E 1112 CONGRESSIONAL RECORD — Extensions of Remarks May 24, 1995

EATING DISORDERS INFORMATION

AND EDUCATION ACT

HON. PATRICIA SCHROEDER OF COLORADO

IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

Tuesday, May 23, 1995

Mrs. SCHROEDER. Mr. Speaker, today I

am introducing the Eating Disorders Information and Education Act, which provides outreach and education for the increasing number

of people—primarily women and young girls—

with eating disorders.

Eating disorders and self-induced vomiting,

compulsive dieting, binge-eating and self-starvation regimes afflicting 7 million women and

1 million men, according to the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated

Disorders [ANAD]. Their cause is complex, but

studies have looked at genetics, environments, biochemistry and personalities. Certainly, there is a strong link between these disorders and the pressure to be thin in our society.

It is estimated that about 6 percent of those

with serious cases die, and only 50 percent

report being cured. While 86 percent report

onset of the disorder by age 20, even those

10 years and younger are known to suffer

from it.

Eating disorders typically last one to 15

years. Treatment is often expensive and longter—$30,000 or more a month for inpatient

treatment and $100,000 or more for outpatient

care. Many find their insurance doesn’t cover

treatment.

Even though eating disorders are widespread, no State has an adequate program to

combat them, and few schools have programs

to educate youth about them, according to

ANAD.

My bill helps address this lack of public

knowledge. It amends the Public Health Service Act to establish a program providing information and education to the public on the prevention and treatment of eating disorders.

That program would be carried out by the

Center for Mental Health Services, which

would also provide a toll-free public hotline offering information and referrals for prevention

and treatment. The bill authorizes $2 million

for fiscal year 1996 and such sums as are

necessary for fiscal years 1997 through 1998.

I was particularly moved by the story of

Ellen Hart Pena, wife of our Transportation

Secretary Federico Pena, in the April 10 issue

of People magazine. She told of her more

than 10-year struggle to break free of anorexia

and bulimia. Only after long-term therapy did

she end the cycle of starvation diets and

bingeing and purging. I would like to include

her story for the RECORD.

[Taken from People Magazine, April 10, 1995]

HITTING HER STRIDE

(By Ellen Hart Pen ̃ a)

I remembered exactly the moment it

began. It was January 1980, during my senior

year at Harvard where I ran on the track

team. My coach had suggested that I lose

some weight over Christmas break to help

me run faster, and I had worked out every

day and gone from 132 to 123 pounds. But

when I came back from vacation I had a really crummy workout, and the coach said it

looked as if I were gaining back the weight.

That was the click. If he’d made the same

comment to me a year earlier it probably

wouldn’t have hand any effect. But I was just

four months from graduation and at a point

where I was scared about being an adult,

about being a woman and going out into the

world. Until then, my life had been scripted

and safe. Now there were changes happening

I couldn’t control. I was really hurt by the

coach’s remark and said to myself, ‘‘I’m

never, ever going to be fat again.’’

Almost immediately, I began eating very

little and spent all my free time running.

But then I’d have this uncontrollable, demonic urge to eat ice cream, cookies, doughnuts—anything high-calorie. And I’d eat

until I couldn’t eat anymore. Afterward, I

couldn’t bear the thought that it would stay

in me and turn into fat, so I’d have to purge.

During the worst periods, I’d binge and purge

four or five times a day, from the moment I

woke up until I went to sleep. By April, I was

down to 110, and I looked like a cadaver.

The purging was really painful, and it

made me feel horrible, disgusting and

wretched. I shared a campus dormitory suite

with four other women, and when I went into

the bathroom I’d lock the door and turn the

water on to over the sound. But my roommates knew. One of them brought me library

books on anorexia and persuaded my coach

to make me see a counselor. It didn’t help. I

just sat there until the session was over. My

mom found out that spring, and when I visited her in Albuquerque in April she arranged for me to see a family friend who was

a psychiatrist. But in my family, people are

private. No one was going to hear of my

problem and say, ‘‘Enough is enough,’’ and

plunk me in treatment. Nobody in my family

had ever seen a therapist, and when I stopped

going after one visit, my mom and one of my

sisters, who were the only ones who knew of

my problem, didn’t push me further. And I

was still in denial and didn’t think I needed

a psychiatrist.

When I graduated in June I was very depressed, and it was difficult to be with people. I took a job teaching English and coaching soccer at a private boarding school in

Colorado Springs but quit a year later when

Nike offered to sponsor me as a runner. For

the next four years, I tried to make a go as

an amateur athlete, first in Boston, then

back in Colorado. My eating improved a bit

when I was training because I was happy.

But whenever I got injured and couldn’t run,

I’d fall back into the bingeing and purging

several times a day for weeks and months at

a time. I was dehydrated, I was cold all the

time, my hands would shake, and I would get

headaches. And I had horrible nightmares

that I would just eat and get bigger like this

huge blimp.

Most people didn’t know I had a problem.

In relationships, I would pick men who

wouldn’t try to get too close to me. And I did

a good job of hiding things. No one noticed

when I didn’t eat—I’d take just a couple of

bites of what was on my plate and then

mound it up all together so it didn’t look

like much. The bingeing and purging I’d do

behind closed doors. But I was trying everything to control my problem. I learned to

meditate, I prayed, I went to group and individual therapy and Overeaters Anonymous

meetings. Either the techniques weren’t

right for me or I wasn’t ready for them.

Sometimes I was actually sorry that the

eating disorder wouldn’t kill me, and I’d

think, ‘‘Please, just let me out of this.’’

In February 1984, I met Federico at a race

in Denver. I placed first among the women

and, as mayor, he presented me with the

award. I thought he was very down-to-earth

and genuine, and we seemed to hit it off. But

I couldn’t imagine that anyone could like me

if they knew about this horrible part of my

life. When we started dating, I told him I had

an eating problem and was working on it,

but I made sure he didn’t find out how bad it

was. Hiding it was actually pretty easy.

Federico was working at least 15 hours a day,

and after I started law school at the University of Colorado at Boulder in the fall of 1985

we couldn’t spend that much time together.

Several months later I found a therapist

who specialized in eating disorders, but I

didn’t begin to make progress until I started

with yet another therapist in 1987. She

helped me see how my eating was connected

to my perfectionism and my need for control. I remember in grade school going into

the bathroom and crying whenever my team

lost because I felt I hadn’t done enough to

make us win. As the second oldest of eight

children, I had been a caretaker growing up

so I also didn’t know how to ask for help. I

felt like a failure acknowledging that I

wasn’t all that strong or capable, and I had

been trying to escape those negative feelings

by bingeing and purging. But as I began to

deal with my fears, my confidence grew. I

really believed I could get better, so when

Federico proposed in 1987, I said yes.

We married in May 1988. I graduated law

school the same month and took a job with

a prestigious firm in Denver. Then the following October I learned I was pregnant. I

never told Federico the full extent of my eating disorder, and now I didn’t tell my obstetrician. For a while I was good about my eating, but before long I was bingeing and purging. Then, six months into my pregnancy, I

began to have really significant contractions. That was the moment when I said,

‘‘Stop. You have to take care of your body,

and your body is now carrying a baby.’’ I’m

absolutely convinced that if I hadn’t been in

therapy for a long time, I wouldn’t have been

able to turn the corner.

It wasn’t easy. I would eat and feel so

bloated, and then the old feelings would kick

in—eating equals fat equals bad. Keeping in

touch with my therapist in Boulder, I just

had to take a leap of faith that it was really

going to turn out okay. Amazingly I’m still

okay. Through Nellia’s birth that July and

Cristina’s birth 19 months later and all the

stress of moving to Washington in 1993, my

eating problem has not resurfaced. Even

when I suffered a miscarriage that July, I

knew I was strong enough to withstand the

pain. I don’t think the lost pregnancy was as

real to Federico as it was to me, but when he

asked me if I wanted to go back into therapy

to help work through my sadness, I told him

I had the tools now to deal with pain myself.

Although Federico had attended a few

therapy sessions with me, we never had the

3-hour, tearful kind of talk about my illness

you might expect because I was too afraid to

reveal the depths of my disease. In fact, I

don’t think he truly understood how bad it

was until last fall when I showed him an article I’d written for the ‘‘Road Runners Club

of America’’ newsletter. I think he felt bad

that he hadn’t understood. My response was

that he had done all I had allowed him to do,

which was basically to stand by me.

I’m running and even competing again, for

the first time I can run just for the enjoyment of it. I’ve also learned to manage my

weight, which is now 125, without getting totally compulsive and weird. A couple of

months ago I gained four or five pounds, but

I just said, ‘‘Oh well, I’ll have to be more

thoughtful about food choices.’’ That felt

great. There are still times when I’m tempted to binge and purge, and I think, ‘‘Maybe

just today . . .’’ But I’m strong enough to resist it. I’m not walking near that cliff again

because going over the edge was my private

hell. I can’t go back.