Forest View
The Diagnosis
She sat back in the chair with her hands clasped behind her head. Her eyes darted back and fourth, from her mother to the doctor. She knew they what they were whispering about, and tried her hardest not to let them find out she was listening.
"Sierra is not malnutritioned, doctor," said her mother, "I cook every day."
"I'm not saying it's your fault," he argued, "But I am saying that she is too thin for a girl her age."
"How thin is she, exactly?" she asked.
"Well, she's sixteen, five foot four, and weighs ninety-five pounds."
"I weigh ninety-two, doctor," Sierra blurted.
No one ever said she was a master of deception, but she seemed rather proud of the fact that she was a master of her appetite. She watched with a smirk as the two adults turned their heads to look at her. Her mother seemed frightened. The smile faded.
"Sierra, I'm afraid you suffer from a disease called Anorexia Nervosa," he said, glancing down at her chart.
"I'm not an anorexic!" she protested.
He rubbed his forehead in frustration, "How often do you eat?", he asked.
"I eat every meal," she lied.
"Sierra," he sighed.
"I do."
"Well, your chart begs to differ."
She brought her hands down to her lap and interlaced her fingers. She looked him dead in the eyes, almost daring him to do something about it. He took the challenge.
"I'm demanding that you be taken to Forest View immediately," he spoke.
"Forest View?" her mother repeated.
"It's a mental health hospital that specializes in treating eating disorders," he responded, "I think it would be very helpful to Sierra."
"Fuck that, I'm not getting locked up in an asylum," Sierra scuffed.
"You need help," he told her, "You're going."
He got up from his stool and walked over to the phone on a nearby desk. Sierra's mother was crying; her daughter was just pissed. She couldn't get thrown in the loony-bin. For one thing, she didn't need it. For another, it was just wrong!
She paid no attention to conversation held by the doctor and whoever he had called. She was too busy staring down at her jeans, fighting back the urge to punch him in the face. He was wrong, and his mistake could cost her her sanity.
"Due to her resistance, an ambulance will be here shortly to escort Sierra to Forest View," he told her mom.
"What? Is she ill? Will she be okay?" she asked.
"The ambulance is to assure she gets there. She is not ill," he said, "Well, at least not physically."
There was a silence.
"...I'll let you know when her escort arrives," he sighed.
And he left the room.
"Sierra is not malnutritioned, doctor," said her mother, "I cook every day."
"I'm not saying it's your fault," he argued, "But I am saying that she is too thin for a girl her age."
"How thin is she, exactly?" she asked.
"Well, she's sixteen, five foot four, and weighs ninety-five pounds."
"I weigh ninety-two, doctor," Sierra blurted.
No one ever said she was a master of deception, but she seemed rather proud of the fact that she was a master of her appetite. She watched with a smirk as the two adults turned their heads to look at her. Her mother seemed frightened. The smile faded.
"Sierra, I'm afraid you suffer from a disease called Anorexia Nervosa," he said, glancing down at her chart.
"I'm not an anorexic!" she protested.
He rubbed his forehead in frustration, "How often do you eat?", he asked.
"I eat every meal," she lied.
"Sierra," he sighed.
"I do."
"Well, your chart begs to differ."
She brought her hands down to her lap and interlaced her fingers. She looked him dead in the eyes, almost daring him to do something about it. He took the challenge.
"I'm demanding that you be taken to Forest View immediately," he spoke.
"Forest View?" her mother repeated.
"It's a mental health hospital that specializes in treating eating disorders," he responded, "I think it would be very helpful to Sierra."
"Fuck that, I'm not getting locked up in an asylum," Sierra scuffed.
"You need help," he told her, "You're going."
He got up from his stool and walked over to the phone on a nearby desk. Sierra's mother was crying; her daughter was just pissed. She couldn't get thrown in the loony-bin. For one thing, she didn't need it. For another, it was just wrong!
She paid no attention to conversation held by the doctor and whoever he had called. She was too busy staring down at her jeans, fighting back the urge to punch him in the face. He was wrong, and his mistake could cost her her sanity.
"Due to her resistance, an ambulance will be here shortly to escort Sierra to Forest View," he told her mom.
"What? Is she ill? Will she be okay?" she asked.
"The ambulance is to assure she gets there. She is not ill," he said, "Well, at least not physically."
There was a silence.
"...I'll let you know when her escort arrives," he sighed.
And he left the room.