Hungry (23 page)

Guilt doesn’t come close to what we felt. We were unfit parents, betraying our child. Still, we told ourselves, she was not going to die. I was sure I would feel that level of danger in my bones, if only because I couldn’t live the other way. We would find the key, turn it, and the real Lisa would come back. Like the scary night she got the croup as a baby and wheezed helplessly for breath, but Ned turned on the shower for steam, and soon she slept peacefully again. We just had to find the anorexia key.

That afternoon, I did my hair in the usual way: shower and let dry. I applied the usual traces of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. Ned said I looked great, and once again, I was happy to be going to a food event as a size 4, not 14. It is an undeniable source of envy to be a food writer, especially a restaurant reviewer, who doesn’t look the part. We stayed with friends in New York, and took the subway to the Grand Hyatt Hotel, atop Grand Central Station, for the journalism awards.

The 2003 awards featured some of James Beard’s favorite foods. Before sitting down to specialties of his home state, Oregon, we mingled and tasted what Beard called “doots,” little dabs of food like truffle-scented popcorn and Depoe Bay Dungeness Crab Cakes with Red Pepper Coulis. I introduced myself to Ruth Reichl and gushed stupidly about her book,
Tender at the Bone
. Ned and I spoke with a charming gray-haired woman, and soon her daughter joined us. They turned out to be Perri Klass, the pediatrician author, and Sheila Solomon Klass. Three years later, they published a dual memoir,
Every Mother Is a Daughter: The Neverending Quest for Success, Inner Peace, and a Really Clean Kitchen
. It is a model of good humor and surprising aha moments for Lisa and me.

Newspaper Feature Writing About Restaurants and/or Chefs with or without Recipes came during the second course: Oven-Roasted Asparagus on a bed of Willamette Valley Fromage Blanc scented with Herbs and Black Truffle Oil, topped with Crispy Julienne Parsnips, accompanied by Willamette Valley Whole Cluster Pinot Noir 2001.

At the Beards, as at the Oscars, presenters announce the nominees and there’s a second or two of paper rustling. Then they said, “And the winner is: ‘Serve You Right’ by Sheila Himmel!” I kissed Ned, walked to the front without tripping, and said a few words about the servers who do the hard work, just as a platoon of them reentered the ballroom, as if to illustrate my point. Foundation President Len Pickell helped drape the Olympics-type medal around my neck. At the front table, the mistress of ceremonies, an award-winning middle-aged TV and Broadway actress, looked anorexic.

Ned ate my asparagus and started in on the Kobe beef entrée while I headed out of the ballroom to call the West Coast, where it was 5:30 p.m. Lisa was home with Jake. When I told him about my award, he worked up a little enthusiasm, but his mind was on getting out of there, because he wasn’t in great shape at that time, having trouble with school and depression. Being with Lisa was making him feel worse. Lisa barely had anything to say, except that my cousin Peggy was coming. She had been great with our kids since they were young. Holidays, birthdays, babysitting—Peggy was there. Maybe Peggy was the one person Lisa would allow to help her.

To share the moment with someone who cared, I called my editor.

 

lisa:
Mom’s cousin Peggy lived in San Francisco, and my family had always been close to her. Peggy carried the most nurturing instinct and warmth about her. At that time I was unaware that she knew I was anorexic. I thought that unless I flat-out told someone, they couldn’t tell.

Peggy had offered to check in on me that weekend. When she called and said she could come down, I accepted. When she and her yellow Labrador retriever, Martsi, arrived Friday night, my sunken, bloodshot eyes and unkempt appearance were enough to tell her how I was. Peggy suggested we go for a drive to calm my nerves. Instead of feeling sorry for me, she engaged me in conversation about school, rock climbing, and yoga. I had been meaning to try yoga. We talked about my date. She asked if I wanted to go to a café, but I wasn’t ready to face a public space. I mentioned how much I missed exercising. I was an invalid and it wasn’t because of a broken leg, which would eventually heal. I just wanted to pick up where I’d left off, get strength, and be active again. Maybe more moderated. Peggy told me I wasn’t ready for exercise just yet but I would be soon.

Back at home, Peggy drew me a bath, like a young child needing supervision so she wouldn’t drown in the shallow water. With the calming illumination of candles and soft music on the stereo, I let myself relax for the first time in months.

But a glimpse of my own body caught me off guard. I really hadn’t looked at it, I mean
really
observed myself, in a long time. In the shower, and in a mirror, you can disconnect from what you see. But in the bath, that really is you. I looked like an arthritic old woman with these little sticks on either side. For the first time, I knew that I had become much too thin.

To this day I swear by Peggy’s bath, because that night I slept. It didn’t make up for three months of insomnia, but it was seven hours of pure slumber. Peggy made me breakfast, asked me how I felt, and for once my answer was a genuine “good.”

What meant the most to me about having Peggy as a stand-in for Mom was the company to and from appointments. I had made appointments to get my hair and makeup done. At my makeover, the Clinique gals gawked over my long and curly eyelashes. They were annoyingly perky. The rest of me still ached with apprehension, but my face glowed with beauty and life.

After two hours in a chair, getting my hair pulled into ringlets, curls, buns, bobby pins, and a slight shimmer spray, I emerged in elegance. With every step of preparation I gained confidence that I would be making it to, and through, my prom.

All the girls were meeting at Gaelin’s house for last-minute touchups, or rather freak-outs, of makeup, perfume, and nitpicky perfectionist rituals. Gaelin had become my safety net at school, especially since we had physics together. Other friends pulled away, but Gaelin would always check on me and keep me in the group. She’d say, “Come on, we’re going to get coffee.” Or “This is what we’re doing today.” Gaelin was very nurturing at a young age.

Peggy handed me over to Gaelin’s parents, who also had become very supportive during my struggles. Her mother kept telling me I looked stunning, just like a princess.

Up in Gaelin’s room, I sat on her bed, watching my girlfriends fight for the mirror, eyeliner in hand. I felt as ready as I was going to be. Except that my dress felt tighter than when I bought it. Had I gained weight? I was bloated, and I hadn’t had a bowel movement in at least a week. In my right mind I knew it was constipation, but my right mind wasn’t in charge.

Gaelin asked how I felt and I said, “My dress feels tight.” She sighed and looked at me with reassurance, telling me, “It’s okay.” There had been many times Gaelin didn’t know what to say, especially when I believed I had gotten bigger. Telling me I was crazy wouldn’t work. “It’s okay” was the best thing to say.

The guys had been scheduled to arrive fashionably late. I was nervous to see Mike. I thought he was cute and liked what I knew of him, but it did feel like I was going to prom with a stranger. I remembered to bring him a boutonniere, and he had a big corsage for me. It looked enormous on my bony wrist. Then there were group pictures and mothers checking the tailoring on rented tuxedoes, fixing collars, and pleading, “Honey, smile!” Only I didn’t have a nagging mother or an out-of-it-yet-proud father. Where the hell are
my
parents? On the other side of the country, celebrating Mom’s James Beard award. Why at this moment? All the other girls’ parents were here.

We were lucky to have our prom on the Santa Cruz waterfront, at the Coconut Grove ballroom. But it meant a long limo ride. More time to be anxious, nervous, and searching for topics of conversation with Mike. Luckily we were in a big group.

That evening on the coast, the sky was depressingly gray and the winds harsh. Although it was a quick walk from the limo to the entrance of Coconut Grove, my body chilled right away.

We were herded into a crowded foyer and then up a steep staircase packed with glamorous, boisterous teens. I tried my best not to crumble into a heap of panic. I focused on my breathing, slow and steady. My coats of makeup acted as a shield. At least I looked pretty and put-together! Mike was nervous, too. Instead of trying to think up interesting topics and then having those awkward pauses, we listened to the crowd and blended in. I counted girls wearing the same dress.

I was hungry, as usual, but at the prom so was every girl around me. Girls rarely ate at all on prom day, for fear of last-minute bloating. Most girls’ conversations focused on their hunger. You could hear, “I haven’t eaten all day” all over the room. For once my hunger did not set me apart from the group.

At one point, Mike asked if I liked the food or if I’d had enough to eat. I said yes, which wasn’t completely false. I had enough to my liking and felt satisfied enough to focus on other matters.

My close friends gawked over my entire presentation, and people I didn’t know all that well complimented my look. On one of my anxiety trips to the bathroom, one of my favorite teachers, Mrs. Peters, stopped me and said, “Wow, Lisa, you look beautiful, just beautiful; like a princess.”

sheila:
While Lisa was accepting princess compliments, I was meeting friends for dinner and a concert at Carnegie Hall, still believing I would have a premonition of disaster. Our niece, a student at Barnard College, got Ned’s treasured ticket to the Beard gala.

Before Ned boarded the subway to JFK, we made our traditional run to Essa Bagel on Third Avenue. Luckily it was a Saturday, when trains aren’t so crowded, or he would have made lots of enemies with a large duffel bag of bagels in addition to a suitcase. We had fine-tuned this routine since our first trip together to New York in 1978 (a trip so fun that we decided to get married), so that bagels and corn rye bread retained their freshness through six hours in the air and at least four in ground transit:

The family was in crisis, but we were carrying out the bagel ritual as always. We wouldn’t have to eat bland Bay Area bagels for a long while. And Ned would be there whenever Lisa needed to come home from the prom.

 

 

lisa:
We ended up staying at the prom almost until the last minute. Mike and I danced, my nerves calmed, my fears went away. I stayed awake through the ride home, but for once I was awake because I wanted to be. I wanted to soak up the minutes and internally celebrate my success. Back at Gaelin’s house, her parents had prepared a spread of cookies, pizza, sodas, and fruit. At the first smell of food, everyone swarmed the kitchen.

I asked Gaelin’s dad to drive me home. I’d had a really good time. I had the chance to end it on a good note. I wasn’t ready for the after-dance party scene.

And Dad was coming home from New York sometime that night. If I left now he could still see me in my dress.

He was sleeping when I got there. I woke him up. I didn’t want him missing the firsthand image of me still dressed in pure formal elegance.

 

sheila:
Ned was sleeping, but not soundly. He heard the door open and there was a brand-new Lisa, glowing and beautiful. She told him all the highlights, from the moment Peggy got there, and how she had worried, and going to Gaelin’s house, more worries. But it had all worked out. “For that night, anyway, it was as if she was better,” Ned recalls. “I could just be the proud father. I remember not even thinking about what tomorrow would bring.”

A year later, Ned and I went to a workshop for parents and caregivers of ED patients, and finally began to understand why anorexia and bulimia aren’t a matter of willpower, that they distort rational thought. But at this point Ned kept saying things like, “You can do it if you try.” He felt Lisa just needed to concentrate and focus on finishing high school. He got angry more easily than in the early stages of her illness. He still took her on walks around the block and listened to what was wrong with each antidepressant, why she couldn’t go to school, how she couldn’t sleep, and the scariest, when she talked about the voices in her head. But he felt betrayed. Lisa used to be on his team, a fun-loving Himmel. Now that she had defected to depression, he gladly let me take charge, and she rarely called him at work. The question “What should we do now?” stayed in my court. We argued, but held each other up. That we weren’t alone was something to be thankful for. We couldn’t imagine how single parents, or parents who dislike each other, dealt with serious diseases.

How do people learn to be parents when things come up that knock you to the ground and then the bottom falls away? When you don’t sleep, but don’t want to get out of bed because the day will only bring something worse than what had already happened?

But after the prom, Ned and I could breathe again. Lisa seemed to have enjoyed herself. I kept a constant alert system in my head—what the bad possibilities were in each situation and what we’d do. It hadn’t come close to being needed.

Although none of us thought of this at the time, maybe we all did our best on prom night. Jake showed up. He didn’t know what to say or do, he didn’t want to make the situation worse, but he wanted to show support by just being there. The anguished parents got ourselves out of the picture, and brought in a loving person who wasn’t drowning in the family drama. I can’t imagine Lisa would have accepted the idea of a bath and candles from Ned or me. And maybe it was better that Ned and I weren’t there to jump into action for Lisa, or fall apart with her. She accepted help but also drew on her own strength. Now she could look back on a wonderful evening and even look forward, to the possibility of others.