The beginning of the end

So another year draws to a close and all around are people making resolutions to make their lives better in someway. Most commonly they will decide to lose weight, eat cleaner, go to the gym more, give up smoking....most of these will be but distant memories once February begins, as old habits come to the fore again. This is the time when I will start to hibernate a bit, because discussions about dieting and weight loss and how best to cut out as many calories as possible is akin to reading a step-by-step guide on how to kill yourself for me right now. Oh don't get me wrong, I LOVE talking about all things weight related, but then I'm in one hell of a relapse with anorexia right now so dieting is my bread and butter (pun intended).

Hooked back up to the mains

Unfortunately for me, unlike last year where I could write resolutions along the lines of attaining self-contentment and achieving a time in VLM that made me happy, this year my resolution is simple: to stay alive. Yesterday I was discharged from my 5th hospital admission since November, all of them aimed at keeping me alive a little bit longer by increasing my serum potassium level, rehydrating me, and helping me get control over the continual vomiting I now know is part of cyclical vomiting syndrome, exacerbated by hypokalemia. There's always a point during each admission where my potassium reaches such a level that a pale-faced junior doctor comes rushing over ordering infintessimal bags of IV replacement. In the first few admissions they thought that they could shove a bag through overnight and I'd be fine to go home, but the last few admissions they've come to realise quite how depleted my body gets. It does amuse me though when the doctor you'd previously spent ages trying to convince that one bag won't cut it come over all flustered, pale and sweating, ordering what feels like dozens of the things back-to-back "stat" after read your recent blood result. Every time I get discharged I ask Larry "will that be the last time?", and every time he laughs and says no, I'll be back in a few weeks. I even have the staff saying see you in a few weeks when I leave. But I don't want to be a professional revolving door patient. I don't want to be a collapsed out mummy on the sofa on Boxing Day, just waiting for the children to go to their little holiday with grandparents so I can get my hospital admission without them ever knowing.  

Did that really happen?

Apparently the answer is to eat. I don't think people realise how hard that is to do. Ignoring the fact my body struggles with food going in, hence the vomiting, what does stay in I struggle to digest. And then there's the psychological side of it all.....I am so lucky to have friends I can call on, but when I'm in full-scale panic at having eaten something, nobody can really get through to me. Everyone in hospital asks who's "looking after me", who's in control of me. When I say I'm under the ED team they smile, as though responsibility can pass to them and the problem of me is solved. But the ED team consists of a once weekly appointment with a therapist. No medical back up for the physical side, and when I have to miss an appointment due to being in hospital or too ill to attend, I don't even hear from my therapist. No one checks up on me. The one person who is the best at looking after me is my GP. He sees me weekly, he checks my blood, he's always available if I need to run something past him, and he gives a shit. I honestly don't know what things would be like if I didn't have him supporting me. The best thing is he remembers ME. Not the broken, half-dead specimen in front of him but me at my best. Post-VLM, enthusing about how amazing it was to run a marathon. Celebrating my successes, supporting me when my health led to what I perceived as failures. I'm luck to have him.

And I'm lucky to have my informal cheering squad. I can't neglect to mention Larry, who's had to watch his wife disappearing in front of his eyes for the past 8 months, fighting a battle he can only sit by and watch, and still love me even when anorexia changes me physically and emotionally. He knows I might push my body too far this time, but he's still there, as supportive as he can be despite his own mixed feelings. God, I'm a shit wife. Then there are my friends; some of them long-standing, some a bit newer, but all playing a significant role in keeping me going. They are all so different, but I love them all and appreciate everything they do for me. I know my trainer TT will be there waiting when I am able to progress from the wobbly walking I'm currently doing onto bigger and better things. And Laura will always be there with diet coke and a pot to paint.

So if I was to write resolutions for 2016, they would probably be a lot different to what I would've written had I been fully well;
1. I want my friends and loved ones to always feel appreciated and never taken for granted
2. After almost 25 years, I will finally figure out how to kick anorexia out of my life once and for all
3. Everything has to be about my babies, my 3 beautiful children who deserve to have a functioning mum
4. Failing that, a lottery win would be ace!

Happy New Year everyone xxx