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I have a follow up appointment with the Doctor on Wednesday, and I’m after a wee bit of advice on whether I should know my weight or not.  I haven’t been weighed since the end of February (when I had a mini freak out).  There is some sort of morbid curiosity, I’m really really intrigued to know how much I have gained – although I know I will more than likely panic.

Since being discharged in February, it was a case of ‘sink or swim’.  The Eating Disorder Team pretty much sacked me off and left me to it, despite me calling them up and crying like an idiot on the phone begging for some support.  I am unbelievably angry with the state of ‘support’ for those with Eating Disorders.  I told them I wasn’t sure I could do this on my own, I felt I needed to be accountable to somebody who could keep tabs on my weight to ensure I was gaining consistently.  I received nothing, until a letter last week offering a follow up appointment.

Anybody with an Eating Disorder knows how much it is possible to deteriorate in 9 weeks, and that could have been me.  I could have regressed and thrown the towel in.  I could have given up, just as the Dietitian and Doctor did with me.  I didn’t though.  I used the advice and support of all the bloggers, I read a lot about the recommended intake for women my age and went for it.  I have eaten more since Feb 29th than I have for years and years.

The Dietitian I saw gave no advice on how much I should aim to eat in order to recover, she gave no advice on the best foods to aid recovery, provided no meal plan, nothing.  The only advice she seemed keen to give was ‘drink Milk’.  Great.  There was no input to try and tackle the rigidity of my eating, the fear foods, the foods I will do my best to avoid, nothing.

Having done some research, I set out on a minimum 2500 calorie per day diet and have stuck to it.  Some days have been ridiculously hard and involved a lot of late night eating to cram everything in very uncomfortably, other days I felt as if I could eat the entire world.  And more.  Now I want to know the result.  I want to know much my hard work and perseverance has paid off.  I’m almost 100% that I’ve overshot my pre-ed weight, looking back at photographs from 2005 I look bigger now than I did then aged 21 (pre-ed).  I was a size 8 pre-ed, and now cannot fit into that size without unpicking and re-stitching the seams to let me breathe.  I have never been a size 10 in my life, but I am now.  First time for everything eh!

I don’t know that I’ve overshot for definite though, I can only go on clothes size and I’m absolutely dying to know.  Admittedly, part of this IS driven by the Eating Disorder, just so it can see the number and scream FAT FAT FATTTTTTTY FAT PANTS!  The other part, is driven by me, the real me.  I want to show the stupid crappy Doctors how well I have done ON MY OWN.  With NO SUPPORT.  I want to know what my BMI is, and feel proud of how far I have come.  My Dad built himself up to mention my weight gain on Friday, which is a big deal for him.  He’s not a talker (unless it involves Football) but he sheepishly said he’s proud of me, and I look better than I have done for years.  That meant a lot, because I know he finds it awkward and he said he’s been dying to say something but didn’t want to make me feel bad.  Bless.  I told him the only part that feels bad is the fact I have popped out of my pre-ed clothes, not the fact he has mentioned it.

I challenged myself a little bit last week, choosing a ‘non-diet’ sandwich for the first time ever.  This will sound like absolutely nothing to most people, but Boots ‘Shapers’, ‘Light Choices’, ‘Be Good to Yourself’ – all that crap, they’re my usual choice of sandwich.  I branched out on Saturday though and picked up a Duck & Hoi Sin Sauce wrap.  The first time in 7 years I have eaten a non-diet sandwich, result :).  I also cracked open the Pop Tarts!  Can’t beat a bit of chocolatey goodness for breakfast ;).  I have pined after Pop Tarts for years having practically lived off them when I was younger, so I’m glad I faced the fear.  Dad and I polished off his Birthday Cake between the 2 of us, the cake allegedly served 18 – it actually served 6 decent and 2 tiny slices for a hungry girl & Dad, the first slice we each had took up the entire bonnet.

Where the hell do they get these serving sizes from, seriously?!  As another blogger said, “I’m not Jesus, I cannot possiblyy feed THAT many people with this”.

In other, not-so-cheerful news, our little Doggy had to be put down on Friday.  I won’t go into details, but he had a lot of fits and it was pretty frightening to watch and be so helpless.  He was 14, and we had him for 12 years so it has been a strange few days without him, every time I open the door I expect to see him flying towards me.  Rubbish.

He wasn't best pleased about the bow.

If anybody has any advice on knowing/not knowing my weight, I’d love to hear it.  I should make it clear that I KNOW it will most probably torture me, and it’s just a stupid number which shouldn’t mean anything but I’m so curious and keen to know.

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