The life and care of a person suffering from anorexia, part III

After another heart-wrenching outburst over a petty Monique issue, I took her to a doctor for evaluation and he referred her to a psychiatrist. I took a very apprehensive but positive Mouse on her date, but walked out with Monique in a rage and dressed never to go on another date again. That day we had planned to have a smoothie at a local franchise restaurant as a reward for her going to the date. Arriving at the restaurant, the conflict in her brain completely derailed her. She no longer wanted a milkshake because she would make her fat. She would have coffee, but she really wanted a milkshake. She wanted a coffee to go so she could have it in the privacy of the car. If she went to have a coffee where no one saw her, the ‘diet police’ wouldn’t notice if she had a milkshake instead. After about half an hour of conflict and discussing her options, she settled on a Cappuccino to go. As we walked out of the mall, Monique reared her nasty little head again and said she wouldn’t drink the Cappuccino. By this time I was overwhelmed with frustration and as we passed a garbage can, I dropped her glass into it. Well, the look of indignation and subsequent tears at losing the Cappuccino she’d been craving brought Mouse back and left me feeling awful.

We used to go to that same restaurant every time we were in town, for coffee and the occasional muffin. Unfortunately every time it was the same conflict that broke out there. To say that he made me uncomfortable would be an understatement, but I needed to encourage Mouse to eat and show him that he wouldn’t get fat if he ate sensibly and healthily. Not that I could use the word ‘healthily’, but I tried to put it the best I could. Unfortunately the waiters were not trained to deal with people suffering from eating disorders and eventually to avoid any more scenes in public with Monique we stopped visiting there. After leaving the cinema on a Friday night, we stopped at another popular franchise for coffee and found some really lovely waiters there. This became our favorite place, we even made friends with some of the staff and became friends with the owner, who used to share her aspirations for the shop with us on a regular basis. After an incident with one of the waiters who made a thoughtless comment and was reprimanded for it, the place became a haven for the three of us, Mouse, Monique and myself. We were able to sit there and discuss the agenda without feeling like we were being watched or pressured into making a quick decision. Often I would sit and have an espresso while we talked about what Mouse was going to eat or drink. The franchise’s lease came to an end and the owner wisely decided not to renew but to turn it into his own cafeteria and snack bar, which was very successful.

Mouse used Monique to manipulate me into always giving him what he wanted. The nearest town of any importance is 70km away and every time Mouse wanted to go there, Monique would suggest we go “eat”. Once there Mouse would disappear into oblivion and I would stay with Monique. If we were going to eat something, she would have a panic attack while we discussed the menu. This panic attack would go away as soon as she agreed to come home after a cup of coffee. It was very frustrating not having the right words to convince Mouse that the food she would eat would not make her fat. All he could do was watch as Anorexia slowly tortured this girl to death. Mouse had now gone into total food withdrawal. She only drank coffee but luckily she did not stop taking the vitamin and mineral tablets. When the situation between Monique and I became too tense, she would give her some calming tablets which would eventually subdue her and peace would reign again. I had to be very careful not to allow her to progress to prescription drugs because I think she could not have prevented her from becoming addicted. Therefore, I searched for all natural supplements and tranquilizers.

I was always very pedantic about her not neglecting her family by making sure she visited her parents regularly and kept in touch with her sister and brother. When we visited her parents, we always timed our arrival to coincide with them finishing a meal, so we would only be required to have a cup of coffee or tea with them. That way it was possible for Mouse to hide the fact that he wasn’t eating. I learned very early on that it wasn’t worth talking to them about Mouse’s disease because they didn’t understand and were pretty hard on her. After about three months without eating, I became very worried about Mouse and asked a family member to talk to her to explain that she was losing too much weight and her health was at stake. The result was not what she expected since, by then, the family had known about her illness for about six years. It was something like this; “You need to stop this shit of yours now. You’re being selfish and just making everyone care about you.” By now, malnutrition had perpetuated Mouse’s amenorrhea and she was also developing some degree of hypothalamic dysfunction. On warmer days, he wore long pants and sweatshirts, since he was always cold. Although amenorrhea can be the result of malnutrition, it is not the only cause, nor is it a given that all people with anorexia will develop amenorrhea. Now he was beginning to fear for his survival; according to ongoing studies, the mortality rate of anorexics is 10% to 15%. Other studies show that only 25-33% of people with anorexia nervosa make a full recovery. Still, the prognosis was very bleak.

Every time we seemed to be making any progress with Mouse’s mood, someone would attack her or say something inappropriate that would result in retracing at least three weeks of work. Mouse started seeing a psychologist once a week which helped me a lot as she was able to convince Mouse that I was not her enemy. We progressed to the point where Mouse even went to see a nutritionist. Unfortunately, too much was said about the food in the interview and Mouse walked away from it in total bewilderment and never came back. He continued to see the psychologist for about four months and then felt strong enough to go to the Rehabilitation Center that we had visited about eighteen months earlier. We made an appointment, packed our bags, and set off again on another 1,500 km journey. When the nutritionist at the center calculated Mouse’s BMI, we were told that he was too low and that he needed to go to a mental institution and return to the center when he had gained some weight. That idea didn’t sit well with Mouse and we headed home, having achieved nothing but a long and exhausting journey and a very happy Monique who gloated all the way home.