It became very clear that Idina wasn't going to be able to beat the anorexia without professional help. Frankly, Idina didn't want to beat the anorexia. We had no choice but to force her to get help. Since she was seventeen, we could make her go to a hospital, whether she liked it or not.
She didn't like it.
My parents sent her to a hospital where she would stay from 7:00 in the morning until 6:30 at night. I think I have those times right - I can't really remember, but anyways, it doesn't matter. Considering the fact that we lived an hour and a half away from the said hospital, it took a huge chunk of time out of our day to get her back and forth. She couldn't drive herself - the therapists said it burned too many calories.
Idina went to the hospital, and they ran a bunch of tests. They found out that the anorexia had caused a somewhat serious heart problem. I honestly have never understood exactly what's wrong with her heart, but it had to do with one of the valves or something.
Instead of being convinced that the anorexia was squeezing whatever life Idina had left, Idina was proud of the fact that she'd achieved so much sickness that she had a heart problem. To us, it was a huge concern. To her, it was a badge of honor.
At the time, our family nannied two two-year-old boys. I'm homeschooled, so many days, my dad would go to work, my mom would take Idina to the hospital and stay there with her, and I'd stay at home - homeschooling myself, watching the two boys, and managing all my other chores and responsibility.
Miserable much? Yeah...