Thursday morning. Eleven A.M. Something different is happening. Instead of a therapist, the nutritionist walks in the sunroom, announcing:
Weekly meal planning,
to which the room responds with a general groan.
Indifferent, she sets three stacks of forms on the floor. The patients seem to know what to do; they stand in line, each girl takes one set from each pile and returns to her seat.
I go last and then, forms in hand, look awkwardly around for help. The nutritionist ignores me studiously, examining the polish on her nails.
On Thursdays we get to choose all our meals for the coming week, Monday to Sunday.
Emm. She pulls her seat closer to mine. I could hug her. I do not dare.
Professional as ever, she hands me a pen before I even ask for one. She has two, just in case. Of course she does.
All right, you should have three sets of seven: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Good. We have twenty minutes to fill them out. Let’s start with the easy ones: breakfast.
I look at the first page: Breakfast 1—Monday. Two options:
Circle A or B.
The choices are straightforward enough:
Frosties or Cheerios on Monday?
Plain oatmeal or cinnamon on Wednesday?
Vanilla yogurt or strawberry?
Not circling either is also a choice,
says Emm.
Liquid nutritional substitute.
Even the dense, high-calorie supplement is offered in a choice of three flavors:
Vanilla, Chocolate, Pecan
Emm and I fill out the breakfast forms rapidly. Lunch and dinner prove more complicated.
Every lunch and dinner menu comprises three courses: an appetizer, a main dish, and a dessert. Two options are offered for each.
Again, circle A or B,
and Emm begins to fill hers. But I lag behind, frozen at the starting line: the very first appetizer on Monday.
Caesar salad with dressing and Parmesan cheese
OR
Basket of French fries
Parmesan cheese? Caesar dressing? French fries?
I skip the appetizer for now.
Perhaps the main course …
Fish fillet
OR
Mac and cheese
I am about to cry.
I know they look scary. Don’t let them overwhelm you. Let’s start with the first one,
Emm says.
I am so grateful. I look at her shakily:
You do not have to do this.
I know.
Her poker face is replaced with a smile. For a second.
Didn’t Valerie tell you the rules? It’s what we do.
Then she snaps back to business and the menu:
Caesar salad or fries?
Salad, I suppose, but before I circle it, Emm says:
A few rules first.
Number one: know yourself. I know the salad seems a safer choice, but if you aren’t willing to down a gallon of mayonnaise and eat every bit of cheese, then stick to the French fries.
I hesitate. Then circle the fries.
Next, the main course:
Be clear about your priorities, Anna: if you circle the fish, you must eat it. How committed are you to being a vegetarian? If you are, tough luck: mac and cheese.
But the cream! The cheese …
My voice gets caught in my throat. I am panicky, but Emm is firm:
Priorities.
Swallowing my tears, I circle the mac and cheese.
Now dessert:
Yogurt and granola
OR
Chocolate milkshake
What the hell, I have come this far. Chocolate milkshake it is.
Rule number three: don’t be a hero,
says Emm. I look at her, confused. She raises an eyebrow at me:
If you could really eat fries, mac and cheese, and a chocolate milkshake in one meal, you would not be in a treatment center, would you? Don’t bite off more than you can chew.
Literally.
One challenge at a time. Start with the fries. Next week, conquer the shake. Be kind to yourself; you have six meals a day and seven days of those to complete.
Six meals a day for seven days. I am exhausted after just the first lunch. But Emm nudges me forward and we make our way through them.
One circled option at a time. Other insight:
Be realistic. There is no “lighter” option in a place like this. The meals are planned and portioned so that all options are calorically equivalent. Everything will be scary and large. Everything will make you gain weight. So green beans or ice cream, choose what you are most likely to swallow, and maybe enjoy?
Which brings us to rule number five:
Use the resources you have, like the schedule. No high-volume lunch on oatmeal breakfast day. No saucy dishes before yoga; you do not want to have acid reflux in your downward-facing dog.
She then shares the biggest secret of all:
And if you really hit a wall, you can always strike the whole lunch or dinner out and opt for a sub meal.
A sub meal! That’s right! We have, at all times, three substitute meal options to choose from:
SUBSTITUTE MEAL A:
A ham and cheese sandwich, with pretzels, and yogurt and fruit.
SUBSTITUTE MEAL B:
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, with pretzels, and yogurt and fruit.
And Sub Meal C, I discover, is what I was served for my first meal here:
A whole-wheat bagel with hummus, carrots, and yogurt and fruit.
You only get seven sub meals a week, though, so use them wisely,
Emm warns. But I am not listening, holding on to Sub Meal C with my sanity.
It had been a paralyzing first meal. A terrifying, cataclysmic experience. It had seemed impossible. It had not been. Now it seems like a dream.
The vegetarian option for lunch on Tuesday is a black bean burger. Sub Meal C.
For dinner: a cheesy baked potato, topped with sour cream. Sub Meal C. On to Wednesday, where the nonmeat option is a tomato basil flatbread. I could swallow that. Dinner, however, is spaghetti marinara. Cue my third Sub Meal C.
By the time I reach lunch on Friday, however, I have run out of sub meals.
Reevaluate your choices. This is not sustainable,
says Emm.
Why not? I protest.
The voice in my head argues desperately: Sub Meal C is a well-balanced meal! It contains fat, carbohydrates, vegetables, and protein. Reliably familiar and bland. If the purpose of food is nutrition for survival then I can just survive on that!
There! I have cured my anorexia on my fourth day at 17 Swann Street. But even I know it cannot be this simple. I turn to Emm for help. Emm?
But Emm is circling her own menu options, deliberately leaving me on my own. The rules are clear: Only seven sub meals. I try not to panic.
Most of the other girls have already finished and submitted their forms. The rest are nearly done. I look at the clock: I have four minutes left.
Animal crackers and cocoa to drink. If they can do this I can. I flip back to Tuesday’s menu and circle the black bean burger for lunch. I skip the baked potato that evening but select Wednesday night’s spaghetti. I race against the mounting anxiety. I reach Sunday. It reaches its peak.
Suddenly, it dissipates as I almost laugh out loud at my last dessert. My options are:
Apple crumble
OR
Animal crackers and chocolate pudding
I can take a hint. I make my selection and submit my menus immediately. Quick, before my brain catches on and I chicken out.
The nutritionist leaves with the forms and I realize what I have done. This week, I will be eating food. Not just any food: mac and cheese. And fries, a burger, spaghetti, chocolate pudding. This may be catastrophic.
Too late now; the forms are gone with the nutritionist. The girls move back to community space. I want to thank Emm for her help, but her spot is empty.