The Hunger (7 page)

“Mom,” responded Paula in alarm. “You didn’t do anything! It’s all Dr. Tavish’s fault. He has unrealistic expectations about what I should weigh. Did you know that I haven’t lost a single pound since I’ve been seeing him?”

As soon as the statement was out, Paula wished she hadn’t said it. Her mother looked at her face and then at her arms. She looked under the table at
Paula’s bony legs. “He says you’ve been tricking him with water-loading and wearing weights.” It was a statement, not a question, so Paula didn’t reply.

“I want you to weigh yourself right now, Paula. And I will watch.”

Slowly, the two walked up the flight of stairs to Paula’s bedroom. Her mother stood in the doorway as Paula gingerly stepped on the scales.

The indicator wavered back and forth, finally settling on 121. Paula almost leapt for joy at the loss of another pound, but remembered that her mother was standing there and that she wouldn’t be impressed.

“Doctor Tavish says you should be hospitalized if you get below 115,” her mother said with a tremor in her voice. She was deeply shocked by the number on the scale. She knew that the normal range for a teenager of Paula’s height should be 140 to 165 pounds. “We’ll have to start family counselling immediately if we want to avoid hospitalization.”

Paula looked up from the scales, “Don’t you think we can work on this together?” she asked. “We should at least give it a try before we give up and go into therapy.” Her mother’s brows furrowed as she considered this new option. Paula smiled inwardly. She always had been good at pushing the right buttons.

Paula stared down at a dinner plate of steak, potato salad, and creamed corn that her mother had made
and placed before her. She could feel the bile in her throat rise at the sight of such fattening fare.

“You have to eat every bite,” said her father, who was eating his dinner with gusto. Her brother Erik also seemed thrilled with the menu.

Paula looked over at her mother, who was picking at her plate. Her mother looked up and met the pained expression in her daughter’s eyes. She carefully placed her fork beside her plate and said to her husband, “Erik, I don’t think Dr. Tavish meant for us to force Paula to eat.”

“Emily,” said Mr. Romaniuk, “He told us if she didn’t start gaining back some weight, she’d have to be hospitalized.”

“I know that. I talked to him, too. What he suggested is that we all go to counselling together so that we can get to the bottom of this problem. Force-feeding isn’t the solution.”

“Look,” said Mr. Romaniuk, “I am not going to sit in a room listening to some ninety-dollar-an-hour social worker who drinks coffee all day for a living. If our daughter needs to put some meat on her bones, we can do that ourselves. Without interference.” Paula’s father speared a piece of steak and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “You could help, Emily, if you were a better role model for your daughter.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” answered Mrs. Romaniuk.

“Stop eating all that diet food. What do you think gave her the idea in the first place?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” her mother flashed angrily. “You know that I’ve had trouble keeping my weight down ever since I had the kids.”

During this conversation, Paula hung her head guiltily. It was giving birth to her that had made her mother fat in the first place. And now it was because of her that her parents were having this big blow-up.

She dug her fork into the heap of potato salad and pulled out a chunk. She swallowed back the bile that had accumulated at the back of her throat and placed the food onto her tongue. The weight of it made her want to gag—the oily texture of mayonnaise-laden potato chunks was making her feel more nauseated by the moment. She made chewing motions with her mouth. She desperately wanted to make her parents happy, but she felt incapable of eating this food. She wished that her parents would be distracted so she could spit the obscene mess out of her mouth and into her serviette.

“You’d better swallow that, sis, before it starts sprouting,” Erik teased.

Paula’s father made her finish every last bite of food on her plate. When she asked to be excused, he wouldn’t let her get up. “You’re just going to vomit,” he explained. “That’s what bulimics do.” He took off his wristwatch and set it in front of him on the table,
then opened the sports section of the newspaper. “You can get up in half an hour.”

Paula felt trapped and humiliated. The food that he had made her eat was sitting in the pit of her stomach, just waiting to be thrown up. She could feel a bulge forming on her once-flat stomach as she imagined the unnecessary calories being absorbed into her system. She had to get away!

“I have a history test tomorrow, Dad, and I’ve got to study.”

“Erik!” her father hollered. “Bring down your sister’s knapsack.” He turned to look at her. “No reason you can’t study while you wait.”

When the half hour was up, Paula knew better than to run to the bathroom to try and throw up—her father would hear everything. Instead, she went to her room, closed the door, and rooted through her top drawer. Stashed in the back was her emergency supply of laxatives. She swallowed a triple dose.

She then began a frenzied series of sit ups. One calorie per sit up, she figured, and that meal must have had at least 1200 calories.

Monday, October 26, 114 pounds

Paula gave her room one last glance, then picked up her overnight bag and walked down the stairs. Doctor
Tavish had warned her that the hospital did not allow much in the way of personal items. No make-up or stuffed animals. She had packed a couple of novels, sweat pants and shirts, underwear, and shampoo. The bag was not heavy, but to Paula it felt like it held the weight of the world.

Her parents and brother were already waiting in the car, so Paula didn’t linger as she walked through the front room and out the door to the driveway.

Because she was still only 15, Doctor Tavish had her admitted onto the pediatric ward. Homewood, a hospital just one hundred kilometres away in Guelph, had a very successful eating disorder treatment program, but it also had a waiting list more than a month long. Doctor Tavish wouldn’t risk waiting any longer. He put her on the waiting list for Homewood, but admitted her to Brantford General immediately.

As Paula walked through the hospital corridor with her parents on either side and her brother trailing behind, she couldn’t help but notice some of the other children on the ward. Two preschoolers who looked like they had been beaten were now wrapped in gauze and casts in a room to her left. Images of Armenian orphans flashed through her mind. Across the hallway was a boy in traction with a broken leg. Three children ran up and down the hallway, shrieking excitedly. One bumped into Paula and almost knocked her over. “Lady, you’re
dead skinny!” the young boy said, looking at Paula in disgust. Her father gripped her arm protectively and shook his finger at the boy. “Mind your own business,” he blurted.

They walked up to the nurses’ station opposite the sun room and Mr. Romaniuk said to a nurse who was writing a note in one of her charts, “Excuse me, could you tell me which room my daughter should go to?”

The nurse looked up from her work and regarded the family in front of her. When her gaze lighted on Paula, she said, “You’re Doctor Tavish’s patient, Paula Romaniuk, right?”

She nodded.

“And I’m Jean Bowley,” replied the nurse. We’ve saved you a private room.” And with that, she stood up and motioned them to follow her down the hallway. As Paula followed, she felt like she was walking to her death, but she obediently did as she was told.

The room was stark and white. The only homey touch was a row of plants that looked like they hadn’t been watered in decades. The room did, however, have a large picture window. Brilliant midday light streamed through. Paula walked to the window and looked out. A perfect view of the parking lot and not much else.

Nurse Bowley turned to Paula’s parents, then stated, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Our new patient needs solitude.”

Mrs. Romaniuk looked up with alarm. “But can’t at least one of us stay here to keep her company?”

“No,” replied the nurse. “Paula will have to gain some weight before she earns visitor privileges.”

She gave a small wave as the nurse shooed her parents down the hallway.

Erik lagged behind, standing at the side of her bed with one eye to the door, waiting for the nurse to come back and shoo him away. “I brought you something,” he said, retrieving a bag from beneath his shirt. “Hide this under your pillow,” he shoved the package into her hands. With that, Erik dashed to the door just as the nurse was opening it in search of him. He turned and winked at his sister as his head disappeared through the doorway. “Get better, Paula,” he called in parting, “I want my old sister back.”

Paula just had enough time to stash the package underneath her pillow before the nurse was back in her room. “Now Paula,” she began. “I’ll explain the rules here. You get weighed first thing every morning—before breakfast, but after you’ve been to the bathroom. You’ll be weighed in a hospital gown so you can’t fool us. And until you’ve gained ...” Nurse Bowley drew out a chart from the holder on the door, opened it, and frowned. “Okay, it says here that you’ve got to remain in bed until you’ve gained two pounds.” She looked up from the chart and regarded her new patient.

“I can’t do that,” stated Paula. “I need my exercise.”

The nurse chuckled. “Don’t even think about exercising right now.” Then she took Paula’s overnight bag from her hands and said, “You can have this back once you’ve gained those two pounds.”

Paula looked alarmed. “But what am I supposed to wear? And what am I supposed to do?”

“You’ll find a fresh hospital gown in the closet. And all you’re supposed to do right now is conserve your energy, sleep, and eat.” Then the nurse frowned and shook her head slightly. “I don’t think you realize how serious your condition is.”

With that, the nurse headed towards the door. When she was almost out, she turned and said, “Slip into that gown now. I’ll be back in a few minutes to hook up your IV.”

“IV?”

The nurse looked surprised at Paula’s reaction. “Of course. We’ve got to get some nourishment into you quickly. This is no joking matter.”

Paula watched as the large pink rear end of Nurse Bowley disappeared through the doorway. “That’s what I’ll end up looking like,” she whispered to herself. “There’s no way they’re going to make me fat.” And then she silently pounded her fists on the bed. “Has the whole world gone crazy?”

A few minutes later, Paula watched as Nurse Bowley tried to insert an IV needle into her forearm for the third time. “Your veins have all but collapsed,” said
the nurse as she gently tapped Paula’s skin to try and find a good vein. “Success!” She noted with approval a drop of blood formed in a bead at the top of the plastic tubing that was attached to the needle. Deftly, the nurse slipped the narrow plastic sleeve over the needle and compressed the end between her finger and thumb, sliding the tubing into the opening made by the needle and slipping the needle out through the other end of the tubing. Securing the tubing in place with a strip of surgical tape, she attached the open end to an IV drip.

Paula could hear the cheerful voice of Nurse Bowley going over the rules of the ward and mentioning something about a menu, but she wasn’t really listening. Instead, Paula held her arms up to her face and stared at them. The knuckle scabs had all but healed, leaving a trail of angry red scar tissue in their wake. She lightly drew her right index finger over the bruised spots on her arm where Nurse Bowley had tried to find a vein. This ordeal of being admitted to the hospital was like a war, she realized. And only she knew what—or who—was the real enemy.

When Paula was certain that Nurse Bowley was finished tormenting her for the moment, she reached underneath her pillow and drew out the package her brother had given her. Inside the bag was Erik’s beloved Game Gear and it was loaded with the game
Columns
—one that she knew he hated, but one she
had always loved for its calming effect. Her eyes welled up with tears. She knew what a sacrifice it was for him to lend her this unit. Without it, he would not be able to play games during the stolen moments of solitude throughout the day. She had ignored him so much during the past year, and when she did pay attention to him, it was to snark at him, yet he was so forgiving. She vowed to be a better sister when she got out of this place. She turned the volume down low, and played a few games in tribute to her brother.

Long after Nurse Bowley’s shift had ended, Paula lay curled in the middle of her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her long skinny arms wrapped around them. She felt orphaned and alone.

She had not bothered to turn on the lights when it began to get dark. It was the wee hours before dawn, and yet she still lay, curled into almost nothing, in the dark. Headlights from an occasional car would momentarily illuminate the room, and when this happened, Paula would stare at the drip dripping of the IV. She felt so powerless, so out of control. It was humiliating to have others determine what shape her body would take. As the drips of clear fluid coursed down the tubing and into her veins, Paula began to form a mental picture of the effects it would have on her body. She imagined her rear end growing to the size of Nurse Bowley’s and shuddered. It would be better to die than to live looking like that.

She ran her index finger along the bump in her forearm where the dreaded nourishment was entering. “I should just pull this out,” she whispered to herself, tugging gently at the adhesive tape holding the tubing in place. She felt the length of the tubing until her fingers lighted upon a plastic contraption half way up. She held it up to her eyes and waited for a car to pass so she could see what it was. “A clamp!” She turned the clamp shut tight and then noticed with satisfaction that the fluid was no longer finding its way into her veins.

Then she lay down on her pillow and fell asleep.

She was startled awake a few moments later by a knock on her door. The night nurse burst through and turned on the light. Paula rubbed her eyes in the glare of brightness. “What’s going on?” she asked.