Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Since her abrupt seizure over my life, I’ve had little else to do but wonder who this woman is. The amount of time she spends with me throughout the day indicates she has no other post. She is a doctor for the sole purpose of being on the Vory payroll. The array of medical equipment at her disposal dictates that she has a long leash as far as finances go, and since our first encounter, I have found myself subject to a host of tests under her direction.
Outwardly, I hate her. I want to curse her name and subject her to as much pain as she has given me. But inwardly, she is my only source of comfort. Nikolai has not returned. In his absence, there is only Nonna, who speaks very little. When she comes to my room, she will not meet my eyes, and I know it’s because she betrayed my secret.
I am restless and irritable and on the verge of fracturing. If I allow my thoughts to drift to the weight I’ve gained over the past week, it will break me. If I ruminate on the length of time it’s been since I’ve trained, I will lose all hope completely.
While I seek asylum from my own mind, the doctor checks my vitals. Pulse, temperature, blood pressure. It’s more than I ever had tested as a child. Other than my childhood vaccines, I never had the occasion to visit a regular health clinic. I can only remember that when I was sick, the doctor on my father’s payroll would write a prescription without even seeing me. My father ruled his kingdom with an iron fist, and outsiders were strictly forbidden. But such does not seem to be the case with Nikolai. His home seems to be a revolving door of outsiders, which has now come to include my physical therapist and Dr. Shtein.
“When will I be free to eat on my own again?” I ask.
Dr. Shtein looks at me, and her face is blank. This is business for her, but I know from the conversation I overheard with Nikolai it was her idea.
“When you can prove you are capable of doing so on your own,” she answers.
“How can I prove it if I’m restrained?” I argue.
She wheels one of the machines out of the way and pulls her chair closer to the bed. “How long have you had this behavior toward food?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a lie, and she knows it.
Her phone chimes, and she checks it discreetly before turning her attention back to me. “If you aren’t ready to be honest, then I have no reason to reconsider my treatment.”
I swallow, and it feels like there’s a clump of flour lodged in my throat. I don’t want to live another day strapped to the bed and subjected to feedings like a child. It’s inhumane and humiliating. Over the course of a week, I have lost every ounce of dignity I possessed.
“I can’t remember when it started,” I admit. “But I was very young when I learned to choose foods that had the fewest calories. I filled my diet with those and little else. It was what my mother did.”
“So this is a learned behavior,” she observes.
I don’t answer because I don’t want her to think badly of my mother. My mother was a good person. She did the best she could to raise me in her circumstances.
“Have you ever been treated by a doctor before for this condition?” she asks.
“No.”
“So you are not aware of the damage you have done to your body?”
I try to swallow again, but I can’t. My throat is too dry, and I’m afraid of her cruel words. It can’t be that bad. I feel fine.
“You are just trying to scare me.”
“Do you know what osteopenia is?” she returns.
I shake my head, and I want to tell her to stop because it doesn’t matter what it is. I don’t have it.
“You have not provided your bones with adequate calcium for a very long time,” she says. “The progression of damage is a very simple one, with osteoporosis being the next award for your starvation. At which stage, it would be highly unlikely you would ever dance again.”
“That isn’t true.” At least, I don’t want it to be true, but she takes no mercy on me.
“You are an athlete who does not provide your body the necessary fuel to maintain the muscles required for your sport. In essence, your body is eating itself alive. Your heart is under extreme duress, and the only possible result of such continued behavior is heart disease and inevitable death. Do you understand that without treatment, it’s very possible you could be dead before you ever see your thirtieth birthday?”
Moisture fills my eyes, but I don’t want to believe it. It isn’t true. It can’t be. Only to prove her point, the doctor takes the discussion a step further by showing me the results of the many tests she has run and explaining them as if she’s speaking to a child.