I do not know what went wrong. I was sitting in the waiting area, laughing at my partner’s lame impersonation of the very mean looking Physiotherapist that was stomping through the ward one minute, and the next, I sat in the Dietitian’s office unable to speak more than three words. She was a lovely woman, Irish and very kind.
She asked what brings me to see her. I had no idea that she was going to ask that question. I thought she would have been told with my referral. I am still not sure if she was unaware of the reasons for my appointment. I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out, just unrecognisable, unhelpful noises.
You see, my secret worry is that I do not believe that I am thin. I think I am average weight for my petite stature, so, how can I look a Doctor in the eye and ask for help for a problem that I do not believe that I have. That makes sense in my head, but like most of my thoughts, it sounds like a load of head-work when someone echoes it back to me. My problem, to me, is not my weight. I could weigh two stone and still have the voices of echololia which chant and bully my mind,
She worked out what it was that I was trying to say, somehow, and explained that the reason I was referred was to be guided into a healthy diet to gain weight. I knew it! It was everything I dreaded. I sat, speechless for a moment. She looked into my eyes and told me that she does not think I am ready and that I need to see a Psychologist before a dietitian. She asked if I would be happier that way and with a reassuring but un-keep-able promise, I legged it.
My appointment with the psychologist is in five days time. I dread that most of all.