Anguish, guilt, anger, fear, and hopelessness are words often used by mothers who suffer alongside a daughter with an eating disorder. Mothers care for the emotional, physical, and spiritual needs of their children, but who cares for them? Cathy Robinson watched her daughter starve herself until she was near death. The resulting helplessness was almost too much for a mother to bear. Making matters worse was the feeling that she was utterly alone in her guilt and pain. She needed others to identify with and help her through this difficult time. A Melody of Hope: Surviving Your Daughter's Eating Disorder features inspirational true stories written by mothers of daughters who have recovered from eating disorders; they seek to provide encouragement, hope, and support to mothers beginning their journey. Told with breathtaking honesty and insight, these stories represent some of the many experiences shared by these mothers. For a mother coming to terms with her daughter's illness, these stories represent a welcome community of understanding. "There are very few books that feature families, and fewer still recounting success stories. Far too many are stories written about the tragedy a family experiences when a family member dies as a result of the disorder, not about the much larger community that experiences success. Hope is what people need during those periods when it seems the disorder will never be overcome, and hope is what this book offers". -Bryan Gusdal, MA, Program founder/director, Westwind Eating Disorder Recovery Centre, Brandon, Manitoba

A Melody of Hope

Surviving Your Daughter's Eating DisorderBy Cathy Robinson

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Cathy Robinson
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-1190-2

Contents

Foreword by Ruth Dubois...........................................................xiIntroduction......................................................................xiiiChapter One.......................................................................1Slipping through My Fingers by Cathy Robinson.....................................1Chapter Two.......................................................................12Shooting Star by Patrice Skovgaard................................................12Chapter Three.....................................................................24Our Million-Dollar Family by Tina Kulifaj.........................................24Chapter Four......................................................................31Maybe the Bar Was too High by Jo-Ann Smith........................................31Chapter Five......................................................................41Just for Today, Do It for You by Dolores Elliott..................................41Chapter Six.......................................................................59This Too Shall Pass by Ruth Dubois................................................59Chapter Seven.....................................................................67A Daughter's Story: Mami, Can You Hear Me? by Denise Palacios.....................67Afterword.........................................................................77Glossary..........................................................................81Signs and Symptoms of Eating Disorders............................................82Resources.........................................................................84

Chapter One

Slipping through My FingersCathy Robinson

It was September 2009, and I was sitting in a chair outside thechange room of the bridal shop. Melody was trying on weddingdresses for her upcoming wedding. While I anxiously waited to seeher first selection, Melody's bridesmaids were chatting excitedly aboutthe piles of dresses she would try on. I was suddenly overwhelmedwith joy and gratitude, as there was a time when I could never haveimagined this scene. Melody suffered an eating disorder that nearlytook her life. I struggled to understand her pain but simply couldnot. Our family rode a turbulent roller coaster, and we wondered ifwe could survive this living hell. As I watched my daughter slowlyslipping away, I found solace in a song written by ABBA.

Slipping through My Fingers

Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time.

While humming the song in my head, I heard Melody announceshe was ready to show her first dress. When the curtain opened, Igasped, and tears immediately sprang into my eyes. She was beautifuland filled out the dress to perfection. There was no evidence of herformer disease—she was healthy and glowing. "Praise the Lord,"was all I could muster at that moment. I heard the ooohs and ahhhsfrom her bridal party and watched as Melody lapped up all the love.This was going to be a wonderful day! When she slipped into thedressing room to try on another dress, I couldn't help but thinkback to the time when the eating disorder reared its ugly head andnearly killed my precious daughter.

* * *

It was April 2005, and I was sitting in my home office. Icould hear Melody downstairs through the heating vent—she wasvomiting. I had heard her several times over the past few weeks. Itwas always the same pattern:

1. Huge meal consumed quickly

2. Hurried exit from kitchen

3. Bathroom door closes

4. Water running in the sink

5. Emerges red eyed and flushed

In the beginning, I pushed the thought of an eating disorder farfrom my mind. I thought, This is not happening to my daughter! ...This is not happening to our family! ... I am just imagining this ...She looks well ... She is not overly thin ... She seems happy ...

I sat staring at the heating vent and listening, but my heart waspounding so loudly that I couldn't hear anything. I could feel mybreathing getting faster ... and a lump formed in my throat ...I couldn't swallow ... my mouth was suddenly very dry ... myhands were shaking ... I didn't want to hear this ... I wanted to rundownstairs and tell her to stop it ... but I didn't ... I couldn't faceit or her or this horrible reality ... instead, I just sat and listenedand fought back tears.

I heard myself murmur, "Please, God, make her stop this. Healher body and mind. Help her love herself." I rambled on and on inmy head ... I didn't know what I was saying or if it made sense.I did know that this disease kills young women, and now it hasattacked my daughter. Oh God no!

I felt alone and terrified and powerless ... I remember praying,God, please take care of this. I can't do it alone.

* * *

My mind came back to the present as Melody emerged to revealanother wedding dress. More ooohs and ahhhs ... it was hard tobelieve that she was even more beautiful in this gown. I couldn'tcontain myself and jumped up to hug her. Her bridesmaids weregushing and declared that this was the "one," but Melody washaving too much fun to stop. There was a row of gowns, and shewas determined to try them all on. She headed into the dressingroom, and again, my mind wandered back in time—this time, toMelody's birth in 1987.

* * *

She was a beautiful, quiet tiny baby. I loved holding her. Withblonde hair and blue eyes, she looked just like her older sisters. As atoddler, she was very shy and quiet and clung to me when we wentout. She did not seem to adjust well when her younger sister wasborn and constantly competed for my attention.

When my husband passed away in 1996, I was left with fourchildren. My daughters were devastated, and I was emotionallyunavailable to help them through their grief, as I was exhausted andtired from working overtime to pay the bills and care for the girls.

My daughters had to be self-reliant, and I know Melody struggledwith this much more deeply than her sisters. She needed more ofme than I could give. She became an anxious teenager and rarelystepped out of her comfort zone to try new activities or projects. Shewas moody and yelled at lot ... "No!" she screamed a lot, and hersisters avoided her at all costs. Melody was diagnosed with clinicaldepression and anxiety at age sixteen. Her family doctor said shewas sad about losing her dad and was afraid that I might die too.She became very vigilant and hovered at my bedside whenever I wassick. Every time I rolled over in bed, there was her anxious, worriedface looking at me.

"Do you want some water, Mom? ... You have to eat thesandwich I made, or you won't get well ... Do you need some pills,Mom? ... Mom, I think you should go to the doctor."

I quickly recognized that I could not show any signs of illness,tiredness, or weakness, as Melody became anxious, moody, andscreamed at everyone in the house. I learned to plaster a smile onmy face to show that I was well. Again, the lyrics in the ABBA songflooded my mind and were eerily poignant.

Slipping through My Fingers

What happened to the wonderful adventures
The places I had planned for us to go
Well, some of that we did but most we didn't
And why I just don't know.

While sitting at my desk reminiscing about Melody's childhood,I felt God nudging me. You have to deal with this, Cathy, now! She issick and needs you.

I pleaded with God, I can't. I don't know what to do. I don't wantto deal with this right now. I don't know what to say. I don't want totell anyone.

I didn't want to tell our family doctor, as she was like a friendto me. She thought I had done amazingly well since my husbandpassed away, so how could I tell her? She would think badly of meand wonder how I let this happen. She would silently judge me.

I didn't want to tell my family, as they had always told me toslow down. They had encouraged me to spend more time with thegirls and would throw my busy lifestyle in my face.

I didn't want to tell my church, as they would judge me andgossip about me all in the name of prayer. They would say, "If you hadprayed enough, this would not have happened to your daughter."

I didn't want to tell my nursing colleagues, as I would be oneof those parents we had silently judged. I would be that controllingmother who caused her daughter to rebel against the control andstarve herself ... and I just couldn't take that pain!

* * *

I remember walking slowly out to the kitchen and waitingfor Melody to come back upstairs. I was sweating. My heart waspounding so hard that my chest hurt. I was shaking uncontrollably.I felt sick to my stomach. I panicked when I heard her come up thestairs. Melody walked into the kitchen; and I murmured a silentprayer, asking for the strength, courage, and wisdom to confronther. I wanted to run away. I wanted to leave it for another time,when I had more courage. I knew that once the words were said,there was no turning back! I do not feel strong enough for this. Why doI have to do this alone? Why do we have to go through this at all, God?Why us? We had been through enough.

I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat ... I took a deepbreath and quickly blurted out, "Melody, we need to talk. I don'twant you to deny it because I know it's true. You have been throwingup and have lost a lot of weight." There, I said it. No turning back. Itook another deep breath and swallowed and said, "I want to helpyou."

Melody stared at me for a moment and then burst into tears. "Ihave been trying to stop, but I can't. I'm scared, Mom."

I was stunned! I was expecting yelling, stomping out of theroom, denial—not a vulnerable, scared, and crying child. Nowwhat was I supposed I do? Instead of my mother's instinct kickingin, my nursing experience took over, and Melody and I talkedabout the importance of eating and getting vitamins into her body.I was comfortable in my nursing role, and I needed comfort at thatmoment.

Melody agreed to go to the doctor for a full checkup and haveher weight recorded. She also agreed to sit at the table with me forall meals and wait thirty minutes before going downstairs or into abathroom. We hugged and spent the afternoon shopping for foodsshe liked and supplements she needed. I believed I could handlethis alone. I decided not to tell anyone except our family doctor andhoped all this would be behind us before all the relatives arrived forMelody's high school graduation in the following two months. Ibelieved everything would be okay.

Melody continued to lose weight despite my vigilance andcontrol and was referred to a psychologist. Extended family membersarrived for her high school graduation and began discussing Melody'sthin body. I brushed it off and said she was just stressed and foundmyself changing the subject whenever her weight was brought up.When the graduation ceremonies were over and everyone wenthome, I was relieved, as the stress of lying and making excuses aboutMelody's weight became unbearable.

Melody's weight dropped significantly after her graduation,and she began displaying bizarre behaviors like opening up cansof food and hiding them in cupboards. I discovered this when wedeveloped a problem with ants. I screamed whenever I opened acupboard, as ants were swarming all over the open food. The smellin the kitchen was sickening, as there was rotten and decaying foodhidden behind dishes and cans. My other daughters were disgustedand started eating meals at their friends' homes. I spent hours cryingwhile hunting for rotten food, cleaning the cupboards, and sprayingthe bugs. Melody wouldn't talk about it. She said it was part of hereating disorder, and I had to deal with it. I remember thinking, Isit possible to hate your own child? I struggled with this thought dailyas she became more belligerent in our conversations and continuedto lose weight.

By September 2005, Melody refused to go to the doctor orpsychologist anymore; and I was powerless to do anything, as shewas eighteen years old and able to make her own decisions. I wasliving with a seething anger and an overwhelming fear that we werelosing the battle. Our home was a war zone, and no one wanted tobe there, myself included. I began working more and more hoursper week. I just couldn't face the horror at home. I sensed I wasthrowing in the towel; and I couldn't even pray for help, as I wasworn out physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I stopped crying. Istopped visiting friends, and I sank into a deep depression.

On a cold November day, Melody walked past me, and I gasped!She was a human skeleton! I clamped my hand over my mouthto keep from screaming out loud from the shock. She looked likedeath ... I silently screamed, God, please help her! I ran into myroom, fell on my knees beside my bed, and cried like I have nevercried before ... weeping, wailing, sobbing, which seemed to lastfor hours. With my heart breaking, I thought, My daughter is goingto die, and I can't go on without her. I began to pray and bargain theday away. God, let me die instead or let her live, and I'll help otherssuffering with this disease. Whatever you want me to do, I will do it.Just please, God, don't take her from me.

It was at this time I finally realized I had to start being openand honest about her disease and look for the support we needed.I knew that if I didn't, she would die! I took a deep breath, silentlyprayed for courage, and phoned my pastor. I was amazed at receivingcompassion and encouragement instead of judgment. I admitted tohim that I was very scared and depressed. This was tough for meto admit, as I was an intensely private person. It was then that mypastor shared with me that his child had suffered an eating disorderas well but was now completely recovered and doing well in life. Icouldn't believe it! That meant there was hope for Melody too!

Using my newfound courage, I phoned a close friend and askedif we could go for a walk. I shared with her about Melody's eatingdisorder, and she hugged me and said, "You have been a great mom.This is not your fault." Relief rushed over me. She didn't condemnme or blame me or admonish me for working too much. I began torealize how important support was! My family and friends becamemy lifeline, and they built me up whenever I got scared or worried.I was able to be around Melody and find joy in little things.

I convinced Melody to go back to the doctor and was alarmedto discover that her weight had plummeted to a dangerous level.Her blood pressure was perilously low, and her heartbeat wasirregular and very slow. The doctor said she needed to be admittedto the hospital. Melody had not eaten anything in three days andhad had no water for twenty-four hours. She was crying but refusedto go to the hospital because she didn't want to be force-fed or takemedication. I was powerless to make the decision, so I took Melodyhome.

We lay down on my bed, and I held her in my arms. She wasso weak and pale. I was afraid to close my eyes and sleep in caseshe would die before I woke up. I just lay there and stared at her.Tears were spilling down my face. I offered her a sip of water—no,I begged her to take a sip of water.

"I can't, Mom, I can't."

"Please, Melody, just a little. Please ... for me."

"It hurts, Mom, I can't."

My heart was breaking, and I was trying desperately to hold onto my faith. While Melody slept, I called my pastor, and he sent anurgent prayer request throughout the church. I cried and cried andprayed and began bargaining again with God.

Please, God, let her live . . . I will do whatever you want me to do ... I'm begging, please, God!

The next morning, while I was pacing in the living room andpraying, Melody walked out of the bedroom and started crying."Mom, I need help. Help me." I was shocked, elated, hopeful,scared. Again, I found solace in the lyrics from ABBA.

Continues...

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