11. The Result of What We Have Thought

"All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become." --The Dhammapada

Jen sat on a bench in a tiny staff office, holding an icepack against her right side with her left hand. Paula had spent the last ten minutes filling out injury report paperwork at a little desk that was crammed into the back corner of the room. The doctor, who had introduced herself as Camilla, sat next to Jen on the bench, flipping through a magazine about decorating houses that had been lying on one of the nearby treadmills. Jen wished that she had gotten a magazine, too, to distract her from the pain in her side, the throbbing in her head, and Paula’s officious interrogation as she filled out her form. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the page Camilla was reading. It said “Simplify your life” in large letters, and featured a number of hooks and cubbies that could be installed in one’s hallway. The colors on the page were soothing, turquoise and cream-colored, as though these were the only colors of jackets and sweaters owned by the residents of the hallway.

Bending intently over her paperwork and chewing on the end of a pen, Paula grilled Jen on the specifics of her accident. “You were doing the pose, and then what happened?” she asked.

“The room started spinning,” said Jen. It was still difficult to get a deep breath, so she spoke quietly. “And I guess I fell.” She tried to give the most feasible, and shortest, version of the story possible. She hoped Paula and Camilla wouldn’t probe further, because she herself wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. She didn’t feel that she had lost consciousness; in fact, she still felt fairly certain that she had floated, as unlikely as that sounded. Floated like Icarus, and then like Icarus, failed to reach her goal and crashed to the ground and broke her body. She had almost been there. But where was she going? What had she been about to discover? What was her mind and body about to give birth to? She felt overwhelmed by these questions, restless and anxious to know what was happening to her.

The room seemed to speed and blur like a spaceship launching into warp speed. She was disoriented now, but she had the strong perception that she was about to emerge into some great realization, some moment of clarity.

“Did you faint?” Paula asked.

Jen had never fainted before, so she didn’t know what it felt like. Still, she was fairly certain that she hadn’t fainted.

“I guess,” she said, remembering that the simplest explanation was usually the most persuasive.

“Okay,” said Paula. She leaned over the paper, muttering the words aloud as she wrote. “Client saw room spinning, then fell. May have fainted.”

“She fainted,” said Camilla matter-of-factly, confirming Jen’s hunch that this was the simplest and most feasible explanation. In fact, Camilla sounded so certain that for a moment, Jen began to doubt her own version of the story. Perhaps she had in fact fainted. And if so, why would she faint? What was her body doing?

Lifting her head a little further from the sheet of paper, Paula began to read a series of easier questions aloud to Jen. Jen tried to answer in whatever way would get her out of this office the fastest. Becky was coming to pick her up, and Jen wanted to leave as soon as she got here.

“Do you have any medical condition that you have not disclosed on your membership forms?”

“No,” said Jen, who didn’t remember filling out any membership forms; Paula must have done it for her to simplify things when Jen first started attending her classes.

“Do you feel light-headed or dizzy?” Paula asked.

“No,” lied Jen, not wanting Paula or Camilla to know how the room was spinning and whirring around her.

Paula checked a little box on the sheet. “Not dizzy,” she said to herself. She looked up at Jen kindly. “Well, that’s good. You’re feeling better,” she said, finally sounding more like a friend than a triage nurse on the late shift.

“Uh huh,” said Jen.

Paula lowered her head back to her sheet and squinted at it. “Um…” she said, searching for her place. “When was your last menstrual period?” she asked.

There was a moment of silence as Jen tried to remember. When had it been? She had a vague memory of some time that seemed like at least a couple of months ago. Jen couldn’t remember any landmarks that would allow her to map time. The last major event she could remember was…

It was finding out about Skipper and the sex parties. Since then, time had been a succession of similar days, broken only by the daily routines of yoga and not-yoga, fasting and not-fasting. She couldn’t remember any dates, any specific events since then.

Abruptly the spinning in the room stopped, and Jen felt she had arrived at her destination. The room, which had seemed so dingy and dark and vague a moment ago, took on the intricate and surreal detail of a Chagall painting. Jen could see not only the colors of the adobe pink walls, the gray stainless steel desk, Paula’s moss-green pants and tawny matted hair, but the secondary colors that lay behind them, the underlying pink in the green pants, and the deep red tones buried in the peachiness of Paula’s arm as she held the pen poised above the paper. It was beautiful, she thought, but scary.

She needed to think now. But Paula and Camilla were both staring at her and she did not want to betray her thoughts to them.

“What’s today?” asked Jen, stalling for time, although truthfully she only had a vague sense of what month it was.

“May tenth,” said Paula.

“Then it must have been…April twenty-fifth,” said Jen, trying to choose a date approximately two weeks earlier.

“You sure?” asked Camilla skeptically, turning to look her up and down, as though Jen’s lie were somehow obvious to read on her body.

“Uh, not exactly,” said Jen. “I could be a few days off.”

“April twenty-fifth,” Paula muttered as she wrote. She turned to look at Jen. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “This is just to cover their asses.” She waved dismissively towards the door, indicating the rest of the health club outside. “Just don’t sue me,” she added, in a tone that was jovial on its surface but hard and serious below.

“So we’re done?” asked Jen impatiently. She was hoping the two of them would leave her alone to wait for Becky, as unlikely as that seemed. She suddenly had things that she needed to think about, and she needed to be alone.

“Not quite,” said Paula, wheeling the rolling chair around to face Jen. Camilla closed her magazine with a decisive slap and placed it on the floor next to the bench.

Oh no, thought Jen, sensing a joint sense of purpose between the two women that could only mean they were about to launch an intervention. Oh not now, please, she prayed to herself silently. She remembered the talk Becky had given her about moving to Michigan, and she had the feeling that this one would be even less pleasant. I need quiet, I need to think, she wanted to tell them, but she did not want to be rude to the people who had been helping her for the half-hour since her fall.

“We were talking while you were in the bathroom,” said Paula. “And I’ve been thinking, and Camilla was saying the same thing I was thinking, which was…” Paula’s voice was nervous and shaky. She turned to Camilla. “You’ll say it better,” Paula said.

Jen turned towards Camilla, who was so close to her on the tiny bench that Jen could see light makeup glistening on her eyelids. The position made Jen feel that they were about to kiss, or share an intimate secret. Hesitantly, she turned back towards Paula, feeling impolite to not face Camilla as she spoke.

Camilla didn’t seem to mind. Her tone was dispassionate and businesslike. “It’s not normal to break a bone from a small fall like that,” she said in the sanctimonious voice doctors use as they tell you that something is very wrong with your body. Jen remembered her gynecologist checking up on the STD Bradley had given her just before she kicked him out: “This infection isn’t clearing as fast as it should be,” she said, her scolding tone indicating how bitterly Jen’s immune system had let her down.

“I’ve seen you on TV, not too long ago, and you already appeared underweight. But you’ve clearly lost a lot of weight even since then, and it’s weakening your bones,” Camilla continued. “I would expect you’re experiencing early stages of osteoporosis.”

Jen’s sickly feeling of shame at this speech reminded her distinctly of being a teenager. It was the feeling of exposure, of scrutiny, of feeling your body as something you were always failing to control properly. She was surprised to find that someone could provoke this emotion in her adult self, through the same means, telling her that her body was wrong. The funny thing was, Jen was feeling increasingly certain that she wasn’t going to have this body much longer; that it was going to change drastically and very, very soon.

She wanted to tell them to stop their speech, because things were going to be different now. There would be no more fasting for her; she would eat, every day, three meals with lots of protein and vitamins. She would even eat fat; she would find out what those “good fats” were that people were always talking about and she would eat them even if their greasy smell made her want to throw up. She would need to figure out how to get some exercise that wouldn’t hurt her rib.

Thinking of Camilla’s words, she decided that one thing she would not do was go to the doctor to hear another lecture. At least not now. She would wait for a few weeks, a month, until her body was strong and healthy.

“You need help to return to a healthy eating regimen,” said Camilla. “I can recommend a dietician and a psychologist, and you should probably be in some kind of support group as well.”

Noting Jen’s silent reaction, Paula chimed in to support Camilla.

“Groundbreakers has a group all about eating disorders—‘Sturdy Foundations,’” she said. Jen cringed inwardly at most of the words in this sentence. “It’s about mind-havoc, about not having to live up to someone else’s idea of what your body should look like.”

Like what you’re doing to me right now, Jen thought, but she lacked the motivation to state this obvious point aloud. It must have shown on her face, because Paula’s voice came to a halting stop and she looked embarrassed.

“Listen,” she said, wheeling her chair closer to Jen. Paula leaned in close and put her hand on Jen’s knee. Jen stiffened at the touch, then winced as this movement shot a pang into her tight, throbbing right side.

She looked up, annoyed. Then as her gaze reached Paula’s face she saw that her eyes were red and sad, and she was biting her lip. Jen waited for what Paula was going to say.

Before Paula could speak, Becky burst through the office door. In her tidy leggings and ballet-dancer top, she made a striking contrast to Paula’s untamed clothes and hair. Jen felt a sudden wave of relief that Becky was here to take care of her, as she always had. Becky was used to her, would know when to speak and when to be quiet, would leave her alone with her thoughts so she could sort through the ideas that were spinning through her head. Paula wheeled her chair away from Jen and back towards the desk to make room for Becky in the tiny office; even so, Becky’s legs remained outside the room as she leaned her torso into the doorway.

“Oh honey, are you okay?” exclaimed Becky, bending towards Jen as though she were about to hug her. Seeing Jen tense, Becky seemed to remember Jen’s injury, and she lifted her back to its usual impeccably straight posture, scooting her legs just inside the doorframe.

“Hey Becky,” said Paula, her conversational address seeming too casual for the situation at hand. “Do you remember what happened when I first came to L.A. and I wanted to lose weight?” she asked.

Preoccupied with Jen’s condition, Becky didn’t seem to register the oddness of this question. “Of course I remember,” said Becky, a distracted note of distain in her voice. “You almost killed yourself with nasty diet pills. You were in the hospital for two weeks and your mom had to fly out from Michigan and they were feeding you through a tube in your nose.”

Jen looked over at Paula, trying to shoot her a look of apology for her earlier sullenness. But Paula had stood up and was introducing Becky to Camilla, who also rose to shake Becky’s hand. As Jen sat eye-level with their stomachs, the three women began to discuss Jen’s rib. Above her head, Jen heard Camilla recommend a little clinic that could see Jen immediately, a low-profile place for Jen to get an x-ray.

As she stared at their stomachs and listened to their conversation, Jen began to panic. I can’t go to the doctor, she thought to herself, frantically. And worse, she couldn’t get an x-ray. She needed to go home, to think, to figure out what was going on with her body. She couldn’t bear to speak to one more doctor until she had sorted things out in her own mind. She began to devise a plan. It would all depend on how Becky responded to her once they were alone in the car. If Becky was angry, Jen would distract her. If Becky was sorry, Jen would guilt her.

Becky threw Jen’s bag over her shoulder and led her by the hand through the crowded health club lobby. Paula and Camilla followed them to the front doors, huddling close so that the three women formed a tight, protective circle around Jen that only drew more attention to her. Holding the icepack to her right side with her left hand and stumbling a bit from dizziness and pain, she noticed identical health-club women turning their heads, men with gelled hair looking and then looking again, startled expressions on their tanned faces.

Becky’s tiny car was parked at the red curb just outside the sliding doors. Jen saw something large and fleshy pressed against the rear window, and realized that Chase was filling up the entire back seat, his arm and shoulder crammed into the inside wall of the car.

“We were getting pedicures when you called,” Becky said, as though by way of apology for Chase’s presence.

“Hi,” said Chase in a concerned tone once Jen had lowered herself awkwardly into the low front seat, balancing on her left hand while she pinned the ice pack protectively under her right elbow. Becky was talking to Paula and Camilla out on the sidewalk. Jen could just see their legs and abdomens through the open car door.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Chase asked.

“Not so bad,” said Jen. Her side was numb from the ice but throbbing, and it seemed to be radiating a piercing ache down the side of her hip and up into her shoulder.

“That’s good,” said Chase. The two of them sat silently, waiting for Becky to get into the car. It was unusual for Chase to be so quiet, but Jen was glad to finally have a moment to focus on her game plan. Distraction or guilt, she repeated to herself, hoping that the unforeseen complication of Chase’s presence wouldn’t mess things up for her.

After a minute, the three women’s torsos all began to move. Becky circled the front of the car, while Paula and Camilla walked up to Jen’s open car door. Paula bent down to lean into the car and squeeze Jen’s free left hand. “Take care,” she said, giving Jen a little worried smile. “I’ll call later and see how it went.”

“Take that ice off when you get to the clinic,” Camilla called, lowering her head a bit to aim her voice into the car.

Paula shut Jen’s door as Becky was securing herself in the driver’s seat. She pulled away from the curb, swerving aggressively around a corpulent sports utility vehicle that was also parked illegally.

“So the clinic is in Beverly Hills,” said Becky, looking over at Jen with a sheepish smile that seemed to serve as an apology for ignoring Jen for the last month. She’s sorry, thought Jen. I’ll use guilt.

“I don’t want to go to the doctor,” said Jen.

“What?” said Becky, looking over her shoulder as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the wide boulevard, which looked like unadulterated lifeless pavement and stucco despite the palm trees growing up a hundred feet out of the center divide.

“I just want to go home,” said Jen.

“God damn it,” yelled Becky, as a pick-up truck swerved in front of her. Jen heard Chase gasp in the seat behind her. A sharp pang shot through Jen’s right side like a seam ripping. She focused on keeping her breath even and shallow, and the pain retreated back to its earlier dull throbbing.

“Sorry, honey. What did you say?” Becky asked.

“I want to go home,” Jen repeated, gasping a little.

“Paula and that doctor lady said you’re supposed to get an x-ray,” Becky said.

“They said that it’s broken and that there’s nothing they can do for it. The doctor is just going to tell me to rest it. And I’m so tired. I just want to go home and sleep. I think that would be better for me.”

“I don’t know,” said Becky, hesitantly, clearly torn between her desire to follow Paula’s directions and her own inclination to avoid going to doctors. Despite the pain and fatigue in her body, Jen mustered her strength to exploit Becky’s moment of weakness.

“We can go the clinic tomorrow,” said Jen. “We can make an appointment and then it won’t be so crazy.”

“That might be easier,” chimed in Chase, who was clearly more of a pushover than Becky. His voice sounded tired and less enthusiastic than usual. Jen wondered for a moment why he was so subdued, before reminding herself that she needed to focus on the task at hand.

“I think it’s too much to go the doctor right now,” Jen pressed on. “I just want to go home and have dinner and go to bed.”

“You want to eat dinner?” Becky asked, sounding shocked. “What have you been eating, anyway? You’re never at home. I’ve been buying you salad stuff but you’ve hardly eaten any of it.”

Jen felt the urge to argue. But she realized that she should instead try to capitalize on this new, and hopefully distracting, train of thought.

“And honey,” Becky continued, “You look so skinny. It’s not healthy. Paula and the doctor said that’s why you broke your rib.”

“I was doing a fast, but I’m going to stop now,” Jen said. This was the precise moment to stick the knife in. “I’m actually pretty hungry. We should go home and make some food.”

“Okay,” said Becky, in her let’s-make-a-deal voice. “I’ll take you home if you eat a decent dinner before you go to bed. I get to pick what you’re eating.”

Jen felt a wave of relief wash over her. This was why she loved Becky so much, she thought to herself. Becky always knew what was good for her. Becky was going to take her home because she could tell that what Jen needed was not a doctor but a nutritious meal and a good night’s sleep. Of course, now Jen would have to actually eat said meal; hopefully it would be something her stomach could tolerate after her long fast.

Within an hour, Jen was back home in her kitchen, watching Becky and Chase cook dinner as she sat on a stool, wrapped in a designer quilt that Becky had brought from one of the guest rooms. Jen had removed the ice pack as soon as she arrived home, but her insides felt impossibly cold. She could feel her teeth starting to chatter, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her.

“You need to start out with something light if you’ve been fasting,” Becky said to Jen, lecturing while she chopped as though she were on a cooking show. “But you’ve got to have protein and calcium to help your bones heal. And since your body is chilled, it should be something warm.”

Chase was also chopping vegetables, but his back was turned to Jen; she could see his giant trapezius muscles shifting under his t-shirt as he worked. Jen realized that she had never seen Chase speak so little, and she wondered again if something might be bothering him. But the stress of worrying about him made her stomach hurt, and she was going to need every ounce of appetite she could muster for the meal that Becky was describing to her as she prepared it.

“So I’m making whole wheat couscous with vegetables and chick peas. It’ll be warm tonight but then you can eat it cold tomorrow, too. I’m going to put just a tiny bit of chicken in it too, but not too much because it’ll be heavy on your stomach. And there’s a yogurt sauce, which I want you to eat a lot of because that’s where most of the calcium is, but there’s some in the vegetables, too.”

This description, lovely as it may have been on an objective level, made Jen queasy. She was going to have to eat all kinds of things that had been off-limits for the last month. Not just tonight, but all the time, for as long as her body needed it. Jen sighed in resignation, thinking of the piles and mountains of food that lay ahead of her and the chore of eating it all.

“Can you put some lemon in the couscous?” she asked.

Lying in bed that night, Jen had to try a number of positions before she could rest comfortably. After trying her back and then moving to her side, she finally decided that her back would be best, but only if she kept her right arm spread at a right angle from her body. Her side still throbbed, despite the little oval-shaped pill Becky had fed her with her meal. And her stomach felt heavy and sick from so much food. Becky had served her almost a full plate, and would not let her leave the table until she ate two-thirds of it. But at the same time, Jen felt oddly warm, happy, and excited. Her bed felt surprisingly soft and comfortable, like a warm cocoon that would nurture her body back to its full strength. Maybe even more than her full strength; maybe she would emerge stronger than she had ever been, tougher and more resilient, a warrior. She pulled her left hand over her stomach, being careful not to jostle her ribcage. There were new things happening inside of her, new things growing inside of her. She wanted to be in a new, fresh place where she didn’t know anybody and where nobody would bother her. She wanted to make decisions on her own, to focus on herself without anyone else’s judgment and scrutiny.

That was it! To punctuate her realization, Jen’s right arm involuntarily slapped the sheet below it, causing her to wince in pain. “I’m going to Michigan,” she said decisively to herself, aloud.

She must have said it loudly, because she heard Becky’s voice answer her from the hall. “What’s that?” Becky yelled through the closed door.

In defiance of the pain in her side, Jen mustered all of her limited breath to yell back. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” she shouted at the door.

Chapter 12:
http://kickoutofyou.blogspot.com/2008/09/12-strange-life.html