When I was younger I was really thin. I was thin getting married. I started taking the pill and I blew out – I ended up having a blub that was under my bust.
Some people call it a spare tyre. It was horrible. You name it, I tried every diet – I was permanently on diets and going nowhere.
I’d always had chest problems. I spent my first four years in and out of hospital for TB so I had a weakness in my chest – asthma kicked in when I was in my early 30s. Stress is related to asthma – at this time of year, doing Panto, I’d be starting to choke and on my inhaler ‘til March.
I developed diabetes, borderline. The doctor always checked my weight and blood sugar levels. One day he said we could reverse this but it’d mean an operation.
At the time I didn’t know what he was talking about – he meant bariatric surgery. I said forget it, not a hope. I was grieving at that time – I’d just buried my mother.
I didn’t want to know about surgery. After my third Covid vaccine, I had a bad reaction. My lungs had to be cleaned out.
I realised my diaphragm couldn’t go down properly because of the blub. I got such a fright – ‘Jesus, my diaphragm can’t work properly!’ I realised if I wanted a healthy life and maybe an extension of my life – and to feel good about myself – I’d have to make changes. And maybe I was ready for that change then because a decision to go for bariatric surgery is not one you take lightly.
I woke up the following morning, said nothin.