My pulse hit below 30. Worse than the previous times. I turned to the nurse, who said they would do what they could. But I wasn't sure I cared what happened next. Shivering in a whisper-thin hospital gown, I saw what I'd refused to see for so long. Ankles swollen with edema. The blisters from endless arm curls. The way even a child's gown hung on my emaciated frame like a question. I couldn't decide if I was more afraid of what I'd be forced to eat … or what would happen if I didn't. I let myself be led.
Erin Jamieson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Miami University of Ohio. Her writing has been published in over eighty literary magazines. Find Erin on Twitter @erin_simmer.