|
Written
by Kelly
Strange - Photos by
Jeremy Durkin.
The crowd cheered
as a woman placed a tiara on my head and a sash round my body. I beamed with pride. The sash read: Slimmer Of The Year 2002. I'd
done it. After months of dieting, I'd lost six stone — the
most in my slimming group region.
Cameras flashed and reporters
swarmed, but there was only one person I wanted to see. And then in
the audience I spotted her — my daughter Laura She was 12 and had
been my main motivation for losing weight. 'Well done, Mum,' she said, hugging me. 'You look brilliant.'
It hadn't been easy for her,
growing up with a single mum who'd often sought comfort in food to
suppress her loneliness. Now though, I could spend time doing things
with Laura. Swimming, walks in the park... What I hadn't taken
into account was that my little girl was on the verge of being a teenager.
She wanted to be with her mates, not her old mum. I was as lonely as I'd ever been — only, now I was thinner.
Soon I found
solace in some old friends. A chocolate bar here, a dessert there... Slowly my weight crept back up. A year on, I'd put back on
the six stone I'd lost — and then some!
One day I came across that
sash. Huh, I thought, I should cross out 'Slimmer Of The Year 2002'
and instead put 'Lardarse Of The Year 2003'. I started crying.
I couldn't return to the slimming group — imagine the looks I'd get.
They'd probably want the sash back. I tried the usual diets —
Atkins, cabbage soup... Nothing worked. Three years passed and
the scales leapt past 19 stone. Then a friend told me about a
drug called orlistat that prevented the body from absorbing fat. 'But
you mustn't eat any fatty food,' my friend warned. 'Or...'
She
explained that any fat would pass through the body as an oily, orange
liquid — which, well... 'Smells like runny poo,' she said. I went to my doctor and was prescribed the pills. For weeks I dieted and
the pounds fell off. Occasionally I faltered. My friend was right a
bout the discharge. Hours after pigging out — yeurk!
I was a
teacher and one afternoon in the staff room a colleague brought in a
birthday cake. 'Fancy a slice?' she asked. 'l can't...' I said.
'Oh, go on,' she badgered. I relented and it was delicious. I
knew I'd pay for it later but I'd be home by then. One more lesson to go...
'Right, everyone,' I said to my class of teenagers. 'I'd
like you to open...' Rumble... Oh no, my stomach! 'I'd
like you...' Rumble... '...to open...' Rumble, rumble...
Suddenly there was an explosion in my knickers. I panicked, waiting for
the stench to hit the room. 'Open your bowels,' I said, edging towards the door. 'I mean, books.... be back in five minutes.
I
could feel my face getting hotter and hotter as they all stared at me.
Then I felt damp seeping through my knickers. The humiliation...
I'd pooed myself in class! I had to get out of there. Luckily I was wearing a long black skirt. I dashed to the shops to buy
new underwear. But the damage had been done. I'd disgraced my
self in front of a class of 16-year-olds. News of poo-gate soon sp
read and the kids laughed as I passed by in the corridors. Oh, the shame!
I
gave up the pills. Without any miracle cure, I'd stay fat forever.
I became depressed and pigged out even more. Laura noticed something
was wrong but was too young to do anything about it.
Within months
I weighed in at 20 stone, my heaviest yet. What would be enough to
make me change my ways? Weeks later Laura and I were involved in a
car accident. Thankfully, Laura was unhurt but I kept going over
and over the incident in my head. I could have easily been trapped in that car and too fat to wriggle free. Nor could I have helped Laura. That frightened me.
At a check-up with my doctor, it all
came tumbling out. I'd never moaned to anyone about my weight be
fore because I'd always thought they'd say 'go away' and 'stop being
greedy'. Instead the doctor listened patiently, then told me he'd refer me to hospital. There, after a discussion, a bariatric surgeon
said I was a good candidate for gastric bypass surgery. Though
the procedure does carry a risk of death,' he warned. My heart pounded. I thought of Laura... 'Isn't there any other option?' I asked. 'What
about a gastric band?' He shook his head. 'With your
food addiction, Julie,' he said, 'a band won't work because you'll find
ways to cheat it, such as melting down chocolate...' 'As if,' I gasped.
The surgeon smiled. 'Actually, I'd already wondered about melting chocolate...' I admitted, my voice trailing off.
It seemed a
bypass was the only answer. That night at dinner, I sat gazing at Laura.
'You all right, Mum?' she asked. I wanted to tell her everything.
A
bout how desperate I was to lose weight, about the bypass and how there
was a danger it might kill me. But instead I asked: 'How was
your day, dear?' She told me all about what she was doing at college,
all about a new friend she'd made... She looked so full of life.
I wanted to share it with her. I decided I couldn't risk the by
pass surgery. Then again, what was the alternative? My cur
rent lifestyle would eventually kill me anyway.
I made up my mind.
I'd have the op, and I told Laura. Days before, I wrote my daughter a goodbye letter in case I died in theatre.
To Laura, You
are my (baby and always will be... Enjoy your life.. .and make
very moment count. I will always watch over you. The brightest
star in the sky is me...you will never be alone, I promise. All my
love now and forever, Mumxx
Then I left it in my diary.
The day arrived. I gave Laura a kiss and set off to the hospital.
After being taken to theatre, I was given an anaesthetic...
Four
hours later I woke I up. Still woozy, I could make out the surgeon in front of me. 'The operation has been successful...' he said.
I managed a grin but he told me the most difficult part was still to come.
I'd only be able to eat pureed foods. It sounded hard, but
back home I found a few mouthfuls filled me up. I lost 11 pounds in
the first week, two stone in the first month. A year on, I am just 10 stone. Amazing!
My confidence soared and then I met Tony.
After a month, I showed him the 'before' pictures. That's never you!
' he gasped. The only problem was my 42D boobs had shrunk to 32A buds.
I started saving for a boob job.
Online one day, I spotted a
contest to find the UK's
best surgery transformation.
I filled out an entry form but didn't think I had a hope of winning.
Then I got a call inviting me to the final, including a makeover and photo
shoot. On the day, I was preened and primped until I felt like a princess. Later we attended the ceremony. An announcer said: 'And Britain's Miss Cosmetic Surgery is...Julie.' I thought I'd
misheard! The crowd cheered as a tiara was placed on my head and a
sash wrapped round me. After all this time...another sash.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I remembered the prize —
a boob job!
Now I'm preparing for surgery. I've chosen to go up to
a D-cup. Tony is thrilled but not as much as me. It's crazy —
this from the woman who won a slimming contest only to end up fatter than
before.
Well, this time, Laura, . Tony, everybody... the weight's
staying off. And that's a promise.
To
register for this year's competition, visit www.lindabriggs.co.uk
|
