Posts Tagged ‘weight’

I’ve been in partial 3 weeks now. It hasn’t been terrible. I wanted to run the first week, but that urge has weakened since then. I finally started restoring weight (it was slow to come) and that has freaked me out. It’s not necessarily the number that scares me; it’ the direction. When I saw the same number on the way down it was great. Seeing it on the way up is terrifying. I’m afraid it won’t stop. I’ve also begun getting the “night sweats” that come with restoration. Not particularly pleasant.

I am uncomfortably full. I feel my body changing and as a result of both of those I feel horribly fat.

And apparently in the past year I developed a lactose intolerance. They give me so much milk at partial. The first two weeks were hell with bloating, and gas, and nausea until I figured out what was going on. I don’t touch milk at home because I don’t particularly like it. I used to have a latte every single day. In the past few months they have increasingly made me nauseated. I thought at the time that it was simply the restriction making my stomach more sensitive to strong foods like coffee (which does happen) and I naturally cut back on them. Looking back now, though, I wonder if it wasn’t the lactose that bothered me. Regardless, I use Lactaid at partial and avoid milk at home. Thankfully, yogurt doesn’t seem to bother me. I think I would die without my Chobani.

On the medical school front: I am currently on the in-state waiting list for my University’s medical school. I am low on the list, #46. It’s been a rough week (really two weeks since my letter got lost in the mail and after waiting a week I had to personally go in to find out). It will be more accurate in another week or so as people respond about whether or not they want to remain on the list.

Last year I told myself and everyone else that the rejection was ok, that I was glad for the extra year. But even as I said that my weight dropped. So clearly, there was some sort of disconnect within me. I found myself doing that again this year, but now I have been saying what I actually feel. I sobbed for the entire first day (I never cried once last year). I am sad. I am angry. I am pissed off at the admissions committee, the director of admissions (who told me I would have “no problem” getting in this year), at the entire medical school system, and at myself for even allowing my hopes to get up.

And you know what? Just acknowledging those emotions has made it easier.

I am moving forward for my backup plan. I have accepted the evening clerk job on my unit (can you say regular hours, no floating, no weekends, and a better salary?). I am working on cover letters for graduate assistantships. I am researching other graduate programs to apply to in addition to one final round of med school apps. And I am starting to look more into what I could do if I just used my MPH as a terminal degree.

We’ll see what comes. Time will tell, both on the weight front and the medical school front.

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…in partial that is.

It was a hard day. Hard because I was back. There are a couple people there that have been through the program but for them it’s been years and years. I’m the only recent readmission.

Hard because I was in the same hospital where I go to school and work every day.

Hard because I don’t know if I care about the why of it anymore. I kind of feel like that is beating a dead horse and has really become irrelevant. All I want to know is the how. How do I get out of this? How do I keep from falling back in?

And I’ll admit it, there’s still hesitation. If I could get better without gaining the weight I would do it. If I could gain the weight and never have to think about it again I could live with that. But I know it’s going to be a never ending struggle. I pray that it isn’t my solution for everything (med school too hard? lose weight. Difficulties at work? Lose weight.) although I know that for a long time it will be at the front of my mind.

But I’m so scared. I’m scared of getting fat. I’m scared that my fellow public health students will think I’m huge when I get back. I’m scared that I’ll be the fattest person in my med school class.

But I’m not brave enough to talk about these yet. Instead I sat all day in group, on the verge of tears.

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…I’m safe.

I won’t mention how I managed it, but I’ve skeeked by until Saturday.

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Once again I stand at the edge of it.

I was told last week that I had to gain x lbs this week or I would be going back to partial. It was so hard, but I ate. I ate because I knew I had to and then I freaked out about gaining weight and eating too much. I’m afraid it didn’t make much of a difference though because for the last three weeks I have been stuck at precisely the same weight regardless of what I ate.

The only reason I’m resisting partial is my job. Working on a psych unit. But it’s not necessarily that, I don’t want to have to tell my boss or coworkers why I need time off. And from time to time I work (as a colleague) with some of the people who work in partial. I don’t want to be in the large percentage of eating disorder patients who relapse. I want to present the image of being strong and capable of everything I take on.

Apparently I am not. And that makes me feel like a failure.

I see E— at 1 today. Crunch time has arrived.

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Know what it’s like to walk through an unfamiliar house at night?

You walk in the door, groping the wall and hoping the switch appears under your fingers. Perhaps it does, maybe it doesn’t and you have to take a few tentative steps in and try a little further along the wall, or a different wall entirely. Breathing lightly, stepping lightly, and straining for any glimpse of what lies in front of you. With a constant fear that your toe will crack into the couch or an errant shoe will break your balance.

The light comes on and one area is bathed in the warm comforting glow. You move confidently for a while until the room ends and you enter the hallway.

For a short time you can just slow down and see a bit using the excess light from the previous room.

Soon nothing but darkness is ahead of you and your hand again slides across the wall praying that there is a light switch. Straining to see, hoping that there is nothing unexpected in your path, and completely afraid that there will be.

Ahhh…a breath of relief. Saved again. You can continue to the end of the hallway and turn into the final room.

Standing in the door frame an eerie square of diffuse light lies across the carpet. And you realize that yet again, the light switch has to be found.

Maneuver around the edge of a dresser, slamming your hip into the corner. Swearing under your breath and searching, searching, searching for that damn switch.

Finally. Breathe in peace. You have reached your destination.

What does this have to do with anything? This week I saw the physician for the first time who will be coordinating my medical needs (in regards to the eating disorder) here in I—. She asked how often I got on the scale. (A lot….) Then she asked me why? What did the scale give me? There must be some reason I continue to do it again and again and again. When I get up, before I get in the shower, before I go to work, after I run, before I eat, etc.

I thought about it and realized that the scale is my light switch. I step on and it lets me see where I’m at. I can walk a little further without intense anxiety. But eventually the light runs out and I’m straining to see, starting to panic, stubbing my toes. So I step on the scale. And the light comes back on. But I never reach the intended room. There is always a different hallway, a new passageway, another room to find. And I find myself looking for the light switch again and again and wondering if the experience will ever stop.

I’m not sure what it helps me see though. Does it show me a life map? Not really. A personal health map? No. It just seems to be the only thing right now that alleviates the anxiety, if only temporarily.

The elusive light switch when what I really need is a flashlight.

Or the confidence to take on the dark.

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My therapist weighed me this weekend. I had a general idea of where I was because last weekend I freaked out and bought a scale because I couldn’t stand not knowing anymore. It’s the cheapest scale possible though, so I don’t trust it’s accuracy more than a couple pounds. Anyway….back to the story…

I weighed 108. That’s what I weighed when I started 7th grade. I remember it because it was the first year I had a sports physical. I remember it because when I started 8th grade I was 107 and my doctor got all concerned.

108:  7th grade. At the time I was 5’0″. 12 years old.

108:  A new college graduate. I am now 5’4″. 21 years old.

What happened? A part of me was happy…108, what an accomplishment. But at the same time it was utterly terrifying. When I used to look back at pictures of 7th grade I thought I was thin (it was a different type, the pre-pubescent, no hips, no boobs, boyish-thin). Now I am 4 inches taller and I see nothing but fat on myself.

What happened?

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