I consider myself a fairly logical and well-informed person. I know that human beings – particularly their bodies and their health – are fallible. I watch the news, I read health reports, I am aware of the risks that exist in the world – that on any given day, on any given moment, someone can be hit by illness or unforeseen tragedy.
And yet…
I have long believed I am invincible.
What? Really?
Ok, let’s be clear. I don’t have a death wish. And, I certainly don’t engage in reckless behavior believing I have unlimited lives.
However, the fact of the matter is that, for decades, I have engaged in extremely unhealthy eating patterns – pushing my body to its limits – believing it would never catch up to me.
“Not me,” I would think when I would read articles on the effects of chronic starvation.
“I’m not like other people,” “My situation is different,” “It hasn’t affected me so far, so it never will,” “I’m unique.”
These are the stories I told myself – much to the frustration of the people that cared about me. I did not say these things as a diversion or to appease others. I firmly believed that my body was immune to the effects of Anorexia.
Why? A few reasons:
- In the 19 years I have been on the eating disorder roller coaster, I have never had a single medical exam indicate health issues;
- No matter how little I ate in a given day, I always managed to keep going. Actually, not only keep going, but keep performing at an energetic pace. My heart kept beating; my blood tests appeared normal; and I never fainted – even when I spent 9 hrs on my feet at work with zero food in my body; and
- Restriction gave me a natural high and made me feel infinitely powerful.
Ok, so maybe not the best indicators of one’s invincibility. But, in the absence of any other proof of the damage I was doing, I clung to these reference points as gospel.
Until…
I recently mentioned that my blood work finally caught up with my eating disorder; and that the doctor feared the possible shut down of my liver, kidneys and heart. And, while scary, I knew that bed rest and Gatorade would help stabilize my electrolytes. I also knew that the eventual re-feeding process would bring everything back to normal.
No harm done, right?
Well…not quite.
While my blood work is trending toward normal after just 3 weeks of eating – food is my medicine these days – the same cannot be said for my bones.
When I went for a bone density test a month ago, I made jokes about being the youngest patient in the waiting room (by at least 15-20 years). “I’ll show them,” I told myself. “My body always surprises every one…I am indestructible!”
I said these things in jest because I didn’t want to believe any different.
And then the results came in.
Turns out that my hip bones are veering on the extremely fragile. At 40, I am as close to osteoporosis as I can get – with 92% of women in my demographic having better bones than me.
“Ok,” I say to the doc. “What do I do to fix this because we all know that breaking a hip usually brings lots of pain and subsequent health decline? Tell me doc and I’ll do it.”
Nothing. I, Christina “the Fixer” Peikert cannot fix this.
You see, bone cannot be rebuilt. At best, I preserve and protect an already sad state of bone density. At worst…I start meds when I turn fifty, face a post retirement in a shrunken body frame (call me granny leprechaun) and live with a high likelihood that I break my hip at some point in my lifetime.
Ah…maybe not so invincible then.
It is hard to accept that I have done irreparable damage to my body – harder still to admit that I was stubborn and just plain wrong. But it is now my reality…one I created…and one only I can prevent from getting worse by choosing recovery.
For anyone reading this who also believes they are untouchable; who think: “not me” as I tell my story, if you are right, hats off too you. Buy a lotto ticket because you are one in a million.
But, just ask yourself, what if you are wrong?
Afterall, even super heroes can fall…
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