I Have Munchausen Syndrome
*Note: This story is a work of fiction*
Liz stood in the checkout line at Walmart, carrying the discounted heart-shaped Valentine's cookies in one hand and her purse in the other.
As she waited her turn in the self-checkout, she reflected on her past appointments with Dr. Kadala, a tall, confident-acting yet amicable dark-haired beauty.
And yet, Liz was so much cleverer than the doctor, who never suspected that Liz [i]wasn't[/i] really sick.
To be sure, starving herself had been really difficult, especially since Liz wasn't technically anorexic. She knew that at 5'7" she should weigh a lot more than 107 lbs. However, it had been necessary to drive her weight down enough so that, when combined with her very detailed and dramatic stories of persistent nausea and vomiting in spite of the use of several different medications to control those symptoms, Dr. Kadala would be convinced Liz had a genuine digestive disorder.
It had worked, and no one was the wiser. Five days before her visit to Walmart to pick up the cookies for her boyfriend and his daughter, Liz had finally gotten the long-coveted NG tube for which she had been angling since the ruse began.
True, she had been the one who had initiated the process, but she had arrived at the point where she'd totally lost control of the situation, as things were progressing very fast by then. She had performed poorly on the swallowing test, the results of the exploratory endoscopy had been inconclusive and her weight had been plummeting for months. None of the medications helped, and everyone was concerned. Well, at least everyone who knew her was.
And now complete strangers would be, too. Liz stood proudly in the checkout line, the weight of the black backpack concealing the feeding pump resting on her shoulders like the encircling arm of a caring friend. She knew that the backpack wasn't what people would see and notice, though. What delighted her the most was knowing they would notice the tube snaking from the backpack, up around over her left ear and into her left nostril. The light-brown fluid therewithin was visible as it dripped slowly into her jejunum.
[i]I hope you all see me, and you all wonder, sympathize, or are made uncomfortable,[/i] Liz mused in her mind. Because she [i]needed[/i] their sympathy, thrived on it, and hoped to drown her persistent insecurities in it, extinguishing them in a flood of NG-tube formula.
Liz stood in the checkout line at Walmart, carrying the discounted heart-shaped Valentine's cookies in one hand and her purse in the other.
As she waited her turn in the self-checkout, she reflected on her past appointments with Dr. Kadala, a tall, confident-acting yet amicable dark-haired beauty.
And yet, Liz was so much cleverer than the doctor, who never suspected that Liz [i]wasn't[/i] really sick.
To be sure, starving herself had been really difficult, especially since Liz wasn't technically anorexic. She knew that at 5'7" she should weigh a lot more than 107 lbs. However, it had been necessary to drive her weight down enough so that, when combined with her very detailed and dramatic stories of persistent nausea and vomiting in spite of the use of several different medications to control those symptoms, Dr. Kadala would be convinced Liz had a genuine digestive disorder.
It had worked, and no one was the wiser. Five days before her visit to Walmart to pick up the cookies for her boyfriend and his daughter, Liz had finally gotten the long-coveted NG tube for which she had been angling since the ruse began.
True, she had been the one who had initiated the process, but she had arrived at the point where she'd totally lost control of the situation, as things were progressing very fast by then. She had performed poorly on the swallowing test, the results of the exploratory endoscopy had been inconclusive and her weight had been plummeting for months. None of the medications helped, and everyone was concerned. Well, at least everyone who knew her was.
And now complete strangers would be, too. Liz stood proudly in the checkout line, the weight of the black backpack concealing the feeding pump resting on her shoulders like the encircling arm of a caring friend. She knew that the backpack wasn't what people would see and notice, though. What delighted her the most was knowing they would notice the tube snaking from the backpack, up around over her left ear and into her left nostril. The light-brown fluid therewithin was visible as it dripped slowly into her jejunum.
[i]I hope you all see me, and you all wonder, sympathize, or are made uncomfortable,[/i] Liz mused in her mind. Because she [i]needed[/i] their sympathy, thrived on it, and hoped to drown her persistent insecurities in it, extinguishing them in a flood of NG-tube formula.
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