Trust, part two

I found out my weight. 

It was not intentional.  I was at my yearly physical with my new doctor, who I am enamored by.  She’s totally not your typical doctor in that she sets aside an entire hour (!) when you have a physical, both to do the actual exam and to talk about recent test results, any concerns – the entire hour is about YOU.  It’s almost impossible to believe that I feel like I have a doctor who cares, which given my anxiety and health history is exactly what I need to fill out my medical support group.  I have the therapist, the nutritionist and now a GP who is generously concerned for my well being.

But enough about her, for now!  When I first saw her a month ago, our appointment covered my health history, including my eating disorder.  While I’ve been telling random doctors at Urgent Care here and there about my EDNOS diagnosis (I figure the actual diagnosis is enough to make them believe me and sound technical), this was the first time starting anew where I said “Yes, I am in recovery from an eating disorder.  Yes, I have had amenorrhea because of this. Yes, there is a big mental and physical component to all of this.”  Our first consult included a height and weigh in, which I turned around backwards for on the scale and which she kept the number to herself while reassuring me that my weight was in the range for someone my height and build.  My BMI was just fine, and I felt elated to hear that. 

This visit, we were going over more history and concerns on her laptop and she happened to scroll down to the bottom right before we finished talking.  And there it was.  A nice, neat number in a box with “lbs” next to it.  I didn’t want to see the number, but I couldn’t avoid it.  The damage was done.

So there it was.  My new weight.  You can imagine my reaction.

Actually, you can’t – because I can’t believe it myself.  For one thing, not knowing what I weighed in these past couple years has been both liberating and agonizing.  Liberating in the sense that I was not obsessed with some number on a scale, that I was no longer in a position to make sure it was the “magic” number.  What I did not know certainly could not hurt me.  On the flip side, not knowing was agonizing in the fact that gaining weight and going up sizes has felt like I’ve gone from mini me to humongous.  I really have no sense of what my body is size wise (other than clothing, but we know that’s not exactly the best indication either!).  Going through recovery without having measurements or numbers to define me has left me to think nothing other than “I’m just big now” and it's forced me to re-examine how I think about my body, which that is a good thing.

To my surprise, the number I saw today was just fine.  It was way less than I expected and surely higher than my “magic” weight that I loved for so long.  The ED part of me reassured me “It’s ok, you’re not up to that high of a number” and “Well, the doctor scale reads higher so you’re actually less than that!”  Hush, those thoughts are not important anymore.

In a body that feels so foreign to me, with a diet that is naturally becoming my own but is still frightening because it seems SO much, SO indulgent, I can now take this number and instead of being all “ED” about it, I can prove in the trusting of my body.  My doctor said whatever I am doing right now is wonderful.  I exercise at a good level, and even with my foot keeping me out of cardio-bearing activities for a while, I am still doing weight-bearing exercises to keep my bones strong.  I eat a variety of foods and my body is responding well to the things that both my ED and society deem so bad, including sugar and fuller fat items.  And I am actively working on getting over the mental anguish of my ED holds that me back. 

It is true that if my weight had been higher than what I had seen, my reaction may be different.  I must acknowledge that part of this is still the ED.  In all reality, regardless or what it was, the number should have registered in my mind as “Ah. Ok then” I hope to get to that point someday where only my doctor tells me “that’s too high. Let’s talk about it”

Until then, trust.  Trust in those trying to heal me.  Trust in myself and the biological reactions of my body.