I’M BAAACKKKKK

You read the title and it’s true- I’m back.

A short tune up in the hospital and I’m fixed?

If you know anything about anorexia or eating disorder treatment, you know I am not fixed, just medically stable. Less than a week ago I hit my lowest point mentally in my disorder. Ironic because when I went into the hospital I was claiming that I was doing so great mentally. Turns out the truth lied somewhere in the middle as it often does.

I’ll first say that I am doing well mentally. I got out of the hospital and immediately went home had afternoon snack followed by dinner and night snack— following my meal plan outside of treatment, even the day I leave is new—so I am doing things differently. I also find myself anxious to meet with my outpatient team and get back to all of my “rEaL” work.

But back to my lowest mental point. Less than six days ago I had an NG tube placed. For those who don’t know, an NG tube is a small, long piece of tubing shoved up your nose, down your throat, and into your stomach that allows medical professionals to drip bags of nutrition into your body without you having to chew swallow or even think about mechanically eating. Pretty nasty and somewhat scary. Only the sickest of people in the main hospital, away from the ED ward need these. However, in the eating disorder world, getting tubed is like winning the Super Bowl, getting a giant, gaudy, diamond ring that says you won and wearing it around for everyone to see. To say I was stoked to finally be sick enough for an NG tube would be an understatement. But it wasn’t as great as I expected.

For one, it hurt. There’s nothing pleasant about having tubing shoved up your nose until it jams into your soft pallet and you flip your head down so its guided down the back of your throat to your stomach. And that’s just the placement. After the placement, the tube irritates your throat and nose and its just straight up not a good time. My eyes were watering and my nose was running for hours. But as most facilities have it, your tube has to go unused for 48 hours before they even consider removing it. I was in a tricky spot because my tube was not going to be used for supplementing the meals I refused to eat, it was going to be a 24 hour continuous drip interrupted every two hours by a water flush to ensure I was getting enough fluids. There was also no expectation for me to eat in addition to the feed and therefore there was no plan as to how I would get this mother freaking tube out of my face.

Side note: I named my tube lil dicky after being asked what I would want being shoved down my throat. After the fact I should have named it religion for what I don’t want being shoved down my throat. LOLLLLL.

So automatically, I didn’t feel the pride or sense of achievement that I had become “sick enough” but instead I felt trapped. Trapped in the dull unit that had no color and no one familiar. My anxiety was heightened as I knew I couldn’t see my family, I couldn’t leave anytime soon (seldom do people leave the hospital on tube feeds), I couldn’t get comfortable, and now I couldn’t control what went into my body: an anorexic nightmare.

The time for my first, well continuous, feed came. I FREAKED THE EFF OUT. Thoughts were racing through my mind a million times faster than a typical day with anxiety. I was thinking about calories in the feed, having nutrition slowly drip into my body literally every second of the day, I was thinking about the fact that it felt like I would never leave the hospital, and of the discomfort I was experiencing just by having a tube up my nose. So, what did crazy bitch Ashlyn do? I ripped that little shit right out of my face. It took about five seconds of pulling and bam! I could breathe again. Now immediately my nurses said they were going to replace the tube but my defiant self said they couldn’t if I didn’t let them. This fiasco ultimately ended in all of my doctors thinking I was certifiably CRAZY and me drinking what seemed like 10 gallons of Ensure Plus. Let me tell you, Ensure Plus taste like booty. It’s just fake milk with a crap ton of sugar and added calories for no reason.

So now that my tube was out and was not going back in if I had anything to do with it, I had to figure out how the hell life was going to go on. I had to eat or go through the painful tubing process again. By the grace of some God, I ended up eating. I was on an all liquid diet for three days and managed to keep all my meals down. I slowly worked on adding in solids until I was on a one hundred percent solid diet. I was able to keep all of my food down with the aid of about 2048201 medications and somehow finagled myself out of that hell hole in time to bring you this blog.

However, the first meal I had at home, a snack actually, I immediately felt the need to throw up. That feeling hadn’t been present in six days so why now when I’m at home, the most comfortable, without ten nurses constantly monitoring me did I feel the need to vomit? Because my issues extend well beyond just a diagnosis of gastroparesis. Yes, I still have gastroparesis and my vomiting is not completely mental, there is a physical component of my body not working right but with the most shame and embarrassment I have to confess that a lot of my problems stem from the screwed up nature of my brain.

Where I go from here is a two part answer: 1. Straight to therapy, see you at 11 Mr.Therapist! and 2. I don’t have a damn clue. I now have to manage my life knowing that there is nothing sparkly and beautiful about being sick. Getting tube feeds doesn’t make you feel like the Queen of Anorexia and having a diagnosis of gastroparesis doesn’t give you a free pass to starve yourself and lose weight for the rest of time.

I’m scared. Scared for my future in tackling my newfound psycho-somatic complications. Scared of having to return to treatment, and even scared I’ll go in the opposite direction and binge eat to cope.

I’m lucky to have an incredible team of outpatient providers to support me and ensure my safety along side the two most beautiful humans alive, my parents who would move mountains to see me happy. But there are still lots of scaries hiding everywhere. This is a marathon not a sprint which sucks either way because I hate running.