December 19th, 2008
There is one upside to being so sick I can’t eat: I appear to have lost about four pounds, thus reaching the goal weight that has eluded me for the last two years. Perhaps I should patent this process? “The Cholera Diet,” I could call it, “Where You Shit and Puke The Weight Out! Four Pounds in One Week Guaranteed!”
In addition to feeling constantly on the verge of barfing, I seem to have lost my ability to endogenously thermoregulate. I alternate between too cold (icy toes and fingers!) and too effin’ hot (sweating!), sometimes at the same time (icy toes and fingers and sweaty torso! Wheee!). I engage in complex manouvers to add or remove layers and have achieved a workable system: I wear permanently a tank top and jammy bottoms. Socks added/removed as required, robe added/removed as required, quilt added/removed as required. Sometimes I wander over to the fireplace for some direct blast heating, but this is tricky because I have to remove the robe to do this (otherwise it could catch fire, and I’m not that cold), thus exposing more skin to the cold air. But also the fireplace heat. You see the dilemma? The tub is heater of last resort, because hot water makes me feel even barfier (but also very toasty) and now my skin is all itchy from overbathing in the dry air, and moisturizer is not helping.
Also, how do anorexics get through their day? I am weak as a kitten for lack of food. It’s hard to walk around the apartment. I have taken to whining my needs aloud, which happily has the result that Husband fetches for me so I can continue to just lie on the couch like a wet noodle, listlessly flipping through the shows on our hard drives for entertainment. I am too sick to read.
Off to watch Inspector Morse…