The Toilet At My McHome

DISCLAIMER: This blog-post contains poop-related material. Those suffering with fecal-phobia use caution.

On Monday, I started going to PHP (partial hospitalization program) in Columbus. Going in, I wasn't expecting much of anything different than what I already know from past treatments, so I wasn't really looking too forward to it; BUT I kept an open mind. Essentially, the program is exactly like residential but I go home at night. The day went well: I ate all of my meals with no problems (they never are in treatment), I participated in groups (which I loathe), and I made some new friends with the three other kids in the program (I'm also the oldest of the group). As the day came to a close, my stomach started feeling funky. I figured it was because I was full or my stomach was starting to hurt from all of the food I had consumed that day, but that also struck me as odd because I had been through treatment numerous times where I'd have to eat just as much (if not more) food, and I never had problems with it. Nonetheless, I carried on with the day into "wrap-up group" with the parents who pick us up at the end of the day. Mom picked me up, and as we drove home in the car, I had to shut my eyes and sit there. My stomach was in a great deal of stress. I felt constipated and that wasn't any fun at all.  When we got home, I took my coat off, and went straight to the couch where I fell asleep for the rest of the night. My stomach was in so much pain that I couldn't do anything else but sleep. I woke up the next morning around 6 and went straight to the bathroom. SURPRISE! I had friggin' diarrhea. What a way to greet the day. I ended up going to the bathroom 3 times before we left home to go to Columbus around 7. All of the way there, my stomach was upset. In my day at treatment, I ate all of my meals with difficulty because my stomach hurt so badly. I also went to the bathroom at any chance that I had, and I went every stinkin' time. I looked like death, on top of it all. I met with my doctor, and he said it was a stomach virus of some sort (which made sense because my dad had the exact same symptoms the week prior...thanks a lot, Dave). He didn't give me any medicine because he said the virus needed to come out, and the only way it would was through defecating it on out. He did order me Gatorade, though, because apparently diarrhea causes dehydration. The day went on with a great deal of stress and pain, but I pushed through. And then dinner happened: a soppy joe, chips and salsa, vanilla pudding, milk, and grapes. The thing about eating in an eating disorder program is that you have to eat everything, 100 % of what you're given, even if you're sick. Dinner was a nightmare. I could barely eat a tablespoon of food without my stomach getting unspeakably painful, and here I was downing more food than most "normal" people eat. Ugh. I started shoveling it down because I wanted to get it over with and not think about it or the pain I was going through. I'm pretty sure I can never eat vanilla pudding or salsa again without getting sick. I don't know if it was because of the dehydration or what, but by the time that I got to the sloppy joe, my mouth literally would not produce enough saliva for me to chew my food. With the assistance of the wee-bit of milk that I had left, I managed to finish the entire meal...Ouch. As we went into wrap-up group, everyone noticed how bad and sickly I looked as I walked into the room after going to the bathroom (AGAIN).  I could hardly speak because of my stomach. That was not what I would consider to be a "pleasant dining experience" in the slightest.

After the "fun" day at treatment, mom and I headed over to the Ronald McDonald house approximately three minutes away. I've decided to call this my "McHome" or "McHouse" for the time being, since I am basically living there for the month. We checked in and went straight to our room. I promptly claimed my bed, wrapped up in about 30 blankets and my plushy, yellow bath robe, and fell asleep. Like the night before, I was freezing and being tortured by my stomach, so I again had no choice but to sleep. I woke up later around 9 because (despite my stomach issues) I had to have a snack. Luckily, all that it had to be was 4 oz. of orange juice, so Mom and I sat in the kitchen area downstairs as I drank it and she told me about her day. We returned to the room, and I went back to bed, feeling like my stomach would explode. I woke up around 1:30 and had to go to the bathroom (big surprise) where I was for about half an hour. There really is nothing more fun than sitting on the toilet, especially in the middle of the night.

The following morning, I woke up to a new day with less stomach pain and a lot of snow outside. We got ready for the day, and went downstairs to see about breakfast (it was Wednesday, and on Wednesdays you have breakfast at home instead of at treatment). Mom got a call from work saying that the snow caused them to delay opening until 11, so she had more time to get ready and take care of me. In the kitchen area, we saw one of my new friend's who is also staying at the Ronald McDonald house. He and his mom were also making breakfast, and they told us that they got a call from the program saying they were cancelling treatment for the day because of the weather. We realy lucked out on seeing them because we recieved no call, no message, no pony express...nothin'. I could have ended up over at the stupid facility alone. BUT that was not the case, and I'm pretty grateful that we saw them when we did. Having no time restrictions now, mom and I took the shuttle over to the hospital across the street to get breakfast. I had my exchanges for the meal, along with my stomach issues. I got something that I thought met it, but also wouldn't make my tummy troubles worse. I finished most of it, but then my stomach started to hurt again and I couldn't finish. Mom recieved a call from work again, but this time to tell her that they were cancelling her work all together that day because of the weather conditions. So we had the whole day to do whatever we wanted...which was very little because I was sick, she developed a headache, and no one was technically supposed to be "driving" or "out" because of "dangerous weather conditions" (psh, girl please). The rest of the day was spent sleeping, laying around, watching "Let's Make A Deal" and "The Price Is Right," eating very little to appease my stomach, making valentines in the craft room, and being bored. My stomach hurt, but not as bad as it had because I wasn't forcing food down my throat. Plus my diarrhea subsided, so in some regards, I was living what we like to call "the dream life." The next day at treatment, I ate breakfast, anxious that it would upset my stomach and send me into more excruciating pain. What do you know? It didn't! I went on to eat all of my meals with hardly any pain, and that was a good thing.

Being sick this week was such a struggle. Like, how lucky am I that I get a virus that makes eating a death sentance in the midst of being force fed a lot of food? #AWESOME. Besides that, though, I spent a lot of time coloring or doing wordsearches because I had nothing better to do. I get bored WAYYYYY too easily. I can't really stop and do one thing without getting impatient and anxious, so relaxing and I are not friends. This is not a good equation for me right now, and it's sent me into a bad depression. The fact that I have nothing to do bothers me a lot. I miss being a student. I could use my time to study or do homework, but no...I just have to sit and do puzzle books. Mom and I were driving around on OSU's campus the other night, and as I watched all of the kids walking around, going into restaurants, being with their riends, and doing other things that college kids do, I became indredibly bummed. I just kept thinking, "that should be me." That should be me. This eating disorder has made me lose friends, family, my passions, my personality, my sense of caring, it's made me bitter and impatient and mean...and now it's taken away my sense of "normalcy" in that of being a student. My entire life is "off-track" so to speak because of the dumb thing.

In my devotion yesterday, it spoke of the story in Matthew where Peter asks Jesus to let him walk on the water to join him, Jesus allows it, Peter starts, Peter freaks, and Peter sinks, then Jesus asks him why he asked for something and then didn't trust him to do it. Still, Jesus was there for Peter the rest of his days on Earth and made him more than he could have ever have dreamed of  being. This really spoke to me because I'm the same way, especially right now. I constantly ask God for help, and he always gives it to me. Sometimes I may try to do what he's helping me to, but I always end up doubting and not trusting God, so I fall and end up back to square one. Regardlesss, God is still there for me, waiiting to help me when I am ready to trust him 100%. I've asked God for 4 years to help me end this battle; God has given me treatments, meal plans, people, and countless other resources to help me overcome it; I often start acting on or with these things, but I doubt that they will work or I get scared of the unknown outcomes, and I end up falling again, which is why I'm where I am today. Even though I've doubted God and haven't trusted his plans for me (which I know isn't good), he takes me back and will continue to help me until I do respond. He's always going to be there for me. That's the cool thing about God: He is constant; while humans would get impatient and sick of trying, God never does because he loves us that much. I'm hoping that this time, I do respond to God's call for me to recover because I am so sick of dealing with this, and hurting the people who love me by forcing them to watch me go through it. I want to live my life, and do good things for the Kingdom of God, and be a student, and go to school, and travel, and help people, and stay out late, and do silly shenanigans, and have a personality, and all that I really want...freedom. I don't want to feel guilty everytime that I eat, or get anxious or stressed out over food, or be mean to people, or be so depressed. Those outcomes are worth more than the outcomes that my eating disorder promises me, so I must keep them in mind.

This was a pretty "poopy" week overall, both literally and figuratively. It actually really sucks right now, but I'm okay with it. I was never promised that I was going to be happy all of the time, or that treatment would be easy. I just have to keep my goals and hopes and dreams in mind to pull me through, while trying to take each day as it comes and learn something from it, even if that lesson comes while on the toilet.