Bad Patient

That’s what I am and what I was.

I lost a fair bit of weight in hospital. We’re at the 1 stone underweight stage which in itself is not terrible. I don’t mind. I actually like it, lets not lie. None of my clothes fit, bar my newly bought girl boxers (on sale in La Senza). There have been a few occasions where my mother has had to walk next to me recently with a fistful of jean fabric. We both find it amusing that she has to hold my pants up to protect my dignity. Yes I’ve managed to do this in a somewhat legitimate way.

In the beginning, this was my “health kick”. I exercised daily. I did a bit of secret exercise as a top up, and I cut down to a very unobvious 600-700 calories. I made sure I everytime I ate, I was with someone. I’d each lots of fruit and veg and the most part of my evening meal was a bagful of salad. It looked like I was eating a lot and of course in my moments alone, I’d prepare food, leave a mess and dispose by chucking whatever it was over the back wall – luckily we back onto a steep bank and eventually a railway. We’re also lucky enough to be the feeding point of many wild and unwild critters. It hurt no one and fed many.

I kept this up until my admission bar a bread binge the day before in a last ditch weight gain attempt for my operation. The yeast killed my stomach and I looked pregnant for a while. Also (luckily?) I hadn’t been to the loo in a week. Thank whoever because they weighed me (with my phone and classic iPod in my pocket and a very full bladder. All standard disordered fare.

I still don’t think I’m ill.

When I got to hospital obviously I couldn’t eat until after my operation. They wheeled me back to the ward just after lunch…damn. I “slept” through dinner. To be fair I felt sick – typical anaesthesia reaction that I stretched over the days. That night, in order to receive a dose of the much needed stronger painkiller diclofenac (which can cause stomach ulcers on an empty stomach as my dad found out last year), with my mum and dad as witness, I was handed a plate of cold, unbuttered, strawberry jammed toast. I “managed” half a slice under the spotlight of sympathetic smiles. I got drugged and went to bed (not to sleep of course but to listen to those flaming buzzers and buzz my own for drugs when needed.)

Next morning I had a sugar free, 12 caloried apple juice and half a stewed black tea. Breakfast was a choice of cold buttered toast or cereal with semi skimmed milk. I’ve given up added fats and was brought up on skimmed milk – I genuinely can’t stomach any other milk, neither can the rest of my family. They offered me a choice of chicken, lamb or cauliflower cheese for lunch. I’m vegetarian and have been for years. Cheese wasn’t an option. I declined dinner, again it was a choice of meats, and asked my mum to bring my low calorie soup in a flask to show eating willingness. It was nice actually and only 150 calories.

Thursday morning, the nurse gave me a plate of shortcake biscuits in exchange for another diclofenac (for the most part they didn’t insist on food). God knows what was in them. I ate one and fell asleep. I could still taste it when I woke up. They gave me this for lunch that day;

I spread it around my plate. It was vegeable mousakka and had (I’m sure) the remains of yesterday’s cauliflower cheese in it. I didn’t eat it. Luckily I was home for tea time, a plate of veg and a bit of quorn. It was yummy.

So now I’ve been home for 2 and a bit days.

Friday;

100 cal soup

Couscous, salad, quorn (300 cal)

Saturday;

Half a bowl of Special K with skim milk (under 150?)

Weight watchers soup (110)

A piece of toast with sugar free jam (under 150?)

I’m not hungry. I don’t know why. I’m recovering from a night dominated by dulcolax pain and it’s results so have had cramps and nausea all day. No one expects me to eat any more than I am so I don’t need to worry. I’m at my happiest despite the pain and absolute lack of sleep. I don’t want this to end and I don’t want this to be called a disorder. I don’t want to be ill.

I’ve deceived all those around me. I’m not proud of the lying, don’t let it be read like that. I have some concept of danger but it’s okay. Sometimes you have to do bad things to get what you want and I’m sorry. Just don’t worry.

I’ll get back to my hospital story anyway, I didn’t want this to ruin my leftie de-scarification.