Once again I am away for much of the week. I get to stay in a nice hotel, I meet the lovely Miranda and despite long days, it is just me. No meals to prepare, no early starts, no waiting for the next snack time. I call home and I am assured that L is eating, but I know this will be restricted eating. Sure enough, another week with no weight gain. Her weight is the same as last November – 3 months of treatment, of lost schooling, for nothing. Her mood remains low, her controlling behaviours remain high.
Her case team ask to see me on Monday. They assure me they can continue to treat her, but question the value. Her physical health is not severely compromised, perhaps she might be ok. Her psychologist doesn’t sound convinced and neither am I. But equally we can see this is going nowhere.
In the movies, L would get better. She would come home to balloons and cake. The credits would roll to shots of her eating fish and chips and cartwheeling on a beach. Back in the real world we are in limbo. And if I’m honest, this is my worst fear, that L will remain forever trapped in a half existence. Recovering, but not recovered. Scared to relapse but not brave enough to eat. Stronger, but not yet strong.
And that makes me as sad as I was at the height of her illness. I want her to have a life to be lived, not an existence to be endured. It might be that freed from the clinic, I will be able to help her more. I don’t know, but I will try. Anything is worth trying, except doing the same thing over and over and pretending it will make a difference