The quirkiness of this life (at times more aptly named irony) continues to baffle me. By 4 p.m. yesterday I was in bed, fully clothed, watching the Travel Channel, totally resigned to staying there until someone forced me out. I didn't have the strength to do anything more than brood between the blankets. My entrance counselor hadn't called yet so I was facing the prospect of another week of waiting, and this time I hadn't filled my schedule with artificial busy-ness. So I was going to bed and screw Namaste and I wasn't hungry and good luck trying to move me.

Then, my phone rang. The voice on the other side said that a spot had opened and I could be admitted the next day if I was ready. If I was ready. I stammered through the rest of the call, glancing at the clock. Almost 5 o'clock. Are you smiling?

Then I became temporarily paralyzed. One moment ago I was committed to horizontal defiance and now I wanted to jump up and get prepared but I couldn't seem to break the sheets that had transformed to steel during the course of my conversation. The cranial vortex of to-do items multiplied, choking me. This was it, I was finally going to go, and I was very, very scared. I looked up yoga schedules for the morning, committing to the intense weighted class and maybe a second class after. Two hours would suffice.

I decided not to go to yoga this morning. The old Emily would have gone to the weighted class, dealt with the stress of this morning by working out, and then tried to pack/shower/get to the clinic in a stressed, frenzied fashion, never pausing to actually think. The old Emily wouldn't have taken the time to blog or enjoy these last cups of coffee (they limit us to one a day!). As soon as I woke up, I knew that weighted yoga was the old Emily and that there were much better ways for me to spend these arduous hours. Decision One to be Proud of Today.

Many of you have been asking about the logistics of the treatment process. I don't know many details; I started to look at other blogs of patients past, but decided against it. This is my journey and we all know the danger of expectations. I'll tell you what I do know:
1.) There's no set time for treatment. My loose plan is to be in residential for a few weeks until I've gained sufficient weight. Thereafter I will slowly move toward a normal living situation, probably moving back in with my parents and being in treatment all day. Then, maybe 4 days of treatment, then I can intern/ work again and go to treatment at night, then exercise a couple times a week, then teach classes, etc. By my guesstimations I will be dedicated to this process for just about the next year of my life. If in a year I can say I've kept on the weight, that I'm not obsessing about food, and that I've got a happy, healthy, flexible exercise schedule, then I've accomplished my goals. Next step: "Bienvenidos a Chile!"

Many of you have said, "You'll be out of there in no time; you're strong and I know you can get over this ASAP." Your words are super encouraging but not quite in line with how I want to take on this process. This is an adventure, another "temple," and it deserves its due time and respect. I will only do this once in my life so I want to do it right. Luckily, insurance covers everything, so I plan on letting life dictate it's own end points. In reality, I will be battling the demons of obsession my whole life. I, like so many others, have got the bug, and there's no shot for this strain.

2.) Treatment consists of forcing me to sit down all day, eat three meals with snacks in between, and spend the day in different group and personal therapy sessions. We will cover many topics of eating disorders, interpersonal and intrapersonal alike, and we get to do things like art and a little yoga. I will have a personal therapist, a family therapist, and a dietitian. It kind of sounds like preschool. Which is exactly what I want.

I am very good at making decisions. In fact, I decided that I only wanted to eat healthy and that I wanted to be in the best shape possible and a year later I'm still deciding that every hour, every second, every minute. I do what I say I will do. But when do I say I won't do? In going into treatment I'm forced to put my decisions in the hands of others, to give myself up to them. I'm forced to trust them. And I'm forced to relax in that trust. This is the challenge, the lesson in letting go. I'm excited (and not excited at all. But mostly excited. Right now. I think.).

3.) Treatment isn't pretty. One of the things I'm least excited about is the "re-feeding process," something akin to stuffing me like a Thanksgiving turkey. Every single patient goes through this yucky stage where their belly and face gain weight first, and it can take months for the weight to redistribute. Exercise doesn't help. You've got to suck it up and let it hang out. I mentioned to my mom that it might be funny to take pictures of it, like an expectant mother. She said that this wasn't funny at all. I understand, but I'd like to point out that this is likely the only bun-in-the-oven she'll get from me. Still, I've decided to forgo the "stages of growth" album. Try not to be too let down.

4.) I will have access to communication. I can bring my laptop and cell phone and use them during designated hours. E-mail is the best way to reach me and reading this blog is the best way to stay informed. While in residential care I will have family visiting hours that I think anyone can attend (my parents will have more information on this). Per their usual level of unprecedented support, my parents have offered to field calls and questions when I'm unreachable. Feel free to contact them.

In closing, I'd like to again express my gratitude for all of your support. I have received e-mails from families and individuals, from former employers to friends who I can't believe are still willing to be my friends considering the level at which I alienated myself from them. Even though I sometimes don't have the energy to respond to your e-mails and calls, I want you to know that every inspiring word is like an energy-shot to my soul. I wish I could say "thank-you" enough.

Stay tuned! It's 5 o'clock, somewhere, and the drama's about the unfold...