I’m trying not to be overdramatic, but I really hate my job. There’s something really wrong with this. I come home every day from work basically in tears, and I sometimes cry in the bathroom because I am just so… so frustrated with myself, that for whatever reason, I don’t understand my job, or the work that comes with it. Of course, it sounds obvious to go ask my trainer/supervisor what I don’t understand, but I can’t. Because when I do, I get the response of “you know this, Cristina… you’ve done this before”. It doesn’t matter. I still don’t know. Most of the time I am doing things I don’t know how to do, and I can’t ask either. I should be able to ask questions, but I feel so embarrassed for not knowing, and plus- whatever I don’t know or forget, is told to my supervisor, and trust me, there’s a lot that I’ve been unable to remember (and I’m asking the same questions over and over again).

I’ve contemplated whether or not to tell my supervisor that I want out. On the flip side, I am making so much more money than I have in my previous jobs that the dumb part of my brain tells me to stick in it, even if I have no idea what the hell I am doing, just because I’m making money. However, I need my upper management staff to be under the impression that I want this job. And that I want it to work out, however I have a review on Thursday (tomorrow) and I hope (and this is the dumb part of my brain) that it doesn’t go well. Because I feel like I need to be honest and say “this job isn’t for me” or something along those lines.

When I first started, I had no problem with registering new patients. I found that fun sometimes. The more and more involved I became in my training, the more I realized that this isn’t a good fit, even though all of my family members somehow convinced me that this is a good position, and that i can do all of the duties it entails. But it’s so much more involved than that.

It’s kind of like, I’m comparing this to being president of the United States. Some people may want to run the country, but not everyone can do it. Sure, you may have some training in other areas, but is it enough to do the job? This is how it’s for me. I’m being trained (and I’ve got something like three months left of training, approximately) for this role, but not everyone can do it.

And I definitely can’t.

On April 24, 2006 I exposed a secret that I kept for fourteen, long, hard years. I admitted to having Anorexia to my family, friends, and it killed me to mouth such words. That I had been purposely starving myself to lose weight. And that this new so-called behavior was nothing new. As a child I was called a “picky eater”, but that picky eater was picky for a reason. Learning at a very young age of seven to hate my body, and everything else just stemmed from there.

Of course, many years later on June 19, 2006 I entered treatment at Walden Behavioral Care. I admitted to having Anorexia to my family, friends, and it killed me to mouth such words. Since I entered treatment (and two years later) my off time has been consumed by nutritionist, therapist, and doctors appointments. Being in treatment was hard because everything comes into the open. You discover that the person sitting next to you, whom you never really talked to (or noticed) has the same issues that you do, and now… you’ve found someone else who knows what it’s like. It was some sort of Eating Disordered “community” that I found relief and compassion in. Someone else who knew exactly what I was thinking during lunch, and god forbid I eat that piece of bread, I just might gain five pounds (disordered thinking, of course).

When I decided to give up on my Eating Disorder and really deal with my own issues that stemmed from my childhood, everything started to come into the clear. It’s not about weight. It’s not about the fucking number. It’s not about what you ate. There’s something there. Go figure it out. Now that you know what the issue is, it’s not about what you ate or how pounds you want to loose. Everyone’s got their issues, and I’ve figured out mine through intensive therapy and expressive therapy sessions while I was in treatment with Walden.

It’s tough. You’re only harming yourself. If you take a picture of you as a little kid, can you tell that kid that they are fat? Or that they are worthless? Or that they’d look better if they lost five pounds? Could you tell that kid they need to go on a diet? Or that they’d only be accepted if they were thinner? No. It hurts to say those sort of things to a child, especially when that child is yourself. It didn’t take long to understand that when I restrict, or use laxatives, or engage in other very unsafe behaviors, that I’m only hurting myself. Because it only takes one to survive. Sure, you may have a great support team and all that, but it’s you. You can decide if you want to recover. They can’t decide for you.

Tonight I met with my Nutritionist. He doesn’t realize this (or know it, because I haven’t said it yet), but it was my last visit. That’s right. I’m finished. I’m finished with it constantly being about a number. My weight. Am I underweight this week or just healthy? I thought for several months now that I had what I thought was a healthy weight, but of course… according to “science” I’m still three and a half (oh yeah!) pounds underweight. Underweight, man. I’ve gained more than ten pounds and I’m still underweight?! What about how I feel? Does how I feel on the inside not matter? Because during my many intensive months of being in treatment (inpatient for two weeks, in a residential program for two weeks, and many weeks outpatient) I was being weighed every week, and whatever that number was, it determined the game plan for that week. Now isn’t that disordered!?

It can’t, and it won’t no longer be about my weight. I am strongly choosing not to get weighed from here on out. No more scales. No more being “underweight” bullshit. I do not care. Fuck the scale, literally… fuck the scale. Whatever that number is, it can just disappear. Because I want my recovery, my recovery to be about how I feel. How I’m feeling on a day to day basis. That feeling will measure my success, not if I’m at a healthy weight or not. Am I having disordered thoughts? If I am, do I plan on engaging in them? Am I free of disordered thinking? Whatever the feeling is, I’ll deal with it. There won’t be any of this running to my therapist bullshit for the answers. It’s about me. I’m in this. I want this. I want to fully recover. I declare my independence. If I need you, I know you’re there for me. But for right now, I need to do this own my own.

It’s about time that I figure it out. For me, for my own sanity, for a peace of mind.

There have been so many times, too many to count, where I’ve doubted my own recovery process. It’s just that, even though I have been in recovery for a year and a half, I still question if I am doing everything the way it should be. And because I haven’t really been following any meal plan (or a structured one), I wonder if I am eating enough. Enough grain, enough protein, enough fat… and just basically eating enough. Of course there comes a time where I don’t have to worry as much. Because my weight has been able to maintain itself and reach a healthy minimum, without loosing weight. However, I still wonder. If I am doing enough. And it stinks that I can never been to sure, just because I’m only having weight checks once a month (they used to be more often, but because my weight is stable, and because my doctor’s office isn’t open around my work schedule), and some how there’s more room for error, but I must remind myself that it’s not important if there’s an error, because I really have nothing to worry about.

But I still worry. I can’t help but worry. And I’ve decided to try and cure my worry-ness, to put myself back on my “Santa Barbara V.2″ meal plan. Because then, if I know that I’m following it, I can’t loose weight. And yes, I have lost weight within the past month, and I’m trying to fix that. However, if I eat what is on the plan, then well… I am eating enough. Because then, my Nutritionist can’t tell me “you’re not eating enough” if somehow, my weight can then re-stabilize itself, and of course… I’d be in pure joy, because I then know I’m doing something right.

Recovery is a process. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but I want it to.

Just a few days ago, my Aunt sent me an invitation for a free Yoga class at the local studio called Yoga Moves. I’ve seen it several times, just because it’s located near the original Starbucks on Main. But I’ve never taken a class there before, and because it was free, I thought I’d check it out. Of course, I went to class with my Lululemon gear. As soon as I walked into the studio, it was crowded with people, and very hot. At first, I thought it was hot because it’s better to be a bit warm so your muscles can really limber up, but the hotness didn’t go way. In fact, it lasted for the entire class, an hour and forty-five minutes in length.

The class was almost unbearable. For most of the class (because I’m not a pretzel and I can’t bend like that), I resorted to Child’s Pose, because there’s nothing like that, and for me… if I can’t join the rest of the class, I’d rather do something that I can do without question. The instructor for the class was very different from other classes I’ve taken. Because the room was so packed, he didn’t demonstrate any of the poses. Instead, he talked his way through it. For me, I like to see what I’m supposed to do, not just hear about it. Anyways… the heat- lasted for the entire class.

It’s called Bikram Yoga. Basically, you’re performing a set of poses in 90ºF-104ºF heat. I had no idea it was “hot” Yoga. I just heard about it from my Aunt, and if I knew it was hot yoga, I never would of gone. But damn… I sweated so much it was disgusting! I’ve never sweated that much before, ever. However, my Run Run Tank, kept me dry, and I didn’t feel the sweat running down my back. I loved that the tank provided a built-in bra, but also had a fitted “skirt” to it. It was great!

During the class, however… I really wanted to leave. I knew that the class itself was very challenging for me, and wasn’t what I’m used to. See, I don’t practice Bikram. But because my Aunt subconsciously knew that I take Yoga classes on a regular basis (but I haven’t practiced in awhile), and thought I’d might be interested, but didn’t even think that me, someone recovering from Anorexia- that attending a hot Yoga class designed to loose weight (because you sweat the calories), might not be a good idea. Sometimes, she doesn’t think.

Even if I wasn’t Anorexic, I still wouldn’t go.

This afternoon I decided (along with another colleague of mine) to take the walk down to Ambulatory surgery and pick up the teal binders that we use for pre-op charts. Typically there’s no problem, however… today was definitely out of the ordinary. Most of the older elevators in the hospital are out of service. They aren’t working, and that limits the numbers of elevators you can take to get to your location. Standing on the fourth floor (main floor) waiting for the elevator to come to go down, we decided to hop on the elevator that was going… to an undisclosed location. Because apparently, the older elevators, were kinking out. Let’s say you want to go to the third floor, but it brings you up to seventh floor. It’s a ride just getting where you need to go.

However, we could never have expected this. One of the elevators that was trying to go to one of the floors, but never got there… opened up on fourth. I asked which direction they were going in, and they didn’t know. That elevator was full. Hopped onto the next elevator, pushed second floor, but we didn’t go down. Instead, the simple ride to the second floor became the Tower of Terror. We weren’t traveling at a slow pace either. Jetting up to the seventh floor, bouncing up and down, then speeding down to the sixth and so forth. One of the ladies in our elevator was in a panic, becoming all nervous… and another colleague suggested we call security. Basically being bounced around from floor to floor, I couldn’t wait to get off, and once we did… I told almost everyone in the office what just happened.

The older elevators are being replaced. However, what happened shouldn’t of. Plus, what ever happened to the “out of service” sign? The elevator (older model) aren’t out of service, and I wouldn’t be surprised if those elevators send the patients and colleagues on their own Tower of Terror ride. If it happened to us, it’s bound to happen again, but I hope it won’t be me.

I don’t know how it happened really. I wasn’t doing it on purpose. It just kind of happened. It wasn’t planned either. I was really surprised that I lost weight because I wasn’t cutting back on anything. Eating everything (salty foods, sugary sweets… you name it) in moderation. So, I guess whatever I was doing for the past month wasn’t enough. I know it’s just half a pound, but… I know I have the tendency to loose weight really fast.

So what did I do? Called my Nutritionist right away, told him what was going on, and asked for a suggestion. Most of the time I like his suggestions, but this one I definitely aren’t fond of. He recommends I try Boost (again). During my many months of being in treatment, I drank sometimes three Boost (it’s a high calorie nutritional supplement used in Eating Disorder centers to help patients either gain or maintain their weight) a day. It was horrible. Anyways… because I am back on the Boost plan, it feels like a step backwards in my own recovery. Because I have been stable with my weight for several months now, and suddenly I slip, it feels like Boost isn’t being used what it’s main purpose is. I just remember having to drink Boost because I was severely underweight and because I didn’t finish my meal. It’s not that I can’t finish my meal. Because, I was told… and I don’t necessarily believe it, that if I go on the The B plan for a week, that I should be able to gain what I lost back.

It’s not that the half a pound freaks me out. It’s the gaining part. I don’t want to gain anymore than I need to. I’ve already been through the whole gaining/re-feeding process before. I don’t need to go down that road, again. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to drink the Boost, however part of the Boost plan is to have an extra grain during my afternoon snack. I never do well with extras. They always mess me up mentally, but I need to learn to deal with them better instead of resorting to unhealthy behaviors (nor will I mention them).

There are two drinks in the fridge. If I can drink one of them (tonight), I win.

I’ve been working at the hospital for five weeks now. Registering new patients, registering patients for pre-op, doing ledging sheets for pre-op, and of course… doing a bit of everything in between everything else that happens on a daily basis. Because I’m on the opposite side of the fence (not being the patient and being someone who is a Healthcare professional), everything is so different. It’s not difficult for me to remember what it was like being a kid and spending part of my childhood in a hospital preparing for operations on my feet. No matter what the situation is, I always try and bring a smile to a patient’s face when I am registering them, or simply… engaging in conversation.

Working at hospital reminds me so much of “Grey’s Anatomy”. However, the situations that happen on that show could never happen in a real hospital. Well, maybe they do… and I just don’t know about it, or that it happens behind closed doors. I say that my job is like the show because most important conversations happen indeed, in an elevator. Always being surrounded by patients it’s nearly impossible to have a private conversation, no matter what the topic is. I almost prefer to take the elevator rather than walking around the hospital to get to where I need to go. And it’s not that I travel to many locations either. Most of the time, I’m on the elevator walking to Ambulatory Surgery to grab empty binders to start a patient’s chart, or walking to the area where all the smokers congregate (I don’t smoke, and I think it’s disgusting) because it’s the closest almost private area to escape from the patients.

Today was probably one of the more frustrating days. I must note that I’ve had an undiagnosed sinus infection for the past five weeks (and the idiot who I saw last week in the hospital’s walk-in clinic told me what I had was allergies, and told me to take Sudafed and nasal spray), and most of the time I’m just going through the motions at work. It’s tough because I have constant congestion, a headache that I’ve had since Sunday, and I’ve been so rundown that I drink coffee at work frequently.

Anyways, just a few days ago my trainer taught me how to move the date of a pre-op booking sheet. The whole process really confuses the heck out of me, and aside from the point, I really didn’t understand it, even though she explained it several times. Of course, I’m getting frustrated because I had three booked moved (that’s what they are called) booking sheets to do, and the previous booked moved booking sheet took me twenty minutes just to hello, find the freaking chart in the chart room (and they are never in the spot where they should be)… and if it’s not there, basically go on some kind of manhunt as if I’m looking for America’s most wanted criminal. But no matter what, you have to find the chart before you can make any changes. So it’s frustrating. To spend ten to fifteen minutes looking for a chart, which most likely has been put in the wrong place according to date, and I just hate this, because no matter what… make it easy on the doctors and nurses who have to find a patient’s chart, because… not like I have the time to spend looking. I just want it in my hands without going crazy looking for it, and feel like an idiot if I overlooked it.

Aside from the charts and looking, everything else that I have been trained on has come pretty easy for me. At the moment, I’m not required to know the medical terminology (and I learn about crazy procedures from the show, no lie), but I do occasionally look up the words of the procedure in a medical dictionary, just for my own personal benefit. Also, because I know me… I know that learning how to change the date of a booked moved will take longer than the rest. And it’s not that my trainer, or my training for that matter, is really focused on my struggles, because I don’t think it’s so realistic for me to “get it” in one swoop. I’m not a robot, but I think they think I am.

Well, whatever. Even if the day stinks, I’m getting paid to deal with random shit.

“All Smiles” (A Portrait)
29 April 2008

Simply amazing. He surprised me with a “birthday button” that I got to wear for the entire trip while guests and Cast Members wish and sing Happy Birthday to me on a moments notice. I felt so special, however my real birthday isn’t until the end of the month. In fact, I plan on wearing that button on the day of my real birthday so watch out!

Our days were very busy. Hitting two parks in a day, doing lots of walking, and trying to see as many things as possible before we hit up our second park for that day. Even though it was really warm outside, we didn’t hit the water parks. Nor I or Chris wanted to fry in the Orlando sun. We thought about it on Monday, however it was 88ºF outside, and once you’re in the sun for about an hour, it almost becomes unbearable.

My favorite ride of the trip was at Animal Kingdom called Everest. The ride is sick. I love a little bit of thrill (I don’t mind going upside down, but this one did not do that), and this ride definitely had it. Everest was great because… I don’t want to spoil it, but it was a blast. Chris and I would watch “Everest: Beyond The Limit” show and the show itself played a part in the ride. Nothing about the ride is fake. It’s all real, except maybe the part about the Yeti.

I want to share a story with you. Today I had a patient. I have patients that I register, so many of them, on a daily basis, and no matter what, I always try and make a connection with them right from the get go. It becomes more of a personal relationship rather than “hi, I’m registering you today as a new patient”.

She was in her early sixties. Instantly, I complimented her on her handbag. It was a genuine compliment. She loved my cardigan that I just purchased the night before (on sale) at J. Crew. With my warm smile and loving personality, I knew she instantly felt comfortable with me, even though towards the end of her registration, I almost felt hopeless inside because I knew she was sick, and that I physically couldn’t do anything to change her situation.

Once I asked, “do you have any allergies to food, medications or latex” her first response was “no”. Her husband corrected her and reiterated that I asked if she had any allergies to medication. My patient, became upset. She told me that she didn’t remember that part and apologized for not remembering. I told my patient that it’s really okay that she didn’t remember, I said that I ask a variety of questions, and that I don’t expect any one of my patients to have all the answers. Right there and then, she new it was “okay” with me not to know and told me afterwards that this was the reason why she was here.

I guess, really… I can’t change the way her brain is formatted. Or why she has short term memory problems. However, what I then realized after I directed her in the right direction of her appointment, that I have an impact. I have an impact on my patients so powerful that either they feel welcomed and at ease, or they feel uncomfortable and just can’t wait to leave. But, if I succeed, make them feel comfortable, and leave my chair with a smile, I succeeded. I succeeded did my job.

It’s tough though. I was reminded of the time, towards the end of her life, where Grandma was unable to make simple decisions. No matter what you said to her, whether it was “do you like the weather” or “what is your favorite food” it didn’t register. Nothing registered. It still troubles me how, I, her granddaughter, couldn’t help her situation. Now that I work in health care, and sit on the opposite of the fence, it’s all a very different perspective. It was her, my patient, that reminded me of Grandma’s struggles.

It’s just one of those things. That you never want to encounter, say you’ve dealt with and have to watch that special something just slip out from under your fingers.

Don’t even ask me how I’m feeling. Because I can’t say that it’s a good or a bad feeling. I just know that the way I am feeling this very moment is one that could literally, make me sleep on the floor, if necessary. It’s not that I’m sick. It’s more of like my wonderful immune system that is supposed to protect me from germs, has so nicely decided to attack itself and make me feel like concrete.

I feel horrible. Everything about the word describes how I feel. Not too long ago, I decided to go try and rest before dinner. But as soon as I hit the sheets, I feel as if there is a pile of bricks sitting on my chest. Unbearable to sleep, difficult to get comfortable, and the worst part? hard to just rest and stop thinking. Stop thinking that I know I feel horrible, that I wish I could breathe, that I wishing there was a more even mix of the cherry Luden cough/throat drops because well, those are great (and there aren’t, and I’m just left with fruity strawberry).. and it’s bad. I can barely speak, and when I do, it’s not that you can hear me talk. My voice is so hoarse. I hope I don’t loose my voice.

I have a tissue jammed up into my left nostril. It’s like a leaky faucet. Either I’m stuffed up, or that I have a runny nose, or some combination of the two. But whenever I blow my nose, it’s like hurricane force winds. Well, whatever is attacking my system, I kindly suggest that you stop please, and I’m asking nicely, because I start my new job at the Clinic tomorrow. And it’s important.

I hope you’re listening.