We made it to the hospital, and sat in a waiting room for people who were considered to be “acute” apparently. Yeah, because somehow I was acute. I really can’t justify any reason why I’d be considered acute, but Robin wouldn’t let me argue. The bed I had to lay in wasn’t the most comfortable, with my bones digging into it really uncomfortably and forcing me to adjust every couple minutes. I guess a normal waiting room’s far harder chairs would’ve been a lot worse though.

“Bed must be uncomfortable,” Robin remarked.

“Yeah, just a bit,” I groaned, shifting around. “I’d like something a bit softer.”

“Oh, something softer, huh?” she said condescendingly. “I’m sure they’ll prop your feet up and ask you how your day’s been.”

“Har har. You’re so funny.”

“Yeah, I know,” she smirked, watching me keep shuffling in the bed. “Seriously, what’s wrong with the bed?”

“It’s just… too hard,” I struggled.

“That’s what she said,” Robin said, laughing. I hated that it made me chuckle too.

“Oh shut up,” I said, giving her a joking push.

“Careful there,” she warned. “Push me again, and I’ll have a bone to pick with you, and I can already see most of yours from here.”

“Hush.”

“I’m just saying. You look like the queen of Halloween Town.”

“Robin!”

“The Pumpkin Queen is laying on that bed right now.”

I decided to give her another push to prove my dominance, and I think she was about to push me back, but the room door opened and she dropped the playful act. Finally the moment I dreaded happened, and the nurse entered the room with a clipboard and pen in hand.

“Let’s see…” she said. “You’re Diana Coutiere?”

Wow, as a hospital, how did they mess that up? I’ve only had one name my whole life. People liked to mistake my name as Diana sometimes, which is understandable, being just a letter difference. Every time it was mistaken now though, Diana went off just slightly.

“Um, it’s Diane,” I corrected. “With an E at the end, not an A.”

“Well it is my body anyway,” Diana hissed in my head. “Might as well let people address me properly.”

“Oh dear,” the nurse said, confused. “Let me just scratch that out… I don’t know how we ever made that mistake.”

“Somehow it happens more often than you think,” I shrugged.

“Well, alright, Diane Coutiere, let’s get started.”

She asked me all the basic cookie-cutter questions that Tom had already interrogated me about before. The nurse nodded, then started explaining why she was there and what she was going to do.

“Ok, we’re going to do two things first,” she explained. “First, we’re going to take your height and weight, then we’re going to do proper blood work. Sounds good?”

“Y-yeah…” I said hesitantly. I didn’t really want other people to see how heavy I was. That was between just me and Diana, but I didn’t have a choice. They weren’t going to let me go without doing that.

The scale was just a bit down the hall, so the nurse and Robin helped walk me over to it. They thought that I was too lazy or pathetic to walk across the hall myself apparently. That’s how little faith they had that I could do something a literal toddler could do. I had to lean on them.

I was kind of surprised she didn’t make me step on the scale backwards actually. I heard that was pretty common for doctors and therapists to do when they handled people who they thought had eating disorders. The scale bounced around a bit before settling at about 35 kg.

“Oh my… ok…” The nurse wrote something down, clearly a bit shocked and concerned. “Dear, do you know what that is in pounds?” she asked me curiously.

I nodded. I have no clue why hospitals had to use kilograms instead of pounds. Probably has to do with it being more science-y of a measurement or something. Luckily, I actually knew the conversion off the top of my head.

“Yeah, you multiply by about 2.2, so it’s about…” My voice wavered away. I didn’t want to say what my number was.

“Come on dear,” the nurse urged.

“It’s um… ah…”

“Diane,” Robin said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing to be worried about, remember? We’re all just here to make sure you’ll be ok.”

“R-right…” I said with a shaky sigh. “It’s about… 115 pounds?” I lied. I just hoped the nurse was really bad at math.

“Hm… Not many people know the conversion, but that’s not how the math turns out. Try 78, honey,” the nurse said judgmentally, jotting something down. “Let’s not lie in here, alright?”

“Right…” I mumbled.

“The scale’s probably broken,” Diana growled. “You probably broke it when you stepped on it! No way you’re only 78 pounds! You’ve gained so much recently.”

“We both know that’s a very low number, right?” the nurse asked.

“Hardly for you.”

“Yeah, I know…”

“Know you have to go lower.”

“We both know that’s an unhealthy weight too, right?”

“Unhealthily high.”

“Yeah, I know I could do better…”

“We both know you could do better, and lower so you don’t look like a-”

“God, Diane!” Robin snapped, making me shake my head. “You could at least act like you’re paying attention! You looked spaced the hell out!”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I’m tired and just… I was somewhere else for a minute.”

“Well, let’s keep you in the hospital right now so we can figure out what you need to do to get out, ok?”

“Right,” I nodded.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do next,” the nurse said. “How about your friend helps you back to your room, I’ll get the bloodwork stuff, and we’ll get your bmi calculated.”

“Ok.”

Robin nodded and helped me back to my room. She didn’t seem happy after hearing me lie about my weight. Especially not after hearing what it actually was. She was silent on our way back to the room. Only after I laid myself back down did she say anything.

“So… what’re you going to do about your weight?” she asked quietly. A heavy silence hung in the air.

“I… I don’t know,” I sighed with a shrug.

“Wow, your own friend thinks you need to be fixed. Keep going down where I’m showing you, and nobody will ever think you need fixing! They’ll think you’re drop-dead gorgeous!”

“Don’t you think you should work on fixing it?” she pressed. “Maybe get to a healthier weight?”

“I guess…”

“Healthier?! Pfft, you are getting healthier. They’re the ones who want to make you obese again.”

“Do you even want to get better?” she whispered bitterly, folding her arms.

Before I could say anything to that, the nurse walked in the door. I groaned uncomfortably at how happy she looked to steal my blood.

“Alright, I’ve got the news,” she sighed. “Your BMI is dangerously low, and if the doctor isn’t confident, we might have to hold you here. We can’t release you and just have your body give out and see you back here the next day.

“Oh HELL NO!” Diana shouted. “You are NOT staying for more than just MAYBE a day.”

“On another note, it’s time to take that blood,” the nurse said. “Would you mind taking your sweater off and giving me your arm?”

I pulled my sweater off and gave my arm to the nurse. As long as I looked away from the needle, blood tests didn’t bother me at all. She put a rubber band around my arm, told me to clench my fist, and took the blood. It only hurt for a second. She slapped a band-aid on me and went out to do that bloodwork.

“You ok?” Robin asked.

“It… hasn’t been ok for a while…” I said, looking down.

“Hey,” she said, sitting on the edge of my bed holding my hand. “It’ll all be ok, alright? You’ll see.” I nodded and laid my head on her shoulder. I felt calmed and at peace, like everything was going to be ok.

*   *   *   *   *

About an hour later, Mrs. Smith visited me. She decided to leave work early to make sure I was alright, which was really nice and caring of her. Her and Robin sat with me all the way through my evaluation. Good thing too. I could’ve easily lied through a good portion of it if there weren't people there to hold me to the truth. I don’t like talking about how I felt towards food or my body. That was only for Diana and I to know.

A little after the evaluation, they told me the words I didn’t want to hear. The ones that I’ve been afraid of any professional telling me. “You have anorexia nervosa.” I just couldn’t believe it. Everyone was right, and I was wrong.

“Anorexia?! Bullshit!” Diana hissed. “If you’ve got anything, it’s BED with how much shit you shove down your throat!”

I spent so much time in denial that I just couldn’t accept whatever the reality was. I just couldn’t bring myself to break my brain away from thinking I was fine. It all got to me at once, and I had a breakdown right there in Robin’s arms. I was lucky that both Robin and Mrs. Smith were there to comfort me.

“Shh…” Mrs. Smith soothed, rubbing my back while I sobbed. “It’s all going to be ok. We’ll get you help.”

“Help…?”

“Recovery is hard, I won’t lie,” the doctor doing the evaluation said. “But it’s definitely possible, without a question. I think the best course of action right now is to put you into inpatient care.”

“No!” I sobbed. I didn’t want to sit in the hospital until I was fat enough to satisfy everyone.

“Honey, recovery is important,” Mrs. Smith said sympathetically.

“You’re going to die if you keep doing this, Diane.” Robin harshly said.

“I… I want to recover…” I whined hesitantly. “But I’m not putting on weight!”

“Honey… you can’t survive like this much longer,” the doctor said sternly. “Just think about what’s best to keep you alive, ok? I have to go talk to another patient, but I think you should discuss this with your parents. Ok?”

I was crying so hard that there was no way I could give her a response that wasn’t just baby wailing. Being forced into treatment scared the shit out of me. And if Dad decided that I needed to go, I didn’t have a choice! It wasn’t fair! I didn’t want to go somewhere just to eat!