinch me.

I was walking down a busy street in College City yesterday afternoon in shorts and a t-shirt, watching myself in the passing storefront windows—because I still lack the ability to pass any reflective surface without scrutinizing my body—and realized, with a jolt, that I wasn't actually disgusted by the sight of myself. I realized that I wasn't fat, wasn't super disgusting, and wasn't a blobby freak of nature. I'm not super skinny anymore; I'm not even skinny, just normal. And that's fine.

The biggest body image woes I have right now are more related to feeling lazy and untoned, since I don't really exercise at all. The pain still makes it kind of tough, but I'm making an effort to get out and at least walk, if nothing else. Anyone ever used My Yoga Online? I'm thinking of trying some videos there.

Anyway, my point is: I feel so much more comfortable in my own skin than I have in a long long time, and am pretty much perfectly okay with the way I look. (Well, almost!) 'Fat talk' takes on a whole new meaning when you've got anorexia, and I'm proud to say that there is very little 'fat talk' happening in my brain right now. I can't say I've noticed any more or less of it among other women around me, but I can say that the internal obsessing has lessened tremendously.