Chapter 3 Liana

As she moved through her warmup, Liana self-consciously adjusted the dress that had grown far too big on her emaciated frame.

"You look amazing!" people had not ceased to tell her when they saw her 5'9" frame at its current weight, 15 pounds below the minimum for a healthy BMI.

She wanted to laugh whenever people told her she looked good. She imagined how they'd react if she told them the truth: her current, underweight body was the last thing she wanted or strove for.

"What's my secret, you want to know?" she imagined telling the next clueless soul who complimented her. "Oh, just survive involuntarily on 600 calories a day of chicken broth and plain white rice! And don't forget puking your guts out every third day when you dare to try to eat something that's not white rice or white bread. Or, when you're feeling fancy, you can try peeled, cooked-to-death mashed potatoes with some plain chicken breast. Not too much at a time, though, or you'll puke even if you eat what's supposedly on your diet."

Now that she was officially in a "recovery" phase of the chronic disease responsible for her unplanned weight loss, she was working with a nutritionist to gain weight back in a steady and healthy way. She was working on adding variety to her diet and eating more frequently. The sad part was, some part of Liana was nervous to go back to her normal weight, which she'd soon attain because surgery had solved the problem of everyday vomiting.

How screwed up was it that she'd been conditioned by society to equate thinness with desirability, even though she knew she shouldn't? She knew no one should aspire to have her disease-ridden body: last year, her muscles were so atrophied that she couldn't even walk up two flights of stairs.

No one knew how decrepit she'd become, save for her parents and her best friend, Tori. That was the thing about autoimmune disease: Liana didn't think anyone could truly understand what was actually going on just by looking at her body. No one could see the havoc her chronic disease had wrought on every aspect of her life. The disease had caused her career plans, relationships, and way of life to careen off path.

No time to wallow, she told herself. Just make it through this class. That's all you have to do. One day at a time. James said he wouldn't push you.

She grabbed the pickleball paddle her mom had brought for her and lined up with the other ladies on the sideline of the court for a warmup. Deb wasn't kidding about the age of the class participants; everyone else was her mom's age — late fifties — or older. Which made sense, considering it was 4:00 pm on a Thursday. Some people worked unconventional schedules, like Liana's schoolteacher mom, who generally worked from about 7:00 am to 3:30 pm. Otherwise, the only people who could attend this class were probably retired or unemployed.

Unemployed is probably the kindest word for what I am, Liana thought. She tried to quash down thoughts that she was useless, always to be unemployed, never to earn a decent living again.

Stop now, she commanded herself. Focus. You haven't done any jumping jacks in a year. Do ten now with the other people in this class. Do the arm circles, forward, now backward. Slow knee raises. Just get through this warmup, and then through the rest of the class. You can do this.