Our Lives
I hated being the fat friend, so I inked myself an ultimatum.
As I watched the figures on the dance floor, I let out a sigh of regret.
I was on a night out with my friends, but while they were all letting loose, I was sitting on the sidelines.
And I was too embarrassed to admit why.
‘Are you all right, Amy?’ asked my older sister Lola, as she sat down next to me.
‘I’m fine,’ I replied.
But that was a lie. The truth was, at 19 stone and a size 22, I felt too self-conscious to strut my stuff with the others.
Although I’d always been on the larger side, I’d put on more weight after the birth of my second child two years earlier.
I couldn’t resist a takeaway, and my love of heavily buttered toast and crisp sandwiches wasn’t helping either.
But it wasn’t just that I struggled to find clothes to fit me, my weight was also having an impact on my health.
‘At this rate, you’ll have a stroke by the time you’re 30,’ my GP told me.
She prescribed me high blood pressure medication and encouraged me to lose weight. But it was hopeless.
Despite years of trying different diets, I couldn’t shift the pounds and keep them off.
Feeling desperate, I started to research other options and hit on something.
‘I’m going to apply for weight-loss surgery on the NHS,’ I told my partner, Matt.
He was slim and didn’t really understand why losing weight was so hard for me.
But he knew I had to find a way, for the sake of my health and for my two kids.
So, at 31, I was assessed and the doctor said: ‘You could be eligible.’
First, I was put on a healthy eating plan to prove I was committed to losing weight.
I had to lose five per cent of my body weight to be referred to the consultant.
I felt determined, but then Covid struck and sent everything into chaos.
I struggled to keep to the plan and it took me ages to lose the weight I needed.
But finally, two years later, I was booked in for surgery.
Matt dropped me off at the hospital and I was prepared for the two-hour operation.
The surgeon was going to remove three-quarters of my stomach, including the part where the hunger hormone was produced.
It meant that I’d only have to eat very small amounts of food to feel full.
I felt so hopeful as I was wheeled into the operating theatre.
But when I woke up, I was in agony. And the following day, back at my home in Swanley, Kent, I was still in a lot of pain. ‘This is much worse than I thought,’ I said to Matt.
I was supposed to have 80g of protein per day, but it took me three days to manage just 20g.
But there was an upside. Withi
