The Nature of Predators - Anorexia (1/2) (Patreon)

CW: Eating Disorder

Memory transcription subject: Crysa, Zurulian Nurse

Date [standardized human time]: April 27, 2137

Learning human anatomy was one thing, in the emergency room.

When the emaciated predator arrived at the hospital, with sallow skin that hugged her bones, I was a little terrified of her doubtless desperation. I really hadn’t been afraid of Terrans in months, after fighting to pull them back from the brink of death. I’d gone with the volunteers to Earth after the bombing, where society wasn’t nearly as in check as it was on Skalga now. They weren’t dangerous in the sense of trying to eat us, and I didn’t have any qualms about saving their lives. However, this particular instance brought out the more alarmist thoughts buried within me.

My work at the hospital had been critical, with the influx of millions of binocular-eyed refugees to this world; there weren’t enough medical staff with crucial training, and our hospital had a single human doctor—a surgeon, who seemed wrapped up in touting his own abilities. I’d love to have pawned this patient off on Dr. Baranwal, but the Terran was swamped in work for life-threatening organ surgeries: heart issues, primarily. He was a bizarre figure, often listening to furious “rock” music while in the operating suite; I wasn’t sure I’d trust such a predator to have a delicate touch, no matter how self-assured he was. Regardless, this patient, labeled Adana Davtyan on her chart, didn’t fall under his jurisdiction.

There were numerous questions rolling around my head. How did this human wind up so starved of food to begin with? The Terrans on Earth hadn’t displayed any propensity to devour me, but they hadn’t been so malnourished and ravenous. Adana might be willing to eat anything that resembled a meal, this late into her decay; there wasn’t the slightest trace of fat on her. It might’ve been months since she had a full stomach, and we all knew what happened with the Arxur losing control under similar circumstances. I had set her up with an IV to treat the dehydration and nutrient deficiencies, then was at a loss for what to do. It was simple to save this predator’s life, but what happened when she woke up?

Crysa, this human didn’t attack anyone in this state; there’s no evidence of that. Still, Adana will be disoriented when she wakes up…glad I went ahead with tube feeding her.

I’d inserted a temporary nasogastric tube, pumping food down her throat and directly to her stomach, in the hopes of negating that issue. I was tempted to keep her sedated, or at least restrain her until we’d finished refeeding her, but that wouldn’t be treating the human fairly. I wanted to help her, and discover the roots of what had placed her in such dire straits. For all I knew, there could be anti-human agitators who were capturing refugees, and bringing them into this pitiful state to try to evoke Arxur-like behavior. My compromise with my own apprehension was to monitor her vitals, and have an alert sent to my holopad when she rose into wakefulness. As the notification chime played out, I reminded myself there were zero instances of hungry humans eating sapient prey thus far. I forced myself to pad to the room. Whatever state Adana Davtyan was in, I needed to gauge her behavior early enough to assess her hostility.

“Hello. I’m Nurse Crysa,” I offered cautiously, trying not to let my voice quiver. My fear of humans rarely surfaced, but these were extraordinary circumstances. “You’re in a hospital, after collapsing from s-starvation. Your malnourishment is treatable, and…we’ll get you whatever you want for food.”

That last part was a bit of stretching the truth, in terms of whatever the predator wanted being available. Since it was illegal to distribute meat-based foods on Skalga, the hospital carried plant substitutes for Terran patients—mock-ups of the real deal as a compromise. It was my assessment that we should have a small quantity of real flesh meals for cases such as this. I found the vast majority of humans to be mild-mannered, as long as their primary needs were taken care of and they were emotionally secure; I had no quarrel with their species. I chose not to confront what they ate because of the discomfort it caused me, trying to accept omnivory. In cases such as these, I might be forced to condone such undignified palates for safety.

Adana’s unfocused eyes pointed at me, with stunning disinterest from my offer of food. “I…I just fainted. I don’t need to be in the hospital. Have you…never seen a human diet? I’m trying to lose weight.”

“I beg your pardon?” It took me several seconds after the utterance to try to gather my thoughts, as I was more perplexed than ever by her explanation. I’d seen the charts and measured her weight in “clump” units. From everything I knew from the anatomical crash courses and from seeing other humans, she wasn’t a healthy weight; and it sounded like this was by choice, rather than circumstance. “Is this one of your morbid jokes? You should not be on a…diet. If you don’t start eating more, and a lot more, it’s going to KILL you.”

“That’s extreme. I need to lose more weight. I’ve dropped plenty of pounds, but I look in the mirror and…God, I’m fat, no matter what I do. If I start eating more, I’ll just gain weight right back.”

“I don’t know what to say, other than if you think you need to lose weight, it’s some type of delusion. Do you suffer from predator-diseased hallucinations…ah, sorry, old habits. We’re supposed to use subcategory names post-Treaty of Sol. As I was saying, I’ve seen not-so-slender predators, love, ones that made me quite worried about just how much they could eat…and you’re quite the opposite. You look like skin and bones.”

“I appreciate the compliment, Nurse; you flatter me, though I have a lot further to go.” That…wasn’t a compliment? “Weight loss is something that I can succeed at. It makes me feel…good about myself. I excel at it, even. With what happened on Earth, there hasn’t been anything else I’m able to control. I can control how much food I eat and how people look at me. You said it yourself, about the…not-so-slender ones scaring you.”

I tilted my head. “I thought a comparison would show you the reality. What you’re doing is self-harm; that’s not something you want to be successful at! Or is it some kind of sacrifice so that preyfolk think you’re not scary? As thoughtful as that might be, the people who are afraid of you…will still be afraid of you.”

“All that talk about food, and meat. I never felt very drawn to meals…it just makes me anxious and sad. It brings up that inner voice that’s screaming at me, and saying that I shouldn’t have it, you know? There’s so much fat and calories in Venlil food; and yes, I can’t be judged if I don’t eat. Humans can and should control our appetite. You guys were right.”

“That doesn’t mean…you shouldn’t eat at all!” I was at a loss, becoming exasperated by Adana’s skewed vision of herself and her thought patterns. This was something I needed to research; perhaps her body didn’t release ghrelin, the human hunger hormone. There were zero other defects I could think of to account for this behavior, and I’d never seen any conditions present like this in medical literature. “Look, this isn’t what anyone who cares about humans wants for you. Let me get you something to eat, please. Something like an alkaine salad isn’t unhealthy or heavy on calories; it’s vegetables.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ve eaten plenty of food.”

“No, you haven’t. Adana, I will make you eat something if I have to reinsert the feeding tube!”

The human’s eyes widened in horror. “You did what? You…want me to be fat. Why am I so disgusting? Everyone’s just disgusted by my body…I’m going to be alone here forever.”

Is this about being alone? Some rare exhibition of depression? I’m in way over my head. I need to make a quick exit, and find out what’s behind this behavior—maybe it’s some new manifestation because of predatorphobia. It sounds like she somehow hated food, and living on Skalga made that anxiety worse.

“You’re not alone. I’m not disgusted by you. What frightens some of us about humans is the fact that you are predators, and that you’re capable of certain things: not who you really are,” I responded. “I want to save human lives. In fact, I want to save yours from whatever this is. Why don’t I make you a deal, Adana?”

The Terran blinked tears away from her brown eyes. “What’s that?”

“You eat a salad, just for me, to kick off our friendship. We’ll be friends. We can get to know each other, to feel a little less lonely. I would like to hear about your struggles, if you’ll let me. With what happened on Earth, it’s reasonable to be distraught. This could be a great learning experience to help other humans down the road.”

“Fine, but I want a Venlil portion. Human portions are way bigger than theirs…and I don’t like it. Nothing with carbs or fat either.”

“Okay. Give me a minute, and you just relax right here.”

I scurried out of the patient’s room, eager to find a private space to search up these symptoms in Earth’s database. As with any alien species, they had some conditions that were unique to their anatomy and evolution, but this one defied comprehension. No matter how much I racked my brain, I couldn’t think of anything even comparable to this, apart from maybe stomach cancer causing disinterest in food. Adana hadn’t complained of any pain or physiological changes which made her not want to eat, and her initial blood tests hadn’t detected any markers, beyond those of deficiencies, dehydration, and malnutrition. I ducked into the break room, wishing Dr. Baranwal was free for questioning.

It's strange to think of encouraging a predator to eat flesh, or just to eat more in general. Their appetite is a topic I never want to broach, besides making sure they’re sated; I practically had to force Adana to agree to a salad. It’s like food horrifies her.

I slid into a private corner, not wanting to alert any of the more traditional-minded Venlil staff. Despite the UN’s prohibitions, I didn’t want any of them getting the idea to quietly send Adana off to a predator disease facility; those went against our oath to do no harm, in my secret, controversial opinion. The humans’ alternative treatments were definitely less unsettling, if such counterintuitive methods could work. I punched in the jumbled, incoherent prompt “won’t eat while starving feels fat” to the database AI, which spit out information and studies on eating disorders. It seemed to be a basket of issues with predators’ relationship to food—given how much their culture and evolution centered around their gullet, I supposed that made some sense.

The one that seemed applicable to Adana was anorexia, a syndrome where humans became obsessive over their weight and didn’t want to eat. Perhaps it had something to do with feeling guilt over their more predatory compulsions and cravings; I wouldn’t want to think about food, if my body compelled me to chow down on carcasses. I’d probably feel anxiety about mealtime and disgust at my form as well, torn between hardy empathy and instincts. This Terran shouldn’t starve because of her feelings! Honestly, the only thing I thought would nurse her back to health was meat. The medical literature suggested nutritional planning as part of the long-term solution, though that wasn’t something I wanted to be involved in.

“That one is not what Adana has, but worrying,” I murmured, tapping my claw against the result for “binge-eating disorder.” “I had no idea the Terrans struggled so much with what they eat. The fact that some, like my patient, struggle to bring themselves to hunt is reassuring, in a way. But this…this is worrying.”

Terrans with binge-eating disorder could eat massive amounts of food in a short period of time, unable to control how much they ate. To me, that sounded like some humans couldn’t control their instincts combined with appetite; when they were hungry, they would devour anything. The literature documented an actual compulsion, perhaps the first acknowledgment of some latent impulses related to mealtime. There was a specific type called bulimia where the predators regretted it after, and attempted to induce vomiting to prevent the excessive nourishment from reaching their stomachs.

If a human with one of those types of “eating disorders” walked into the hospital, and couldn’t control what they ate…what would happen to me? How could the United Nations not have warned us about this? It was clear that hadn’t prevented people with these issues from traveling to Skalga, since Adana had shown up here! Them purging my chewed-up remains with remorse wouldn’t do much good. I found myself fretting over the predators for the first time in a long time; I felt like I’d uncovered a dark secret. I pinned my ears back, trying not to whimper. I wanted to help Terrans, but that sounded like the Arxur, devouring any food they could get their paws on.

Dr. Baranwal strutted into the break room with a cocky smile. “It takes a special kind of person to be a surgeon. To hold a person’s heart in your hands, outside their body, and to put it back in—like a watchmaker tinkering with a machine. But when, oh when, Crysa, am I ever not up to the task?”

“You, and your entire species, are liars. You pretend there’s no risk of humans losing control, then don’t think to hide this entry,” I hissed, swiveling the holopad around.

“Ah, that’s a complicated topic…given your opinion of our dietary preferences. This isn’t like an Arxur, Crysa; bulimics don’t wolf down the first thing they see. Shit, I’m not the person to discuss this. I have the delicate touch on the operating table, but not so much for tap-dancing around aliens’ feelings.”

“That’s why I want you to talk about it. I have a patient that I believe is presenting with anorexia.”

“Not my area of expertise. But why the fuck are you showing me the bulimia entry?”

“I couldn’t help but read about the other…instances. Ones that went in the opposite direction.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. We don’t consider you food for this to be an issue that concerns you. This just means…overindulging when you sit down for a meal, and feeling like you can’t stop eating. It means raiding the fridge, not walking past you in the hallway and going cannibal. Food is one way people cope with emotions, and some cope more than others. Like when I don’t feel that I’m receiving enough appreciation at work, I’ll go for a candy bar at home. Catharsis. A bulimic is the equivalent of an alcoholic, but with food as the poison: not alcohol.”

“Because…it makes them feel better. It tastes pleasurable?”

“Yeah. You’ve never seen humans eat meat raw, or live animals. That doesn’t register in our brains as appealing, and it wouldn’t taste good either.”

“Then why do Terrans like my patient not want to eat, if it brings you pleasure? It’s guilt over eating predator food, and subsisting off of living things, right?”

Dr. Baranwal closed one eyelid for a brief moment, angling it at me. “No, anorexia is because everyone is trying to be as handsome as me. I’m basically a Greek statue. Deadass, it’s more that people want to be beautiful. Like me. And thinness is associated with beauty to an unrealistic degree. It’s about wanting people to love them, and feeling like others judge them on appearance. Disclaimer, I don’t know how accurate this is; not my field, only a passing knowledge.”

“What do you mean by judging them on appearance? Obviously, that has been more about binocular eyes and canine teeth than body fat.”

“It doesn’t matter. Anorexics will attribute unrelated negative responses to them to their weight. Top on the toxic dialogue around food, and frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t had several patients walk through your doors. For people already susceptible to that kind of thing, you’re giving the worst comments possible—pushing them into that kind of behavior. Now they really feel like they shouldn’t eat at all.”

I blinked several times, processing the abnormally observant comments from Dr. Baranwal. It didn’t always seem like he was receptive to others’ emotions, but he’d hammered out an explanation for these behaviors that hadn’t registered with me before. Terrans were social creatures, and I already knew how much alien judgment could warp their minds and affect their moods. Now I learned they would starve themselves to the brink of death, to avoid feeling rejected? That was so unspeakably sad, that it brought tears to my eyes.

What have we done? This is our fault, triggering these humans into feeling ugly, disgusting, and unwanted. I unintentionally broke my “do no harm” oath just through my bias. I have to make Adana eat…and more than a salad.

“The Venlil populace needs to know about this,” I decided. “To see a predator refusing to eat…because they’re deprived of love. Just because they think it’ll make us happy.”

Dr. Baranwal narrowed his eyes. “Why? So that they can call it predator disease, and use it as more evidence that our minds are unstable? Most aliens don’t understand how much we all want validation; even though most Terrans don’t deserve it by merit of their skill, as I do.”

“I just…we need to know that we’re pushing your people into this. We have to stop it! I feel responsible, that it’s all because we don’t like flesh-eating. I still have qualms about that side of you.”

“If you feel responsible, then change it. Be supportive with no conditions, and shut down that voice in the back of your head—the one that’s there when you say you’re not afraid of us anymore. Being supportive means jumping through hoops to bring Adana meat, and then to encourage her to eat it.”

“You want me to encourage a predator to eat flesh? How would I even obtain it? Selling it is banned on this world!”

“This hasn’t been publicized, for obvious reasons, but it is permitted now in the Terran refugee camps—as long as it’s not visible from the outside, and it’s only sold to humans. Veln is trying to buy our votes, I think. Anyhow…go to my office. Second drawer, I’ve got a turkey sandwich. Feed it to her.”

I gaped at Dr. Baranwal. “You brought carcass meals into the hospital?”

“Yep, and I’ve been doing it for awhile. You don’t exactly have another human surgeon, so I’m not worried about my job security. How about instead of chastising me, you go get it and do what’s right? I mean, heavens, I can’t help but save the day—even things where I’m not supposed to do the fixing.”

“I’m just…I want to, but I’m not sure I can. Adana needs to have this though, to come back from starvation…to be healthy. I can’t see her like this, in such an emaciated state. I’ll…try.”

Dr. Baranwal, tapped the table, smiling. “Right. Good talk. Now off you go!”

I padded my way down to his office, feeling like I was sneaking off to commit a criminal offense. I located the sandwich in a bread-shaped container: the arrogance to hide it in plain sight in his desk. No matter, it was probably good that he had it; this wasn’t any different than the flesh meals I’d thought we should have, in case any humans’ hunger got out of hand. The sole difference was that I would have to be standing by to convince Adana to eat something that made me uncomfortable, and that I’d never stick in my mouth. If I was going to help this patient, there would be no more turning a blind eye to the predators’ diet anymore.

Next

A/N - Part 1 of this two parter! A serious topic to touch on, with the Feds' hefty focus on diet and food...that rhetoric has amplified certain eating disorders by making humans feel guilty. Our Zurulian nurse is forced to confront her own prejudices, after trying to avoid our mealtime, and is shown the horror of the situation by a human colleague. Can Crysa sacrifice a little of herself to help a human? Do you think the sandwich is the right way to support Adana?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting! There's a story about Noah and Tarva's kids coming up very soon, after Chapter 184 concludes NOP1; bonus content can revisit any favorite characters you guys want to see again!