My mother, who is not typically super involved in my recovery, decided to have a bit of an intervention after this past weekend. Between comments made at Jim’s birthday party, my appearance, prompting from other member’s of the family, etc. she thought it might be a good idea to have a chat with not only me, but also my husband.
Both she and Jim privately text Ryan on Sunday after we left New Jersey to interject their opinion on my progress and what needed to be done.
My future step-father and mom have always taken the hands-off approach because they figured as an adult, married woman, it might be best to leave this stuff to my significant other, but seeing as we have been doing this for quite a few years, I think they realized Ryan and I need extra support.
Ryan could use assistance in fighting with, influencing my daily decisions and implementing “rules,” and I am just a big freakin’ basket case who feels horrible that the only person to which I verbalize my thoughts, feelings and struggles is my poor husband.
On Monday my mom insisted I see my family doctor.
“If he says you are a perfectly healthy, normal 24 year old then I will leave you alone and you can do what you want.”
The physician I grew up seeing, oddly knows nothing about my condition because I have always gone to specialists for medical appointments concerning anything ED related. Since I see those stinkin’ professionals so often I haven’t been to my family doc in years.
I think my mom’s request for me to see someone from my past, who I have known since I was little, was so I (and she) could have an unbiased opinion on my “condition.”
After work I made my way to the practice and sat in the waiting room feeling like this was a complete waste of time, and $15.00. Of course I am not healthy, or normal, but what could this man possibly tell me that I didn’t already know?
I was basically there to appease my momma because she demanded she be on speaker phone when the appointment occurred.
I didn’t really have a problem with this or think it was in invasion of privacy because I love her, share pretty much everything with her anyway, and if I am going to be one hundred percent honest, maybe I was a little happy she cared.
The nurse took my weight, which I didn’t look at because I knew after the 4 liters of liquid I drank that day and the fact that it was 4:30 in the afternoon, ED would hate the number and it could potentially impact my evening food choices (ashamed to admit that but I have to be truthful.)
Blood pressure and pulse were good, and now all that was left was a few brief minutes with the main man.
My mom asked a lot of questions and I should have known the Dr. I went through many years being fond of because he seemed so compassionate toward his patients, would actually take his time listening, sharing his opinions and thoroughly assessing the situation.
He did recommend a higher level of care, but said if I did not feel an inpatient hospital was necessary, he supported that decision.
He encouraged me to get a new psychologist, continue working with my current nutritionist, and absolutely increase my meal plan right away.
I did particularly appreciate when my mom asked about me having to drink Ensure, that he suggested there were other alternatives that taste much better and would get me to be more comfortable with foods outside supplementation.
Thank you doctor. Thank you! If I never see another can of Ensure again is will be too soon.
Ryan was disappointed he couldn’t make it to the appointment, since he too was curious what a non-ED physician had to say, but my mom communicated with him the outcome of my afternoon, and I was very upfront with what was said.
My family outlined their expectations, provided a new grocery list of things I had to pick up since a lot of what we keep in the house is inappropriate for recovery, and some rules that needed to be followed if I truly did not want to go to a hospital.
If the criterion is not met, then guess where I will be?
I am really not comfortable with any suggestions made; especially by my mom who is surprisingly less flexible than Ryan when it comes to meal choices, but I guess changing your life isn’t about being cozy.
And really, that is what I am trying to do; overhaul my lifestyle.
Unless I am training for something, there isn’t a need to run for an hour a day. (Actually there was an article in Women’s Health that any more than 30 minutes of intense cardio reverses stress relief and other benefits of the effort)
Lunches and dinners shouldn’t always have to consist of 80 percent vegetables and low calorie condiments.
Food shouldn’t be the enemy and I should be able to attend social gatherings without having a major anxiety attack.
Spontaneity, fun and freedom should be on the menu, not solitude and lettuce leaves.
And looking back over the past few days, with the reduction in exercise and increase in calories, the smaller amount of treadmill time is getting a little easier.
Truth be told, it is nice not to feel as rushed or fatigued because of my obligatory morning date.
I feel kind of rejuvenated about the smaller time limit; even though my brain tells me I am not, the rest of my body knows the reality.
The dietary hijack has been difficult.
I am not at the level everyone wants or needs me to be, it is still immensely difficult to convince myself that I need anymore than I am eating now. It is hard to make the choices necessary to meet a higher meal plan without wanting to crawl out of my skin and fear grips me every time Ryan makes a suggestion or tells me I should have more.
But I have to do it or my life will really change for the worse; no job, no cushy bed at home next to the one I love, absolutely no choices or independence; just the confines of a facility where I don’t want to be.
I now start my mornings thinking “I have to make good decisions,” remembering Ryan’s last words before I leave for work, “make me proud today, goose.”
Make him proud, not ED.
That is what I have to remember.