The Bone Scan and the Horrible Psychiatrist

Yesterday I had to go into the hospital to get a bone density scan done, which I was much overdue for. I'd been anxious about it all week because it was my first time setting foot in the public hospital since my last encounter with the Horrible Psychiatrist* three years ago.

I joked with the dietician that I should wear a disguise.
"If I just wear bright pink, no one will recognize me."
"If you were wearing bright pink, even I'd walk straight past you."
Spoiler alert: I didn't wear bright pink.

She tried to reassure me that it'd be highly unlikely that I'd run into him, until I told her about my last admission to the private hospital this June (for my lungs). They'd just opened their new emergency room that very day. I sat as mum sorted out the paperwork, feeling relieved that I could finally just go to the emergency room when I need to. And then he walked in, the Horrible Psychiatrist. Cue panic. He wasn't even working there! So yes, stranger things have happened.

The lady who did the test was nice. She explained that the scan would check my spine and hips, and fired questions at me. I had to stop and think when she asked how long I've been without a period. I was 16 when I first went on birth control and lost my period completely, so five years. The Implanon lasted for three years, and by the time it was due to be replaced, I'd had anorexia for over two years. It was never replaced, as an 'experiment' to see if I could actually get a period. I still haven't.

She asked if I'd ever had a bone scan before, which I have, when I was in ED inpatient three and a half years ago. She asked if I remembered the results, and was shocked when I said no one ever told me. I just assumed they were perfect (I don't think I'd been sick for a full year at that point).

The scan itself was quick, maybe 20 minutes, and I'll get a copy of my results in about two weeks after the endocrinologists look at it.


The rest of the week has been pretty shit. I had a hard time getting to see the dietician on Tuesday. I don't know. Everything just kept building and I broke down at a not-so-convenient time. Mum cajoled me out the door five minutes late after I gathered myself enough to change my Minnie Mouse pajama pants for some leggings.

I did okay-ish with her goals from last week, I guess. I only ate under 400 cals on two days (although that's about average anyway). I didn't manage to eat by 12, but I ate before 1pm twice.
After weighing me, she said I really need to aim for 600 minimum or else I'm going to run into trouble.

"I need to know that you can do it."
But what if I can't?

And I know that's what she's there for. That's why I first started seeing her - to help me slowly raise my intake to a level that's sustainable for my health so I can avoid certain risks.

But I don't know if I'm ready to start raising my intake again. Now it's 600, but what next?! 800, 1,000, 1,200? I don't know if I can do it. I mean, I eat up to 800 on some days, and can eat over 1,000 on occasion. But it's certainly not an everyday thing, and the thought of it being an everyday thing makes me panic.


*It's a long story that's hard to tell in full, but I posted a little bit about the Horrible Psychiatrist here, but it doesn't include all of the horrible things he said. I'll try to remember to write a proper post about it soon, since his words and actions still effect me so much.

One that really sticks with me was when he was sat opposite my mother and I, and he told me that everyone I love and care about, including my family, would get tired of me and leave me. My mum told him that "no, you don't know me, and I will never leave my daughter". He basically told her that yes, she would.
I still believe every word he said.


xxBella