This past week I had the second of two cataract surgeries on my right eye – they’re doing this for younger people these days. The left eye was “done” a month ago.

This means I haven’t been walking my dogs or lifting anything heavier than 10 lbs. for weeks. I’m immobile. For the first time in years, my favourite exercise, walking my dogs, is verboten.

I don’t enjoy solo walking. Furthermore, the weather has been anything but walkable, so I’ve stayed home and fallen off my eating plan for my eating disorder.

I never weigh myself

Then, at my annual physical last week, I had a chat with my GP. I stepped on the scale backwards, so I couldn’t see the number. I didn’t have to. Although weight is one number you don’t need to know, I know I’m heavier and I don’t like the way I feel. I hate it.

My doctor didn’t recommend a diet, which for anyone with an eating disorder is a dirty word and a dangerous pursuit.

“Just get back on your eating plan and get out and walk, without the dogs if you must, but not too much,” she advised me sternly.

She knows how easily I can get obsessed and addicted to exercise, my form of purging.