As the captain of my university boxing club, I was training consistently, eating “healthily,” and seemingly doing well for myself. On the outside, I was the image of what it meant to be healthy. However, on the inside, I was crumbling.
About 4 years ago, what may have appeared healthy to others was really my debilitating desire to be as small as possible.
There were many warning signs that my initial attempt to improve my health was turning into something much more sinister. However, I ignored these warning signs. I was too ashamed to admit to what was going on.
Now, I want to change that by sharing my story. Namely, I was suffering from an eating disorder.
As I was leaving college to go to university, I wanted to make a change. I was always the “token fat kid” growing up, being the biggest one among my peers. Although I never realized that it bothered me, I always thought my body didn’t look “how it should.”
I had grown up with this story, but I didn’t want to be known just as the fat kid anymore. Why would anybody want to be reduced down to how their body looks?
So, I started to make changes slowly. I started to move a little more and improve my eating habits — nothing particularly drastic. On reflection, I wouldn’t say I had an eating disorder at this time. However, I definitely had a disordered attitude toward eating and my body. I felt compelled to eat in a way that changed my body and how it looked.
As I did this, I began to receive many compliments: “Connor, you’re looking so healthy!,” “You’re looking great!,” “Looking lean, Connor!,” and so on.
Truth be told, I began to crave this recognition. I struggled a lot in school, mainly due to learning difficulties that doctors only picked up not long before I went to university. Not only was I the token fat kid, but I was also the one who was intellectually always going to be behind. I never felt I got any credit, but here was something everybody could see and praise me for “achieving.”
I then moved to university, and all of these comments stopped. I was now a “normal looking” guy, but this wasn’t enough for me. I had found this way of getting the recognition that I craved — by losing weight and looking “better.”
I started going to the gym every other day. I would scour the internet for the next “Brutal Bodybuilder Muscle Building Blueprint” or other similar rubbish. I would do this for a week before panicking that I wasn’t looking more “manly” and jumping onto the next program. I did this for a year obsessively, not realizing that I had started going down a path I would later regret.
I then started to go to the university boxing club. Yes, I wanted to make some new friends, but more importantly, I wanted to carry on this transformation. If people could see me and think, “Hey, look at the ex-fat kid doing the toughest sport around — go him!,” then I’d be satisfied.
I attended a few times a week. After about 6 months, my coach asked me if I wanted to compete. “Amazing,” I thought to myself. “What an end to this fat kid story I’ve featured in for so long. An actual boxing match! Me! Connor, the fat kid whom everybody pointed out for being big and never gave any credit.”
Sadly, from the moment I accepted this match, I changed. I had to lose some weight to meet a weight category requirement that was far below what is healthy for me. However, I was going to do it regardless. I craved the credit, and I was going to get it.
To say I was obsessed with food, weight, calories, and so on would be an understatement. I trained multiple times a day, measured every bit of food that I ate, and weighed myself morning and night. Eventually, I weighed myself at every possible opportunity. I started to become disinterested in all other hobbies and activities.
Fast forward a couple of months after starting this new regimen, and I had my boxing match. It was good, but the real fight started after the bout finished. Now that I had no requirement to meet a certain weight, I started to binge on food. Many around me thought it was funny and almost deserved. I had been “good” with my diet for so long that I deserved to indulge.
I remember having a panicked feeling the day after my first boxing match and the subsequent bingeing episode. I knew I would gain weight if I didn’t do something about the excess food I had eaten. So I went for a longer run than usual and restricted my food intake even further once I got back. I felt I had to “make up for” the binge.
This 1-day solution turned into an all-encompassing way of living. I tumbled to a point where I was restricting extremely all day, exercising compulsively through all the injuries I was picking up, and ending each night in pain from uncontrollable food binges.
I had lost interest in many of the things I loved. I started to distance myself from friends and family. I would turn around at the door of social events, fearing that many would see me as fat even though I was physically withering away.
Sadly, none of these warning signs mattered. I had to lose weight and maintain this macho image — there was no choice. Anyway, my boxing club elected me as captain and signed me up for my second boxing match, so I felt, “something must be working, right?”
Far from it. I was broken inside, unable to think of anything other than the food I was eating little of but craving so intensely. Despite this, I never thought that things could be any different. I was residing in the idea that this pain was my new way of living, even if it would slowly kill me.
Then, one day, on a freezing 4 a.m. run in Edinburgh — trying to burn off my “failure” of eating too much the night before — I broke down. I was injured, miserable, and a different person entirely. How did I get to the point where I was so obsessed with how I looked and how people saw me that I was going to such extreme lengths to lose weight?
Through My Eyes: Stem cell donation
After being on a list of potential donors for 12 years or so, this past month saw me finally have the opportunity to give away some of my stem cells. The opportunity to experience first-hand a procedure I have read, written, and edited articles on at Medical News Today.
On paper, stem cell donation can sound a bit intimidating.
While donating blood may be easy to visualize, stem cells feel more abstract. The name conjures images of microscopes, laboratories, and horribly invasive procedures.
I am happy to report that there was nothing horrible about my experience at all! And while it was not exactly a walk in the park — more a run in a wood — it is something that I would encourage folks to consider if they are able to do so.
I can’t remember exactly when it was that I signed up on the stem cell register but 12 years ago feels about right.
At the time, I was working at a local hospital booking day surgery appointments for people. One day, some people from the charity came in to try and sign National Health Service employees and medical students up. It seemed like the thing to do at the time, and so my name was added to the register, joining over 800,000 others.
The charity in question was the British organization Anthony Nolan. They work to provide stem cells and bone marrow donations to patients with forms of blood cancer or blood disorders. The charity also supports research into new treatments for other conditions.
To call stem cells “useful” would be doing them a disservice.
Stem cells are cells that do not yet have a specific role within the body. When they divide, they have the potential to develop into cells with a specific function. This process is known as differentiation. Each of the many different specialized cells of the adult human body were stem cells, to begin with.
Doctors and scientists can use stem cells to help treat certain conditions. Skin stem cells can aid with tissue regeneration to treat skin damage, and blood stem cells can form a crucial part of treatment for blood diseases such as leukemia.
Not only that, but researchers can also use stem cells in studies to either find out the causes of certain diseases or to develop new drug treatments for conditions.
A few months ago, I received a phone call asking if I would be interested in donating some cells to be used in a study.
With my consent given over the phone, it was time for me to move into uncharted territory.
The possibility of donating stem cells had always just been that: a possibility, a thought, an idea.
Certainly nothing as concrete or tangible as a trip up from Brighton to London for a health check.
Clinical staff provided more detailed information about what was coming so that I could provide written consent. Questions were asked to assess my likelihood of carrying any bloodborne diseases. Blood and urine samples were taken, my body mass index (BMI) was measured, and a COVID-19 test was carried out.
A common experience for people who work with health information articles is to feel as though you are developing whatever condition you have most recently written about. This can be useful from time to time.
I had an irregular-looking mole removed after working on a melanoma article, for instance. However, it can also leave you fearing the worst when all you have done is perhaps eaten too much beetroot.
This neuroticism made waiting for my health check results a slightly nervous affair. Thankfully, I was happy to discover that everything was okay. My fears of gross malnourishment due to a disorganized vegan diet proved to be completely unfounded.
I was on to the next stage of my donation journey. The hospital was ready and prepared to have me in to donate my stem cells. I now needed to prepare my body for the process.
Source - Medical News Today
No comments:
Post a Comment