Last Sunday night I had about 15 blissful minutes of feeling ahead of the game; I had prepped all my food, packed my bag for the morning and had soaked in the bath. As I climbed into bed, little could I have imagined the week that was about to unfold in front of me.
I had been asleep for about an hour when Lovely Girl #1 came in to say that she didn’t feel well; so unwell that she thought she should go to hospital. In true mum ‘if-it’s-not-hanging-off-or-gushing-blood-you’re-probably-ok’ style I launched into the Spanish Inquisition. If I’m honest I really didn’t want to go to A&E at 00:30 on a Sunday night (or at any other time) without bloody good reason.
Serious chest pain was a good enough reason. She had been unwell for about 6 weeks and she was feeling worse. There had been 3 trips to the GP and she’d had hives, and ear infection and sinusitis all accompanied by palpitations. A course of antibiotics had been finished and we thought that she had turned a corner. We thought wrong.
A&E was quiet when we arrived, in fact we were the only ones there. The doctor immediately hooked her up to an ECG and shortly thereafter put a cannula in her arm. At that point I knew that we wouldn’t be going home in the near future. When I asked if the ECG had shown anything the doctor, who was absolutely lovely and had been really kind to us, said “mmmmm”.
She was transferred up to the acute care ward for further investigations at about 5am. Once she was starting to doze I decided that I needed to go home and do the same. I eventually crawled into bed at 7:30am. I slept for 3 hours, gobbled down some rice cakes with peanut butter and jam, and headed back to the hospital in a dazed and confused state. I’d also picked up the food I’d prepped in case LG#1 wanted it, some oats cakes and a box of almonds.
Hunger strikes…
By 19:30 I’d eaten the rice cakes, a pack of oatcakes and several handfuls of almonds. I sat in the hospital, tired and hungry and thought ‘I could stop at the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way home’. And from the second that thought entered my head it stayed there.
I thought about how much I wanted a Big Mac and a chocolate milkshake. It would be so easy to stop on the way home – I would be driving right past the drive thru. More importantly no one would know.
As LG#1 slept I imagined how it would play out. I’d stop at the drive thru, get a Big Mac and sit in the car park eating it. Then I made myself think about the afterwards; the self-loathing, disgust, nausea and regret. I’d silently berate myself for my stupidity. I’d feel ashamed and like I’d let myself down. I pushed all these feelings aside and allowed myself to wallow in the craving.
As I left the hospital at 21:30 I was hungry and the stress of the day had been overwhelming. I wanted to throw junk food down my neck to suppress the fear, unhappiness, worry and helplessness. My subconscious thought that junk food was the answer; that it would distract me. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate fast food but it’s all I could think about. It was like I was drowning in the need to choke down all the scary things I was feeling.
On the horns of a dilemma.
I pulled up at the traffic lights next to the drive-thru turning genuinely not knowing what I was going to do. I tried to hold onto the rational thoughts about how I would feel after I’d eaten that crap; but the harder I tried to keep those thoughts in focus the further they slipped out of reach.
Hypnotised by the sound of my involuntary indicator I turned right into the McDonald’s car park.
In my sleep deprived state I couldn’t work out how to get into the drive-thru so I swung into a parking space and burst into tears. The events of the day had been too much. I told myself that if I thought through, really imagined, how I would feel after I’d eaten a Big Mac and I still wanted one, then that was ok. And after all, no one would know, NO ONE WOULD KNOW. Not even Luke had to know; it would be my calorie laden secret.
I knew that I’d feel sick, foolish and empty; I knew that I’d still feel hungry in the way that you do after stuffing down food with no nutritional value.
Then I imagined how I’d feel if I chose not to. I’d still be bloody starving, tired, upset and exhausted. It would make me actually deal with the panic and fear of the day. I knew that even if I went home and ate toast then it would be better for me than a burger. I’d feel proud of myself, emotionally battered and facing my raw feelings, but proud of myself.
I dried my tears and listened to my indicator directing me out of the car park.