You may remember a couple of weeks ago, I wrote about Emily,  a young woman struggling with anorexia. I left her story a bit unfinished, but that's okay. None of our stories are ever finished as long as we are alive. But today, I offer you the end of Emily's story, or at least, the end of the beginning.

HIGH FIVE

Emily struggled against the straps. She screamed, letting everyone know she was still here, and still alive. No one had been around for quite some time, ever since they strapped her down. Where was Ethan? He had left her here to die, to be killed, to be treated like a criminal. How could he say he loved her, and then subject her to this torture?

A nurse slipped in the door with a tray of medicine. “Time for our meds!” she chirped.

“Which ones are yours?” Emily scowled, but the nurse pretended not to notice.

"Here we are! Just…oh, you’ll need some help. Here, I’ll hold the water for you, nice and easy, just swallow.”

Emily held her mouth closed. She wasn’t going to make this easy for this woman, or for any of them, these smiling monsters who insisted they had the right to make decisions for her, to tie her to the bed when she tried to leave what they all insisted was a voluntary hospitalization. Picked her up, carried her through the waiting room, and dumped her in here, behind a locked door with straps around her wrists and ankles. And now this…a smiling woman trying to force her lips open to give her pills she didn’t want to take. These pills were making her worse, she was convinced.

“What are you giving me?”

“Don’t worry, it won’t poison you. We’re just giving you an anti-nausea drug, just like the one we gave you yesterday and the day before.”

“If you’d quit giving me Valium, I’d quit throwing up. I told you, I always throw up when I’m given Valium.”

The nurse didn’t answer. It wasn’t her place to decide what medications or treatments to use, and she didn’t really care that much. It was obvious that she was just doing a job. Some of the other nurses were more sympathetic; in fact, most of them were more sympathetic than this woman. Emily didn’t even know her name. She had never introduced herself, just blew in and out like an efficient tornado, and didn’t spend any time chatting or trying to make the patients feel better. Emily wished Margarita was on tonight. She needed someone who would listen.

“When am I going to see Dr. Gibbon?”

“I don’t know. He usually comes in mid-evening when he’s not doing treatments. You should know that by now.”

“Somehow I thought I might be entitled to actually see the doctor, since I’ve been imprisoned against my will.”

“Oh, stop that. This isn’t prison. You admitted yourself.”

“Where’s Ethan? I want to see Ethan.”

The nurse didn’t answer. She pushed the button for assistance, and busied herself with forcing Emily to open her mouth. When the other nurse arrived, the two women managed to pry her mouth open and shove the pills down along with some water. Emily tried to spit them out, but they held her mouth closed, and she was forced to swallow to avoid choking. The nurses left, and she was alone.

She had no idea how long she waited before Dr. Gibbon arrived. Time is difficult enough when you’re in the hospital. When you are tied to your bed with no books, no television, and no visitors, it becomes eternal. She was almost glad to see the doctor, in spite of the fact that she despised him.

Dr. Gibbon explained to her that he was in the process of having her court committed, since she had tried to leave. She considered explaining to him just what the word “voluntary” was supposed to mean, but she realized it wouldn’t do any good. He would probably succeed in his legal maneuvers, because she was still severely underweight, and all his treatments had not persuaded her to eat; in fact, she was eating even less than before. Her head hurt, she couldn’t remember where she was yesterday, and she felt more out of control than ever.

“Can you explain something, Dr. Gibbon?” He nodded. “You said that I am not eating because I feel out of control of my own life. So how does it help if you take away even that amount of control and force me to eat through IV? Force me to have electric shock therapy? How can I feel more in control if you take away all the control I had?”

Dr. Gibbon didn’t answer. She was pretty sure he had no answer. He never seemed to have answers to the questions she asked, but she kept asking. Maybe one of these days, she’d find the right question, the one that made his head explode, or that made him feel like she felt, horribly alone and out of control of her own life. He watched her carefully as he paced the room, explaining again, for the ninth time, why he felt the shock treatments would be the best answer, but she wasn’t listening. There was nothing new to hear, it was a familiar routine. Sometimes she believed he had learned “shock treatment” as his first words, and had never bothered to learn more. He must have three dozen patients in this hospital receiving the treatments, and as far as she could tell, none of them were getting any better.

 “Can I see Ethan?”

The doctor frowned. “I’m not sure…that would be a good idea.”

“But…he’s the one I want to see. He’s the one that always helps me through. I…I need to see him.”

“I don’t think that’s possible right now.”

Dr. Gibbon looked at her, his face an enigma. He turned and bustled out the door without saying anything more. Emily felt even more like she was in prison, solitary confinement no less, and for what? For feeling sad? For being scared? For being lonely, and wanting to get the hell out of this place? She decided it would be better to sign the paperwork he wanted, agreeing to continue the treatments. A court commitment would look really bad on her record, and she might have trouble going back to work.

The next morning, Emily was released from the confining straps after she agreed to continue the treatments. It wasn’t really that much better being up and around in this place, but at least she could go to the rec room and the library. It was getting too difficult to be alone with her thoughts. Her boss came to visit her in the afternoon, and the two of them chatted about fashion and the latest styles, and how great it would be when she could return to work; they kept the conversation as light as though she were merely having her tonsils out. Marsha was more sympathetic than most; she saw no reason for dumping Emily in here merely because she was trying to keep her weight off. After all, for a model, having too much weight was an occupational hazard, right?

After Marsha left, Emily couldn’t settle. She wanted to see Ethan, but he hadn’t come yet today. She didn’t remember seeing him yesterday, but she’d had a treatment yesterday morning, and rarely remembered anything once she’d had her treatment. She did remember being slammed into the restraints, though.

She sat up eagerly with every visitor that walked in the door, but Ethan didn’t show. She went to bed not having heard from him, because he didn’t call either. It wasn’t like him. He’d always been so attentive, even after she’d gotten sick. But…had he? Had he really? She tried to remember their life together, and it seemed like he spent a lot of time with his friends, with his family, with everyone but her. Was that why she felt so out of control? No, surely not. She’d had this not eating thing off and on since she was twelve. She hadn’t even known Ethan then. It was just…part of being a woman. Women just ate less than men, that was all.

Two days went by, and still Ethan didn’t show. Emily tried to call a few times, but the line was either busy or no one answered. She texted him, but he didn’t respond. Where was he? Was something wrong? She kept asking Dr. Gibbon why she couldn’t see him, and he just kept responding that it wouldn’t be a good idea. She got more frightened with every hour that passed, until she found herself in the bathroom throwing up the few bits of food she’d been able to choke down. She wasn’t a vomiter, so it must have been fear that made her unable to hold her food.

The third day, Ethan called. Relief flooded through her as she heard his familiar voice. He sounded healthy, even a bit happy. He apologized for not coming to see her, but said he’d been very busy. He hoped he would be able to come on the weekend, but he couldn’t promise. Things were…busy. That was all he would say. She said she loved him, and they rang off. It was only after the phone went silent that she realized he had not said he loved her, too.

Saturday, Ethan finally showed. He stood in her room and held a vase of flowers, looking like an awkward child. She rushed to him and put her arms around him, but he didn’t return her embrace. She stood back and held his eyes. He shifted his gaze, but she took his chin and forced him to look at her.

“Honestly, Em, don’t make me look at you. It’s…hard. You used to be so pretty, and now you’re…well, you look like death. I hate to see that…I had hoped for so much for us…for you…for….” His voice trailed off. He turned away and moved to the window, staring out at the hospital yard as though trying to avoid conversation. She moved to his side, but he didn’t put his arm around her as he had always done. He seemed lost in a world she didn’t live in anymore. “Em, we have to talk.”

The world began to buzz around her head. She didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t handle talking. Why was he insisting on talking now? She had already started to realize what he was going to say, and she didn’t want to hear.

“I’m sorry, Em, I didn’t mean it to be like this, but, well, it’s just…you’re not…you’re not…what I need anymore. You’re not…I just can’t. I need a pretty wife, a vivacious wife, not someone who…scares my clients. I…well, I…don’t want you to come home. I’ll…help you find a place, when you’re ready to leave.”

Ethan didn’t look at her as he spoke, and as soon as he finished, he left. She slipped onto the floor, the full implications of what he had said sinking in. Not pretty? Is that all it was? Is that all she meant to him?

She didn’t see Dr. Gibbon enter until he sat beside her on the floor. “I saw him leave” was all he said.

Emily nodded. She was too choked up to speak. “Was I…a trophy wife?”

The doctor nodded. “I’m sorry, my dear. I…didn’t know how to bring up what he’d told me. I didn’t know how to prepare you. I see so many women, so many wives, that have been through the same thing. People always assume trophy wives are gold-diggers that go into it with their eyes open, but…it’s more common than you realize. I’m not even sure the men realize it…I’m pretty sure Ethan didn’t, until you started to become a detriment to his career. He believed he loved you, but…”

Dr. Gibbon stopped, not sure how to go on. Emily almost felt sorry for him, sitting there beside her at a loss for words. She looked at his face and saw something she’d never seen before. Perhaps it had been there all the time, but she’d never been willing to look. Did he actually have…compassion?

Emily stood. She teetered a little bit, her blood pressure dropping from the change in her vertical position. She was starting to get used to that; the doctor had assured her once she got back on a normal diet, she wouldn’t feel so dizzy anymore. She waited until she had regained her equilibrium, then she pulled herself up to her full height. She stood with her chin high, her shoulders thrust back. She was not going to be a frightened child anymore. She was a woman now, right?

“I don’t need him”, she announced to anyone willing to listen. “I am going back to college. I’m going to study law, just like I always wanted to do when I was a kid. I can beat this thing.” She teetered just a bit; she was still unsteady on her feet. Dr. Gibbon was now standing, and she reached her hand out toward him. “Will you help me?”

Dr. Gibbon nodded, and took the hand she offered. They shook on it, a mutual vow to fight with all their strength to keep her alive. “I think I’m going to like him”, she thought as they shared a high five.