Free Faerie by Eisha Marjara Page A

I had, after all, only myself to blame. As I lay there,Dr Messer’s words echoed through the mental clamour of self-pity: “You can’t stand yourself.” I couldn’t absorb the words any more than my intestines could digest solid food, yet those words continued to ring during moments of stillness when I was most helpless and silent. I didn’t want to gain weight. How could I let go of the ecstasy, the rush of accomplishment that came from doing away with flesh and fat and the burden of bulk?
    â€œHello?” Nurse Personality knocked against the opened door with a manicured hand. She stood in my doorway, forming a long, sleek shadow into my room. “It’s only eight o’clock. What are you doing in bed already?”
    Out of curmudgeonly annoyance, I turned away without answering, but she marched over to the bed, felt my pulse, and checked my vital signs. Sitting down next to me, she said quietly, “Didn’t manage a bowel movement, did you?”
    After a moment, I turned and looked up at her. For no reason that I could explain, I cupped both hands over my face and began to weep. Then, with an unexpected tenderness, she pulled me against her and brought my floppy head to her lap.
    â€œOh, honey, hard poop is a hard lesson, isn’t it? But nothing to cry about!”
    I laughed, thrown off by her playful sympathy. I could feel her belly against the back of my head, pressing against me.
    â€œYou see what you’ve done to yourself? I’ll bring a clean bedpan, and you can try again tomorrow. We’ll make it alright.” She began to stroke my hair. “When I was your age, I wanted to be perfect. I thought I could be. But if I had known that life was going to set me straight, no matter what, I wouldn’t have mademyself so miserable trying to be in control all the time.” She bent to look at my face. “See what I’m saying?”
    I looked up. Nurse Personality’s voice registered, but the words slipped through me like air. Her golden hair had lost its lustre, her complexion seemed bloated and tired, and her movements had become lethargic and heavy. She slowly stroked my hair, wrapping it behind my ear, and I didn’t want her to stop. I didn’t want her to stop being kind to me. I fell under the hypnosis of her touch, and that night I rested and had a dreamless sleep.
    The following day, Patricia (I had stopped calling her Nurse Personality in the night) had no choice but to get into her latex gloves and wrangle out the hardened faeces from my sore rectum. To my surprise, this repulsive exercise was one that she approached with dignified professionalism. She came in, shut the door, and got down to business. At this point, I was ready to tolerate any pain, discomfort, or humiliation to find even the mildest relief. I got necessarily naked and on all fours on my bed. Through the window I saw what appeared to be a dead body encased in white sheets being placed into the mortuary van in the inner courtyard. I dropped my head and thought, This is not how I imagined my life at eighteen .
    â€œAre you okay?” she asked.
    I looked back at her and nodded. Then I prepared for the worst.
    â€œOkay, now. Take a deep breath, then exhale and push as hard as you can.” I followed her instructions, she gave me a few reassuring words, and within minutes the job was done.
    â€œThere. You’ll start feeling better now.” Sloth-like, I cleaned upand slipped back into my clothes. I wanted more than anything to thank her. I watched while she picked up and collected everything and waited for the right moment to say a few heartfelt words. But with hardly a glance at me, she made a quick exit. I sat frozen on my bed for a moment, puzzled and disappointed. Replaying the event in my mind, I wondered if I’d done or said anything to upset or trouble her. But then I just assumed that she was preoccupied and had a busy day ahead. It made me sad