Listen to Your Heart... And Your Kidneys

My most recent blood work came back less than awesome. I mean, it's not awful. It could be much worse. But today was my first time in a couple years seeing an internist at the student health center (NOT the same thing as an "intern" -- an internist specializes in internal medicine, whereas the woman before was basically like "get this, this, and this test done and eat more," and I was like, "okay, okay, okay and not gonna happen"). She evaluated my most recent labs, which were actually a couple weeks old, and said there were some indicators that my kidneys were having trouble. She also did another EKG and took my BP and pulse lying down, sitting, and standing. With the EKG, my heart rate was low -- around 50 -- and my pulse jumped considerably between lying down and sitting (by over 40 points). She told me I was medically unstable and that I needed to seek inpatient treatment. I told her very politely that that was not going to happen. I'll go to the hospital (I didn't say that) for a few days if there's an emergency. I'm not signing myself into treatment. It's too expensive and I don't have the time.

I should have the results of my kidney tests by tomorrow. As hard as it's going to be, I'm trying to do 800 calories today as opposed to my ≤ 650. I was doing 800 about a month ago, but I cut to less to compensate for my metabolism inevitably slowing down. I already feel guilty about planning to do it, but I guess it's good practice for when I start recovery. I know kidney failure is a serious thing, and when I was biking back from class I saw this young mother chasing after her toddler and thought, "I want that to be me some day." I already knew I wanted kids, but just to see that and evaluate how far I was from what it took to have that experience -- chasing after your child -- struck me pretty intensely. As it is now, I don't have the energy to chase after the moth that's evidently co-signed a lease in my apartment. I don't want to be 20 and be on dialysis. Granted, that scenario is more towards the worst-case end of the spectrum, but today it hit me that my body can't stay the resilient little fucker it was seven years ago.

380 calories down. 420 to go. God, that's a big number. I'm going to be so bloated (no, I'm not doing it all at once). If it weren't for the Ensure I bought a month ago during a moment of sanity (and never drank during a month of insanity) I wouldn't even have 420 calories in my possession. My grocery list consists of edamame, plain tofu, blueberries, grapes (which have replaced watermelon after I evidently became allergic to it... and yes, I tested my allergy theory with different watermelons from different stores... sucks 'cause I love it), and the once-daily vegetable salad from Subway with fat-free-30-calorie-if-we're-being-generous dressing. Oh, and diet soda.

I've started using paper plates and bowls so I don't have to do dishes. Fuck if I can stand up that long. Keeps the apartment cleaner, too. No dirty dish pile-up in the sink.

I'm totally procrastinating from eating right now. Did I ever mention that my dad took me grocery shopping when he moved me out here, and I threw out EVERYTHING we bought the day he left? I was too scared I'd be tempted by all the food. I've never binged before, ever, (though I've had panic attacks about it) so it wasn't that. I just didn't want to have moments of "weakness" where I heated up a baked potato and some lentils. I didn't want to make recovery easy. It was all unprocessed food, raw food, uncooked food, and exceptions were made for tofu (which is practically raw anyway) and 50-calorie Fiber One yogurt. Then I cut the yogurt. I still don't quite know why. I used to freeze it and eat it all icy and slow. It was like ice cream minus the anxiety.

People have started doing double-takes when I go out. Part of me feels like a freak. Part of me loves it. Yeah, go ahead and stare. Disgusted by what you see? I worked hard for these legs, I'm gonna fucking show them off. Look how they bend in and shit. Don't judge me. You don't know me. I could have a fast metabolism. I could be a heroin addict. You don't know. The 20-ounce PowerAde Zero that I chug on a consistent basis so that I don't pass out from electrolyte imbalance tells you nothing. What's the matter, you've never seen a sternum before? I'm proud of this sternum. You're getting a free fucking anatomy lesson, dipshit. Don't begrudge that gift.

My eating disorder and I, we enjoy black humour.

(I meant macabre hilarity, not adding "oh no you di'in'" after every sentence. In case you've never taken a class in literary analysis.)

So... I'm gonna go spend the next few hours staring at a cup of blueberries and nursing an Ensure. And hoping I get a call tomorrow saying my labs are fine so I don't have to do this two days in a row.