Those who remembered him had raised their eyebrows, but Joe was far more compliable the second time around. He forced himself to finish his trays and drank his supplements when he didn't. He dragged himself up at five a.m. for weights and measures and began speaking of his insecurities to his doctors. He took the antidepressant that was handed to him in a paper cup and made his way upstairs to family and individual therapy. He asked not to be told what exactly consisted of his meal plan until he had reached Level 3, when he'd be officially off bed rest, moved upstairs, and begin attending Group Therapy sessions.
The weight came on fast and furious, and with it came a depression unlike Joe had ever imagined existed. He wanted nothing more than to lie in bed all day, which he would if the nurses weren't there to drag you up. Nothing seemed funny, or happy, or worth rising for: even sunlight seemed lined with darkness, as if he were viewing the slowly emerging Spring like a widescreen movie.
It was to Frank and Frank alone that the younger Hardy confided his fears of worthlessness, the helplessness of having lost control of all aspects of his life, the unfamiliarity of his body, the nausea after meals, the terror of having eaten, the urge to run to the toilet and vomit and vomit and vomit until he was clean and pure but knowing now that he'd never be, not this way, because the disease would never let him stop until—
And Frank would put his arms around and stroke his hair and tell him not to say it, to just go on and get through it because one day—promise promise—it will all be better. It was to Frank and Frank alone that he cried.
One month after Joe's admission, his treatment team met with the Hardy family with smiles and congratulations on their son's improvement look at the numbers—weight heart-rate nutrition—everything was up and positive and looking much better.
"We think," Dr. Ziv said with a smile, "that you're ready to become a day patient."
Laura touched her son's arm, but Joe barely glanced up.
"Honey?" Laura murmured. "That's good news, don't you think?"
"You can come home," Fenton said with a grin, hoping his son would show some positive reaction to the news.
Joe finally looked to Frank, who was watching him calmly.
"I'll help you," he said gently, and Joe finally brightened.
"Okay," he sighed, "I'm ready."