One Flew Over
Weather: Cool, dry, blue skies, a few white clouds
Activities:
1. Driving over the mountains
2. Driving back over the mountains
3. Seeing the Lake House Lady and that Horrid Little Man
4. Talking to the beloved Wayard E and equally beloved Sweetheart, and best beloved, Old Sliderule.
5. Trying to maintain tranquility and peace of mind.
The Lake House Lady is happy to have moved into her new house at the lake, as well as into her new office condo. Her son has come to work with her. He does testing-- a lucrative field, if ever there was one. I saw her with that Horrid Little Man, aka, Mr. Hyde, for those who know his alter ego, this evening. As always, it was a thoroughly unpleasant encounter.
She asked what she could do to help. Hm. A fleeting image of her being whacked upside the head by a wrecking ball on a 30=foot chain for saying such a ridiculous thing passed through my mind. What could she do to help? Whah, not a thang, dear. Not a single solitary thang. You've pocketed $140 two or three times a week, seeing her and her dad, and well, frankly, the wee one is more miserable than ever and he's about as bad as he ever was. You, however, have a new lake house. I suppose all of Mr Hyde's alter-ego's referrals are helping make the payments. What can you do to help? Not a damn thing.
The best of it all was the idea that we would have a meeting to "fill me in" without providing any relevant information, because, alas, she was now 18, and they couldn't do that without violating Hippa laws. So I asked what sort of track record this unnamed institution had with adolescents losing weight. Oh well, she didn't know; neither did he. She shared that she knew someone with an eating disorder who had gone there and "got better". So I asked how much weight did she lose? "Oh, well, (grimace/smile) she was (pause) an- or- ex- ic" (carefully and slowly pronounced, as if this were some sort of ancient mystery she was divulging). Oh, well, indeed. More extraneous and irrelevant information. How much does it cost? Oh, well, don't know that either-- but it doesn't matter! They will take insurance! They have a gym; they have a SPED on staff. (Specialist in Eating Disorders) What? An MD? No, of course not. Another bullshit designation to extract more insurance reimbursements. I asked just exactly what it was they were going to do to keep her from overeating-- was she going to be fed separately?Were they going to physically restrain her? Were they going to run over in the middle of a meal and snatch food off her plate? Oh, no! But they will be watching her, I was assured. As if that would make a gnat's ass worth of difference. They will note in the chart, "Patient ate 16 porkchops at dinner, and all the anorexic's pudding." The next day, the SPED will talk about what she was feeling while she ate the pork chops and the anorexic's pudding and will suggest that she only eat 15 pork chops next time and remember that the poor pitiful anorexics will die if they don't eat their pudding.
The psychiatrist will add some new drugs to her current pharmacopia to make sure she doesn't cause anyone any trouble. A little haloperidol is always a nice touch-- that speach impediment may go away someday, if she ever gets out. In the meantime, her anxiety levels will bottom out concommitant with her developing proficiency shuffling. That Horrid Little Man will be distressed and cry and beat his breast, and tell everyone how hard it is for him; he's another one who should have had a visit from the wrecking ball.
In the end, it's just immeasurably sad. The Wee One believes that somewhere over the rainbow a pink fairy can wave her magic wand and all of her dreams will come true. She thinks she can enter as a self-hating hideous blob and emerge a beautiful butterfly.
Not being a caterpillar to begin with poses something of a problem.
Activities:
1. Driving over the mountains
2. Driving back over the mountains
3. Seeing the Lake House Lady and that Horrid Little Man
4. Talking to the beloved Wayard E and equally beloved Sweetheart, and best beloved, Old Sliderule.
5. Trying to maintain tranquility and peace of mind.
The Lake House Lady is happy to have moved into her new house at the lake, as well as into her new office condo. Her son has come to work with her. He does testing-- a lucrative field, if ever there was one. I saw her with that Horrid Little Man, aka, Mr. Hyde, for those who know his alter ego, this evening. As always, it was a thoroughly unpleasant encounter.
She asked what she could do to help. Hm. A fleeting image of her being whacked upside the head by a wrecking ball on a 30=foot chain for saying such a ridiculous thing passed through my mind. What could she do to help? Whah, not a thang, dear. Not a single solitary thang. You've pocketed $140 two or three times a week, seeing her and her dad, and well, frankly, the wee one is more miserable than ever and he's about as bad as he ever was. You, however, have a new lake house. I suppose all of Mr Hyde's alter-ego's referrals are helping make the payments. What can you do to help? Not a damn thing.
The best of it all was the idea that we would have a meeting to "fill me in" without providing any relevant information, because, alas, she was now 18, and they couldn't do that without violating Hippa laws. So I asked what sort of track record this unnamed institution had with adolescents losing weight. Oh well, she didn't know; neither did he. She shared that she knew someone with an eating disorder who had gone there and "got better". So I asked how much weight did she lose? "Oh, well, (grimace/smile) she was (pause) an- or- ex- ic" (carefully and slowly pronounced, as if this were some sort of ancient mystery she was divulging). Oh, well, indeed. More extraneous and irrelevant information. How much does it cost? Oh, well, don't know that either-- but it doesn't matter! They will take insurance! They have a gym; they have a SPED on staff. (Specialist in Eating Disorders) What? An MD? No, of course not. Another bullshit designation to extract more insurance reimbursements. I asked just exactly what it was they were going to do to keep her from overeating-- was she going to be fed separately?Were they going to physically restrain her? Were they going to run over in the middle of a meal and snatch food off her plate? Oh, no! But they will be watching her, I was assured. As if that would make a gnat's ass worth of difference. They will note in the chart, "Patient ate 16 porkchops at dinner, and all the anorexic's pudding." The next day, the SPED will talk about what she was feeling while she ate the pork chops and the anorexic's pudding and will suggest that she only eat 15 pork chops next time and remember that the poor pitiful anorexics will die if they don't eat their pudding.
The psychiatrist will add some new drugs to her current pharmacopia to make sure she doesn't cause anyone any trouble. A little haloperidol is always a nice touch-- that speach impediment may go away someday, if she ever gets out. In the meantime, her anxiety levels will bottom out concommitant with her developing proficiency shuffling. That Horrid Little Man will be distressed and cry and beat his breast, and tell everyone how hard it is for him; he's another one who should have had a visit from the wrecking ball.
In the end, it's just immeasurably sad. The Wee One believes that somewhere over the rainbow a pink fairy can wave her magic wand and all of her dreams will come true. She thinks she can enter as a self-hating hideous blob and emerge a beautiful butterfly.
Not being a caterpillar to begin with poses something of a problem.
posted by Merrrrde at 9:05 PM
3 Comments:
I think what would be really good for the caterpilar at this point would be a little more real world experience, instead of intense insulation at some get-well program. And what really helps the weight thing, more than anything you can do with your diet much as I hate to admit this, is good-old-fashioned exercise. But I suppose it would be hard to make an 18-year old go to the gym.
I miss you. It would be nice to have someone here to make me dinner and talk about stuff with.
Also...you might want to contact the Ashley. I think she could use a fritter and some guidance, right about now.
Forever your favorite child,
--Andrew
Ma, that bit about the pudding was positively hilarious. I laughed out loud. And then, you know, I felt bad. So I reread it. And cracked up all over again. What else is to be done?
I always hated the Lake Lady, personally. All I have to say is that I hope That Horrid Little Man doesn't spend all his money buying her shiny new things. He's going to need that money to pay for his retirement home, because he goddamn well won't be staying with us.
I'm angry at the Wee One and I am just SICK TO DEATH of That Little Man. He calls me to whine these days...I suppose it means that he likes me again. Really, we shouldn't think this way. They aren't responsible for themselves--the Wee One most of all. They're sick.
At least they have each other, right?
I miss you so much. This is all so...just so awful, isn't it? When you think about it. It can really get you down. I'll keep you updated with everything that I know. Wish me luck with the car tomorrow.
All of my love, Always,
--The E
PS: W sends a hug. He also sends (with regards to THLM) an incredulous "Jesus, he's totally fucking crazy!" See, we're all in the same boat here. The same spider-infested, rusted-out, teal-(and rust)-colored rowboat. Bleh.
...so you should update.
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