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Hunger Games

“Ketones,” the doctor said as she stuck a popsicle stick down on my tongue. I looked at her with confusion.

“They kind of have a sweetish sour smell.”

“Oh, well I just put on some lip balm,” I said, showing her my Bonne Bell “Share a Strawberry” lip balm. It was a kind of funky smell for supposedly being strawberry.

“No, it’s not your lip balm, Shelby.” I tucked my thin hair behind my ear, still confused. “They have a distinct smell. In other words, I can smell your organs eating at each other on your breath.”

What??? My thoughts ran wild in my brain. What are you talking about, lady? You are way too fat for this. No, it’s not happening. She’s lying to you. She doesn’t want you to be skinny—that’s why she weighed you backwards. Too bad I peeked. 94. Failure. What the hell is wrong with you, Shelby? Get a freaking grip… god!!

“Are you still cutting?” she asked me, interrupting my thoughts. Like I’m really gonna tell her. She’s my pediatrician, not my head shrink. I have one of those already.

“No,” I scowl at her, tucking my right arm behind my back. Maybe.

And here comes the great lecture:

“Shelby, you passed out at school and didn’t tell anyone for 2 days. This is serious.” What’s serious are those 700 really bad botoxes you have gotten.

“You need to start getting your blood taken biweekly. If you pass out again, you’re going to inpatient. No exceptions.” She rips off the pink paper for me to go get my labs done.

I leave, masked with shame. Thanks, anorexia.



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Taliacat13 said...
Apr. 23, 2011 at 6:09 pm:
Thank you for posting.
 
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