Free The Hunger by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

visitor?” Pauline asked, pointing to her polyester mauve smock with her name embroidered on the pocket. Her white hair was braided loosely down her back and her hands were surprisingly jewel-free. “I hold a painting workshop for the children up here once a week. This happens to be my regular day.”
    Paula nodded in understanding. Her grandmother had several pet projects around town, all somehow involving her passion for painting. Paula pointed at the tray of food sitting on the bedside table. “Did you bring that with you?”
    Gramma glanced over at the tray of food. “No. I followed it in,” she said with a grin. “Now come over here and give me a hug.”
    Paula gingerly wrapped her arms around her grandmother, taking care not to tangle her IV in the embrace. She breathed in deeply the comforting “Gramma” scent of turpentine and Dove soap, then settled in on the bed beside her grandmother. “I amso glad to see you,” Paula said, tears welling up in her eyes.
    “I could have picked a better place for the visit, my dear,” said Pauline, with sadness tingeing her voice. “I wish you could understand how much you’re loved.”
    With that, Pauline stood up from the bed and brushed her hand gently across her granddaughter’s cheek. “Now you owe me a visit.”
    Paula watched as the mauve smock exited the door.
    Her eyes drifted over to the tray of food sitting at her bedside. On it was a glass of orange juice, a carton of whole milk, a muffin, a container of yogurt, and a bowl of bran cereal. The sight of so much food overwhelmed her with a sense of powerlessness. They couldn’t possibly expect her to eat all of this. She sat, staring at the tray for several moments, then the door opened again. It was a nurse.
    “The more you eat, the quicker you get out of here,” said the nurse. “You don’t have to eat it all, but do the best you can.” Without waiting for a reply, the nurse opened the door. She turned to Paula and said, “Remember. No funny stuff.”
    Paula poured the milk onto her bran cereal and methodically stirred it until it became mush. She took a single spoonful of it and put it in her mouth, feeling nauseated as she did it. They couldn’t force her to eat, that was for sure. It would make her sick.
    As trays came back, day after day, barely touched,the nurses became worried. Doctor Tavish was worried too. But there was nothing they could do. And while treatment for anorexia included the denial of privileges until weight was gained, Doctor Tavish was vehement in his views on force-feeding. “It’s counterproductive,” he told the nurses. “The more you push an anorexic, the more stubborn they become.”
    Monday, November 9, 111 pounds
    Paula’s condition alarmed both Doctor Tavish and the nurses.
    The nurses had become so concerned with Paula’s condition that they had taken to offering her chilled tins of Ensure, and were gratified when they noticed the empty cans in Paula’s garbage. What the nurses didn’t notice was how healthy Paula’s plants had become.
    A social worker who counselled a local eating disorder support group was called in to see if she could help.
    She tapped on Paula’s door just after lunch had been served. Paula had enough time to stash her brother’s Game Gear under her pillow and call out, “Come in, please.”
    Paula appraised the woman as she stepped through the door. Betty Doherty didn’t look like someone whodealt with eating disorders. The fact was, she was definitely on the hefty side herself. “Can I sit down here?” she asked, pulling up a chair beside Paula’s bed without waiting for a reply. She settled a briefcase on her lap, then opened it, pulling out a questionnaire. “Mind if I ask you some questions, Paula?”
    Paula had the feeling that her answer didn’t matter much, but she nodded anyway.
    “Okay, let’s get down to business,” said Mrs. Doherty. “How would you describe the relationship you have with your mother?”
    “We