Post Op

 

I had foot surgery yesterday. It was very traumatic.

The surgery was done with a local anesthetic and no sedation. I am the kind of person that needs to be sedated heavily because I have such high anxiety. On the way to the hospital my heart rate started climbing and as I sat in the waiting room, I started shaking uncontrollably.

As soon as the surgeon came near me I started crying; ugly crying. He did my last foot surgery and I trust him implicitly, but for reasons I can’t explain, I just lost it. They same thing happened last time and it is embarrassing. For almost an hour I sobbed and shook and hyperventilated while the surgery took place. My dear friend who had driven me to hospital was allowed to stay in the room during the surgery and held my hand and tried to calm me down. I am so grateful to him for being with me. I apologized over and over to the surgeon and the nurses and my friend for my behaviour. The nurses tried very hard to get me to relax. My blood pressure sky rocketed and my heart rate hit 276bpms. I could not control myself.

When it was finally over, I was allowed to go home with a cast and crutches. Now the reality of having had foot surgery again has hit me: six weeks of no activity. No ballet or yoga or gym. I am terrified of how fat I will get so yesterday I ate as little as possible. I didn’t even have much appetite. It is hard to get around and do even the simplest tasks including going to the kitchen and making something to eat. I am hoping I will enjoy a restricting phase now.  I am lying on the couch feeling a bit depressed and in a lot of pain. Luckily I have been blessed with good friends who are taking care of me.

 

The Darker Side

 

“There are some  f**ked up people in dancing,” my brother informs me as if, after 27 years of ballet, this is news to me. “Believe me it is just another conversation you don’t want to have with me. They are crazy.”

I don’t dispute his claims. They come after his 4 year old daughter did her first dancing show. “First and last,” he tells me. “Never again.”

I can’t blame him. He watched me as we grew up obsessed with ballet from a young age to the point that it was all I cared about. I spent evenings and weekends at rehearsals. I never stopped stretching or practicing or reading ballet books. I lived it, breathed it and most of all did not eat because of it.  He watched me disappear into a world of eating disorders, distorted reality and injuries. He lost me to a place he did not know and couldn’t understand. My big brother fought against the constant self-loathing and body hatred. He lost. He witnessed first hand the dark side of a beautiful art that consumed me, his little sister and he has not forgotten it.

Foot Surgery

 

I am supposed to have a second foot surgery this Saturday and am obviously anxious about it. Not least of all, I will not be able to do ballet, gym or yoga for 6 weeks afterwards. Naturally I am most upset about how much fatter I will get. I have managed to drop 7lbs since the infamous weigh in at my doctor’s. I still have a long way to go and being on crutches is not going to help. Also, my feet are the only thing about me worth looking at. They are the only thing that makes me look remotely ballerina-like. I hope they don’t botch it.

Disgusting

 

I asked my ballet students to watch themselves in the mirror (a tool I hate, but have to use from time to time) and to tell me what they saw at the end of a jumping exercise.

One beautiful, blonde, 16-year-old girl with a body that many of us can only dream of, put her hand up.

I nodded at her to answer.

“Disgusting,” she grimaced. “We are disgusting.”

I felt a flash back to my life as a young dancer. The never ending self hatred and loathing. The mirror always reflecting back my failure, relentlessly; torturing me. I was haunted. I still am.

After I reassured them that none of them were disgusting, that they were in fact very talented, promising dancers, I asked them to think of constructive criticism. I asked them to give me technical corrections that they could actually improve upon. After a few minutes they came up with the correct answers: rolling knees, pelvises tipped, backs collapsing forward . Then they told me how they could correct those things.

I walked past the dancer disgusted with not only herself, but the whole class, “darling, I can’t correct ‘disgusting’ because it doesn’t exist in any of you.”

I have been bothered by the incident all week. I cannot shake it off. I understand all too well what she meant. I think it to myself every time I see my reflection.

Fat As Usual

 

I am fat. Nothing changes. I gave up purging for a few days after getting strep throat. I got very ill before I was smart enough to go and get antibiotics. Another 2 weeks in which I was too sick to go to the gym. The scale doesn’t budge. I under-eat but it is not really restrictive enough to make a difference. I loathe the numbers, the size, my reflection. I am huge. I am annoyed by myself all the time. I am fat. Always. Fat.

SICK (in the head, the heart and the body)

I am sick. Again. There was just a week in between one throat and chest infection before the next one started. Once again I am coughing, my tonsils are swollen and covered in white spots and I wake up every morning with my eyes crusted shut. On top of that I have a migraine from purging. I am too tired and weak to exercise. On the bright side, I have lost 5.5lbs since my doctor weighed me 12 days ago. I jump on the scale every morning and hold my breath. Or, more accurately, I creep onto it tentatively (one toe at a time) while repeating a mantra under my breath: “Please, please, please, please….please. Let today be the day.”

BBQ With Friends

2 plates of quinoa kale salad

1 veggie burger (no bun)

1/2 a wheel of brie

12 crackers

6 strawberries

3 glasses of red wine

3 bowls of potato salad

1 brownie

1 chocolate square

1 piece of apple crumble

1 piece of rhubarb pie

2 scoops of ice cream

1 epic purging session

Please stop inviting me to your BBQs. They are bad for my health.