How One Nurse Led Me to a Life of Recovery
I was only nine years old when I received a diagnosis that changed the trajectory of my life. I vividly remember sitting in the doctor's office and hearing the words “Anorexia Nervosa” for the first time. It was on that day that my monster gained a name. I referred to him as “Party Pooper” but now most simply call him “ED.” Living with ED was like being in a relationship with someone who is constantly tearing you down, criticizing your every move, and scrutinizing your appearance. He gives you no room to breathe, no room to just simply “be.” To me, it was the most suffocating experience imaginable. I spent the following summer in and out of Family-Based Treatment (FBT), sitting on the sidelines of my younger sister Emme’s swim meets that I used to partake in, and most importantly eating.
A little over a year and a half later, I graduated from treatment as a fifth grader on the edge of transitioning to the sixth grade. I remember thinking I was finally free from ED’s shackles. However, he had grown up with me. ED stayed lurking in the shadows of my life. He sat anxiously waiting for the perfect time to reinstate his grip on me. It started with him whispering in my ear while eating lunch in the cafeteria at school. Then there were the occasional snarky remarks when I looked at my reflection every morning. To be frank, I don’t quite remember the exact timeline of when he started fully steering the ship again, but I do remember landing myself in the psychiatric hospital my junior year of high school after hitting what most would refer to as “rock bottom.”
I had just moved to Cincinnati after living in New Jersey for nine years. Back in New Jersey I was on my high school's varsity volleyball team and played club for Garden State Elite. Looking back, I was pretty deep into my commitment to ED and my body’s response to the malnourishment hindered my performance on and off the court. My first summer in Ohio, I had been told by my new school’s volleyball coach that I would never be good enough for her team and that I had no future on her court. This kickstarted my spiral to said rock bottom.
ED loved to hear people agree with him, except his solution was, like always, to become smaller.
Leading up to those two weeks of my hospitalization, I didn’t see any point in living a life in recovery. I had failed once so why try again, right? Every boost supplement I choked down, every Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) worksheet I completed, and every 5am weight check seemed pointless. I was prepared to live a life according to ED’s values because I felt like I was never going to be strong enough to win. This mindset stayed with me throughout the first week of my admittance.
It appeared as if it was not subject to change, that was until I met Nurse Svetlana. The day I met her, I was sitting on the edge of the plastic picnic table bench. It was a fairly cool day for winter, and I was in the courtyard outside the center. Svetlana sat beside me. She was a taller woman with brown and gray curls. During my first week of admittance she had been on vacation, so you can imagine my surprise when an unfamiliar name appeared next to mine on the whiteboard that detailed our staff assignment. Her face was serious as she focused her gaze on me.
“You know, I lose more patients to eating disorders than I do those who are actively trying to kill themselves,” she said in a thick Russian accent.
The weight of her words hung in the air between us. I could see the pain in her eyes as I processed. Hot, salty tears stung the corners of my eyes as I realized that she was trying to get through to me. Even though death wasn’t my end goal, it was and always had been ED’s. Svetlana didn’t want to lose me, and—to be honest—I didn’t want to lose me either. Thinking back, this was the exact moment in my recovery that I decided I needed to work hard to overcome the hardest battle of my life. Svetlana reminded me that I was in control of my own narrative, not ED. She sat with me telling me of all the hopes and dreams she had for me when I left the hospital—none of them included ED.
After that day, I decided to live a life based on my values instead of ED’s. I started pouring into my recovery. I was so determined to make not only Svetlana proud, but myself. In moments where the climb seemed too high, I had Svetlana cheering me on. One of my proudest memories is the day I was released from the hospital. Svetlana was my assigned nurse and that night was the first time I finished my dinner without having to take a supplement. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can still see the vast smile on her face and feel the comforting warmth of her embrace. A few short hours later she sent me off back into the world. Except, it was not the cold, hopeless world I came into the hospital knowing. Instead it was brightly colored and full of hope. It was a whole new world she had helped me find my way back to.
I am now almost three full years into recovery. I am able to attend school out of state at Hope College where I can live on campus and study education like I had always dreamed. My body is strong enough to play volleyball again with my school's club team. ED no longer steers the ship; I do. I don’t want to discredit all the hard work I put in myself, but I do want to give credit where credit is due. So I leave you with these parting words: Thank you, Nurse Svetlana, for saving my life.
