easy. It wasn't. Far from it. The kids were often misunderstood, angry, frightened, reserved, anxious, even rude and aggressive, but they had in common a desperate need to be helped and cared about. Ginger refused to let them down, and her growing list of success stories uplifted her patients and colleagues alike, and kept them going despite the odds.
The sight of the young girl and the knowledge of the importance of the job confirmed once more she had done the right thing by walking away from Cameron in London four days ago. The pieces of her shattered heart twisted painfully. Unable to bear the hurt that threatened to tear out her insides, Ginger tried to thrust him from her mind and focused her attention on the troubled teenager.
'Nobody likes me,' Tess confided.
'What makes you say that?'
'There's nothing to like.'
Ginger steepled her fingers under her chin. 'Why is life so bad right now, Tess?'
'Nothing I do is ever right.' The girl sniffed, unable to meet her gaze. 'I'm never good enough, I don't deserve anything.'
'How do you see the role food plays for you?'
Tess frowned. 'It's the only thing I can control. The only thing my parents can't dictate.'
'And what do you see when you look in the mirror?' Ginger probed.
'Someone useless who isn't worth anything,' she whispered.
Ginger glanced down at Tess's file and read the letter from Dr Nic di Angelis, the GP who had made the referral. This was about self-punishment, Ginger realised. The girl was seriously underweight, not because she had a distorted body image but because she believed she had no control over her life, couldn't fulfil her parents' expectations, and deserved nothing better than to waste away.
There were so many triggers for eating disorders, each as individual as the person involved and the treatment needed to help them. It could be anything from divorce to bullying, trauma to illness, loss of a loved one to family discord, an unending list of reasons why some young people responded to conflict and emotion in dangerously inappropriate ways.
'Have your periods been affected, Tess?' she asked, jotting down some notes. 'Have they stopped altogether?'
'They've stopped,' the girl admitted, her face flushing.
'OK. And can you tell me about your eating?'
'I have regular times and set things,' Tess began slowly, and Ginger nodded, recognising the pattern and the way anorexic patients were often organised and disciplined, exerting control over their eating habits and establishing rituals and regimes. 'In the morning I have half a banana at exactly eight o'clock before school.'
'Do you eat anything during the day?'
Tess shook her head. 'I tell my parents I've eaten at school so I'm not hungry when I get in, but I haven't had anything all day except maybe some water or a diet drink.'
'What do you do then?' Ginger was careful to keep her voice light and non-judgemental. 'Do you eat anything else in the evening?'
'I'll have an apple, or sometimes a tomato, but it has to be at the right time. I sneak it up to my room, cut it into even pieces and have it at exactly eight o'clock when I'm doing my homework.'
It was no wonder she was so pale and thin, Ginger thought. 'What happens if you have to eat at other people's houses or with your family?'
'I try to avoid it as much as possible.' Tess paused, continuing to shred the paper tissue. 'It makes me feel bad if I have to eat.'
'Physically bad? Does it hurt or make you feel sick?'
'A bit. There's a sense of uncomfortable fullness. Mostly it just makes me angry that I've lost control, especially if it is something that I've enjoyed the taste of,' she confessed.
Meeting the shy, dark gaze, Ginger smiled in encouragement, knowing how stressful this first session was when someone faced up to their troubles, often for the first time. 'You're doing really well, Tess. Can you tell me what happens afterwards, if you've had to eat a proper meal?'
'I hate myself.' The admission was delivered in a hoarse
The sight of the young girl and the knowledge of the importance of the job confirmed once more she had done the right thing by walking away from Cameron in London four days ago. The pieces of her shattered heart twisted painfully. Unable to bear the hurt that threatened to tear out her insides, Ginger tried to thrust him from her mind and focused her attention on the troubled teenager.
'Nobody likes me,' Tess confided.
'What makes you say that?'
'There's nothing to like.'
Ginger steepled her fingers under her chin. 'Why is life so bad right now, Tess?'
'Nothing I do is ever right.' The girl sniffed, unable to meet her gaze. 'I'm never good enough, I don't deserve anything.'
'How do you see the role food plays for you?'
Tess frowned. 'It's the only thing I can control. The only thing my parents can't dictate.'
'And what do you see when you look in the mirror?' Ginger probed.
'Someone useless who isn't worth anything,' she whispered.
Ginger glanced down at Tess's file and read the letter from Dr Nic di Angelis, the GP who had made the referral. This was about self-punishment, Ginger realised. The girl was seriously underweight, not because she had a distorted body image but because she believed she had no control over her life, couldn't fulfil her parents' expectations, and deserved nothing better than to waste away.
There were so many triggers for eating disorders, each as individual as the person involved and the treatment needed to help them. It could be anything from divorce to bullying, trauma to illness, loss of a loved one to family discord, an unending list of reasons why some young people responded to conflict and emotion in dangerously inappropriate ways.
'Have your periods been affected, Tess?' she asked, jotting down some notes. 'Have they stopped altogether?'
'They've stopped,' the girl admitted, her face flushing.
'OK. And can you tell me about your eating?'
'I have regular times and set things,' Tess began slowly, and Ginger nodded, recognising the pattern and the way anorexic patients were often organised and disciplined, exerting control over their eating habits and establishing rituals and regimes. 'In the morning I have half a banana at exactly eight o'clock before school.'
'Do you eat anything during the day?'
Tess shook her head. 'I tell my parents I've eaten at school so I'm not hungry when I get in, but I haven't had anything all day except maybe some water or a diet drink.'
'What do you do then?' Ginger was careful to keep her voice light and non-judgemental. 'Do you eat anything else in the evening?'
'I'll have an apple, or sometimes a tomato, but it has to be at the right time. I sneak it up to my room, cut it into even pieces and have it at exactly eight o'clock when I'm doing my homework.'
It was no wonder she was so pale and thin, Ginger thought. 'What happens if you have to eat at other people's houses or with your family?'
'I try to avoid it as much as possible.' Tess paused, continuing to shred the paper tissue. 'It makes me feel bad if I have to eat.'
'Physically bad? Does it hurt or make you feel sick?'
'A bit. There's a sense of uncomfortable fullness. Mostly it just makes me angry that I've lost control, especially if it is something that I've enjoyed the taste of,' she confessed.
Meeting the shy, dark gaze, Ginger smiled in encouragement, knowing how stressful this first session was when someone faced up to their troubles, often for the first time. 'You're doing really well, Tess. Can you tell me what happens afterwards, if you've had to eat a proper meal?'
'I hate myself.' The admission was delivered in a hoarse
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