The fear of getting help...
This morning I woke feeling detached and distant, understandably I suppose, I’ve never liked goodbyes.
Despite always knowing that today was inevitable, it doesn’t make it any easier. Today I had my last session with my nurse, Sharon. She’s someone who I’ve seen weekly for over a year and a half. And is without a doubt the most kind, caring and respectful medical professional I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.
In past, if you’d told me that I would ever say those adjectives in the same sentence as ‘medical professional’, I would have politely asked you to something rather off. Similarly to most I went through the stage of believing I didn’t need help, or want it. Even when I couldn’t return to St Andrews back in January 2017, I knew I was unwell but I still was very hesitant to accept any help. In fact, I believed I couldn’t be helped. Days before I went for my initial referral meeting at my diary reads:
19/01/17 - “I just feel beside myself, but numb at the same time. I have so much fear for what will happen to me next, but I also know in reality I need help. I can’t continue this way, or I will die… and I don’t think I’m exaggerating as anorexia wants me to believe. I can’t live my life this way.”
30/01/17 - “I can’t leave this any longer. I’m back from my referral meeting, apparently if I carry on as I am I will die. My BMI is now the lowest ever and I’m urgently being referred.”
09/02/17 - “At 1pm I have another meeting at Cavendish House to meet my care coordinator. I feel pretty nervous as don’t know what to expect. I’m just praying it will go well and I won’t be sent inpatient. I feel so alone and isolated in this illness. It consumes me. I need help, but the RIGHT help… a few hours have passed, it’s nearly 6pm and I’m back from my two hour meeting at Cavendish House. It went better than I’d anticipated. I met Sharon who will be my nurse who I will see weekly, and Chris, my care coordinator. They both seem really nice, kind and understanding. For the first time ever I feel a sense of relief, I feel I may be able to do this with their help.”
I think that last sentence says it all really. Today was hard, incredibly hard, but understandably so. I may not be better yet, but whilst I’ve been at home Sharon has been a life line. I doubt she will ever know quite the impact she’s had on my recovery, and my ability to trust again. She gave me the most special letter today, a letter I will treasure forever. Her wise words, “life without anorexia must seem very scary but when you look back you will see that life is so much harder WITH it”, are words I must hold onto, especially on the harder days. This is to remind me of Sharon’s constant belief in me, and her hope, even if at times I lose sight of it.
