Day 6

Day 4 was fine.  Day 5 was really hard for some reason, maybe because I didn't drink enough water, or maybe because I had to come back to school in the evening to give a presentation to 200 parents about graduation requirements, blah blah.  Maybe both reasons.  I felt gross.

Today was better again, probably the best so far.  I wonder if there are magical healing things happening inside my body the way the research promised, or if really, all I'm doing is getting skinny really fast.  I didn't do this for weight loss, and I did not predict how rapidly my weight would drop.  I've lost about 10 pounds in 6 days, which is ridiculous.  My pants are falling off and my hip bones are pointy enough to injure anyone who brushes up against me.

We researched how to end a fast and learned that sadly, one cannot order a pizza the day after the fast ends.  Apparently it takes a few days of slowly reintroducing foods, starting with juice, fruit, vegetables, etc..  So we decided to complete day 7 and then start refeeding on days 8, 9, and 10 with the fantasy that we'd be ready to eat somewhat normally by day 11.  I hope that's true because I really want to order a pizza.

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Today was one of those days where I had to spend lots of time talking to the Ministry and to the police.  These days are so sad, when I really deeply think of what some people's lives are like outside our reach.  It's hard to imagine, even though the details are written in my notebook.


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Day 3

We are now 75 hours into the water fast.  Surprisingly, the third day was much easier than the first two.   This is an interesting experiment.  My new understanding is that this is somewhat like practicing yoga, where the discomfort is intentional and is meant to be honoured as part of the experience.  We should not try to numb the sensations - rather to explore them with curiosity and wonder.  I now look forward to what day 4 will bring.

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Speaking of starving

We decided to try a water fast.  That is, Shawn decided to try a water fast and I was swooped up, the way I often am, by his enthusiasm and certainty.  I have never fasted, excluding during illness, and so I do not have the benefit of practice to make it less difficult or to reassure me that I will soon feel better.  We are coming up on 48 hours with nothing but water, and so far I feel tired.  Everything I have read assures me that we are about to turn a corner and feel an incredible mental clarity unlike anything previously experienced.  I would like this to be true because currently I feel groggy and sort of mentally blurry.  The purpose of the fast?  I don't remember.  Too tired to think.  We are trying for ten days.

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To distract ourselves from food we went to the ocean this morning and drank water (ha) sitting on a bench in the sunshine overlooking the sea.  It was beautiful and calming, and the walk (uphill) to the car assured my body that I still mean for it to do things.

After the ocean we went to a mall because I need new bras, and there I had the most satisfying bra shopping experience I think I have ever had.  The saleswoman was astonishingly determined to help me, in spite of my limp protests, and before I knew it she was in the change room with me assessing my boobs and deciding that all my choices were wrong.  She went off into the store without me and came back with the bras I should be wearing.  And lo and behold she was right.  Six times.  I spent a ridiculous amount of money but now I have the six best fitting bras I have ever owned.


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a hunger for contact

I gave up the end of my summer vacation to spend it with a semi-famous doctor of psychology, whose focus was on anxiety-related issues in children - but found that the information provided was applicable also to adults.  I always find these workshops somewhat harrowing.  I am meant to be learning about best practice for treating the teenagers under my care, but I cannot stop myself as I listen from diagnosing my family members, one by one, including myself, and wonder what happened to the ones who have always claimed to be healthy and well when they obviously are not.  My strength (and weakness) is that I cheerfully pathologize us all, myself included.  But the doctor did say the healthiest in his experience were those who had accepted the mess in which they were raised, allowed the pain to fully penetrate the conscious mind, and grieved it thoroughly.  I consider myself to have landed in this category.  So much of what I have written here is grieving - I call it processing - but it is grieving.  And I recognize, which I do not think they all do, that grieving is ongoing forever.  It does not have an end, the knowledge of which makes it easier as I get older to swallow it in small pieces rather than all at once.

What I take away is the comfort of knowing that my instincts work well, and that when my rational brain is combing through my books to find the right thing to say, my instinct to pretend I am the answer is a good one.  A self-fulfilling prophecy of its own.  I may not have any answers, but I can be one.  My own brokenness is of no consequence in this sort of encounter.  And what the doctor did not say - but I know in my bones - is that we all find healing in giving children the things we starved for most ourselves.


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