48 hours and counting ....

Ok, now I'm scared. Going into hospital has never scared me before but it does now. Perhaps it's because I know what can go wrong.

1 in 200 complication rate. That's better odds than the lottery.

Went to the GPs today to get tablets in liquid form. Except they don't produce 3 out of the 4 in liquid form. Balls. Big, hairy balls.

I haven't written a will. I know I should have done that anyway, whether or not I'm having surgery. I can't do it now - it's just too freaky. I leave everything I own to my other half and all my debts - well I leave my debts to .... God, I don't know.

Can't write anymore, too anxious. Tomorrow night I'm going to take something to make me sleep. NightNurse should do it. Bugger, and I've got to get through a full day at work tomorrow. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

The Ghost of Eating Past

"Blythe hoped she hadn't passed on any of her insecurities to Little Blythe"

This isn’t the easiest post I’m writing and it may, actually, be too self-indulgent. But it is a truth that I have to face when I am doing something so very major to my body. Why am I considering a physical solution to a problem that has its roots in my psychological make up? If I lose weight will I simply replace my addiction to food with other addictions? Why do I behave in the way I behave?

I know that by undertaking weight loss surgery I will need to deal with my ‘head-hunger’ as well as the physical hunger. I know that I have to closely examine my relationship with food. And I know that many of my over-eating behaviours have been with me my whole life. They serve or served a purpose – I’m just not sure what that purpose is. I am acutely aware that I have an addictive personality, my addictions may not be physical addictions but, they rumble on in the background just the same.

All my other diets have followed a similar pattern. I overeat, (usually under the guise of the ‘last supper syndrome’) and I tell myself that tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow is the start of the rest of my life. Tomorrow will be the most that I will ever weigh again. Tomorrow I will be good. The ‘Last Supper’ phase can go on for days, weeks or even months. Then there will be a crisis, a hitting of rock bottom. Usually there will be a trigger – an important event that I know I must attend, but, need to look better for. Over the years these events have been extremely varied and, undoubtedly, often been a construct in my head. Because being thinner will make me better; better at college, better at work, a better friend. Ultimately, I equate weighing less with being a more successful human being.


So the diet starts, it may be with Weight Watchers, Slimming World, calorie controlled, The Atkins diet, food group elimination (because, of course, all of this weight is down to food intolerance, how stupid of me not to realise this!) or by stimulants such as slimming pills. The outcome is the same; I will lose weight – sometimes 2 stone and reach an ‘ideal’ weight, over more recent years losing 5 stone and still being no where near it. But at some point that thought will pop into my head, that craving, that urge and despite all the will in the world I give in. And not only do I give in but I give in in such spectacular style. The binges become eating marathons. Almost always in secret but, in recent years, they’ve even been in front of my boyfriend and friends. I’ve lost all sense of pride, all sense of perspective when it comes to food.

The binge turns into an eating pattern and the overeating continues with all weight being regained – and then some. This continues until the next trigger, the next rock-bottom phase and lo, the whole cycle starts again. I know this. So why can’t I stop? Has it always been like this?

As a child, for as long as I can remember, sweets were hidden. Family folk-lore states that, as young as six, I had learnt to scale the cupboards in the kitchen to find them. In fact, looking back, wherever they were hidden I would find them. I knew every inch of our house and exactly where to look. I was also a picky-eater as a child. In fact they used to worry that I didn’t eat enough. Meals were always a battle. I’ve read that people attribute the rise in obesity levels to the erosion of the family unit, children not eating at the table together with their parents. We ate at the table every night, dad, mum, my brother and I. Every night there was a fight to get me to eat vegetables, fish, meat, even the puddings! I have vivid memories of being force fed food. I would gag, heave and every heave would be followed by a bollocking or a smack on the head from my dad. If I could have controlled that heaving, believe me, I would have. On several occasions I was sick at the table. One of their favourite sayings was, “you’d eat it if it was a plate of Mars Bars” (to which I would always reply "no I wouldn't, I hate Mars Bars). All of my picky eating was attributed to my love of junk food (whether I’d eaten any that day or not) and was simply a manifestation of me being naughty.

So that was mealtimes at home. What about school dinners? Well I have never actually eaten a school dinner. Each lunchtime I would be picked up from school and fed at home. I don’t remember ever asking for this to happen and I know that I missed the playtimes. But, my brother, who was six years older than me had always come home and so did I. That was until 2 events happened in quick succession.

I think I was about 6, my brother had left my school to go the local comprehensive, when my dad’s business partner had a massive heart attack and died out of the blue. I remember seeing my dad sitting with his head in his hands, crying, but not much else. My mum, who had been a 70’s, stay-at-home mum, was forced to work with him full time. I now realise that we were on the brink of losing the small business and our modest house. The second event was when my mum’s sister was diagnosed with lung cancer (she was around 40 and had a mild learning disability). My aunt was given 3 months to live. My mum was her main carer. So, clearly, I couldn’t come home at lunchtimes any longer. Did I have school dinners? No. I was the first child to be allowed to take sandwiches, closely followed by Emma 'the diabetic girl'. We were not allowed to eat our sandwiches with the other children; instead we were segregated in the annex, on our own.

Within a few years, more and more kids were bringing sandwiches so I felt less like a freak. However, my aunt did not die. She continued to be very poorly and, between my mum caring for her and working fulltime, I was left to my own devices. This is not a sympathy exercise. Far from it, I had a very happy childhood. However, I’m working through when these over-eating patterns became established. I think I was in junior school, so I’d be 7½ when I was allowed to walk myself home from school. That would give me at least an hour with the house to myself. This is when I think the binge eating really started. My dad would always buy things from Makro or the ‘Cash and Carry’, so we would have several trade size boxes of crisps, kitkats, and biscuits. Of course these would be too bulky to hide so they would be locked under the stairs. I was an expert at finding that key! I remember eating packet after packet of crisps, hiding the wrappers so as not to give the game away.

I was 9 when my mum put me on a diet as she had entered me in a beauty pageant. To this day, I have no idea why she did this. It’s not as if I was a good looking kid. Far from it. I had terrible bucked teeth from my nightly thumb sucking, constantly had scabs on my knees as I was a real ‘tom-boy’ and had long, straggly, mousey hair. What was she thinking? The final humiliation was the fake tan on my legs. Actually, not on all of my legs, just the area between my knees and my ankles. This was the early 80’s. Fake tan was not the same product as it is now. I vividly remember this foul smelling, browny-yellow mousse being applied to my shins. I remember being in trouble for saying it looked like dog poo. The photos of the pageant highlight just what a poor decision that fake tan was. Oh, and I didn’t win either.

I think that my relationship with food was well and truly entrenched by the time I decided for myself at 13 to put myself on a strict 1000 calories a day diet. I didn’t have any opposition from my family, in fact, it was actively encouraged. Fat was bad, slim was good. I got treated to new clothes when I was slimmer, I got teased less by my brother (who, unknown to any of us, was himself in the grip of bulimia) and generally had positive reinforcements all round.

However, that was when my weight problems really started. I have spent the next 20 years going up and down weight wise.

Blimey, there was more there than I thought. I appreciate that I had a very happy childhood compared to most people. I had a mum, dad, a roof over my head and food (albeit too much!) in my belly. I don’t talk to my mum about the past really. She feels excessive guilt with very little grounding - she could do a PhD in guilt. And I’m not writing this as a way of blaming her, my dad or my brother for my childhood experiences. Far from it, (plus I’m not about to tell anyone I know about my blog), but I feel I need to consider my past and examine when, if not why, I have developed this relationship with food. My brother and I have a pathologically unhealthy relationship with food. Why? What purpose does my over-eating serve? Is it still serving the same purpose now and how am I going to understand my ‘head-hunger’?

I do worry that I may be making a mistake with the banding. I may come out of theatre and, instead of this being a journey of hope and recovery, it is the start of a whole world of trouble.


However, I’m still sticking to my pre-operative diet. I think I have had so many years of the ‘last supper’ syndrome that I don’t even feel like over-eating. I don’t seem to have the same anxiety when I think of food at the moment. I have managed not to over-eat this week during 2 potentially difficult situations, the first being a meal out for a colleague’s leaving do and the second being my birthday. Instead of having a cake for my birthday, I treated us to a nice, juicy steak with baked butternut squash. I thought I should have it one last time before the surgery.... what was that I was saying about last suppers, ho-hum.


4 days to go. In polite terms, I am bricking it. So thank you for the comments :)

Advice from the Dietician

"Blythe was concerned about the authenticity of her Pucci hat"


Dietician phoned me this morning. She appears to co-ordinate the before and after-care. I was pleasantly surprised that she called on a Saturday and was sitting in bed reading the paper. It was extremely useful as I was able to clarify a few points with her. My surgeon seems to have more strict post-operative rules than other surgeons. Having read other people’s experiences I felt I needed some justification and reassurance.

The post-operative eating regime is as follows:

Month 1: Clear liquids, moving onto thin liquids.
Month 2: Thickened liquids, more substantial soups and some puréed foods.
Month 3: Soft and mushy foods.

If complication-free I will be allowed my first fill. w00t!

Now, I have read about people eating, more or less, normally after just a few weeks post-op. Why the strict regime? Well, I was told this morning that it was to allow the stomach to heal itself and to avoid vomiting, potential stretching of the pouch and slippage. I was reassured to be told that if I’ve moved onto mushy food a little more quickly and without problems, then I may have the first fill by the end of month 2.

Medication in tablet form: I was advised that I should take all medication in liquid form for 12 months. 12 months? Blimey, that seems very cautious. I know that I can take the Metformin (diabetes medication + taking it for PCOS), in liquid form but I’m aware that it tastes vile. Mmmm can’t wait for that.

Vitamins: Advised to take a chewable or soluble, multi-vitamin daily. Not surprised about that, the vitamins I take are like bleedin’ horse tablets. I also take milk-thistle to detoxify my liver which only comes in the standard ‘stallion’ size. I don’t think I have a particularly toxic liver, I don’t drink alcohol very often, but I like the idea that it is being detoxified anyway. I also take cod liver oil in capsules and know that I’ll not be able to stomach taking the oil on its own. Bleurgh! Makes me want to heave just thinking about it.

Fills: I have read all sorts of hearsay about my surgeon and his fill regime. One thing I read suggested that he actually gives a small fill as part of the initial surgery, hence the strict post-op rules and lengthy fill times. Apparently he didn’t used to fill as part of the initial surgery but he has now swapped to a newer lap-band and may do so now. So will ask him on D-Day. The fills are all done under x-ray with barium. Yum. But, I am quite reassured about the x-ray part.

Exercise: Now don’t get me wrong, I am not averse to exercising, but, just lately …. well for the past 2 ½ year I guess, I have become the most lazy I have ever been in my life. I used to swim regularly – up to 10 miles a week(!), I used to do Thai Boxing twice a week, walked loads and for the 6 years I lived in London I went everywhere by bicycle. Now I even take the car to the local shop when I get the munchies. I have become the poster girl for a sedentary lifestyle. So I have taken note of the advice to start walking ASAP after the operation. The operation is on the Thursday and I am planning to take my first short and gentle walk on the following Monday if I am up to it. Apparently as the scar tissue forms around the incisions and the band itself, I can expect to feel a ‘pulling’ sensation when walking. Swimming should be put off until after the incisions are fully healed to avoid infection. Finally, weight-lifting is out for a couple of months – not all that relevant to me but thought I’d share that nugget.

Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiit. Only 5 days to go including today.

Pre-Op Assessment

"Blythe wondered whether the park-keeper would ever sweep up the bloody leaves"


7 days pre-operatively.
Starting Weight: 16 stone 3lbs
Current Weight: 15 stone 3lbs
Weight Lost: 1 stone (whey-hey)

Today I went to the hospital for the pre-op assessment. As usual I was running late - I never learn ho-hum. My appointment was 10.15 and I ended up not leaving home until gone 9.30, attempting to do an hour's journey in 45 minutes. Luckily no hold ups on the motorway and was able to utilise warp-speed mode in the car. Arrived at the hospital at 10.12. I'm saying all this simply because I got called in almost immediately and the first thing to be done was my blood pressure reading. Note to self - driving like a demented bat increases blood pressure significantly.


As blood pressure was so high I had to have an ECG to make sure my heart was working normally. Never had an ECG before so when I was asked to remove my top I did just that, only I left on bra and vest. Nope that had to come off too leaving a seriously unpleasant 'muffin top' overhang. Note to self II - don't shoehorn yourself into trousers that you can now get done up - just because they do up doesn't make them fit. ECG normal.


Height and weight next. I am officially a short-arse. The weight was better but I know if I'd had time for that elusive pre-weigh-in wee I'd have been even lighter (because, obviously, my wee is so heavy). Bloods were taken, blood sugar was measured and a final blood pressure reading just for good measure.


So it's actually happening. 1 week to go. It was all carried out with excellent efficiency but I do have one moan. It's only a small one but definitely worth noting. I asked about taking tablets following the surgery and was told that I would have to get them prescribed in liquid form. This is a pretty vital piece of information in my opinion and I was left wondering when or if I would have found this out if I hadn't have asked. Good job the forum members know their onions, otherwise I wouldn't have thought to.


On a different note altogether - I had a very vivid dream last night about buying (and eating) the biggest tub of Cookie Dough Haagen Dazs I have ever seen. Woke up in a bit of a trauma that I had sabotaged my pre-op diet and was tickled pink that it was all a dream. Doesn't take a psychologist to work that one out!


Onwards and downwards.

Who To Tell?

"Blythe couldn't be arsed to put on her contact lenses on this, officially, the most depressing day of the year"

10 days pre-operatively


This is a subject that has been mithering me for weeks. Who should I tell about being banded? Or, more importantly, who shouldn't I tell?


Just over three years ago I considered weight loss surgery, going so far as to request the information from The Hospital Group. I was at my heaviest weight and feeling pretty unsatisfied with life. I told my mum, my brother and a couple of friends - more to sound them out about the idea than for any other reason. To say it didn't go down well is an understatement and I was quickly talked out of it. Clearly I wasn't ready to take the plunge as it didn't take much talking for me to bin the idea.



My mum seems to be worrying the most. This shouldn't come as a surprise, if it were her having surgery then I would be worse. I decided to show her the programme, "Fat Boy To Slim" that was on BBC3 a couple of weeks ago. Big mistake. Instead of being reassured she focused on the girl that died following a blockage. So then I felt like a complete shit for making her watch it. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/6231875.stm



My other half, (Jack Spratt) obviously knows and, although he says he's ok with it, I do worry that he's putting on a brave face for my benefit. I've asked him not to tell his family or friends, not that I think he would actually. I feel that he may be too ashamed though and I don't want him to feel any embarrassment on account of me. Weight loss surgery still feels taboo. Perhaps I am being a bit paranoid.


I've told my colleagues at work, mainly because it's a small team and I'm not sure how I could, realistically, conceal it. They have been positive about it which is helping. One colleague's close friend was banded last year and she told me today that her friend says that it is the best thing she has ever done. I've felt a bit wobbly (quite literally) about it all today, so hearing that couldn't have come at a better time.


But I've not told anyone else in my family. I'm not sure why ... I just don't want to be judged I guess. I still feel a huge amount of guilt for not being able to manage my weight myself. Weight is a huge (haha) issue in my family. I have an aunt who has been disabled by her morbid obesity for the whole of my life. As a child, if I was over-eating, I would be warned not to eat so much or I'll end up looking like Auntie 'Barb'. On the other end of the scale, my sister-in-law has been anorexic for 25 years, as has her mother. She, my sister-in-law, delighted at pointing out that even at 9 months pregnant, as she was at the time, she hadn't 'ballooned' to 9 stone and remained lighter than me. At that time I had been on a major fitness drive to look good at a very posh summer ball, swimming 10 miles per week and feeling pretty darn slinky. On my 18th birthday I was given a video called, "Lose Fat, Get Fit" from her. I was around 9 stone. I opened it in front of a group of friends and the feelings of embarrassment remain etched in my mind. My brother has had bulimia on and off for 25 years, exercises like a maniac and has even had liposuction on his (non-existent) love handles. Actually, it's no bloody wonder I don't want to tell them! They're a bunch of raving body fascists.


My own weight gain can be seen, I suppose, as a form of rebellion. It is a big 'up-yours' to everyone who has tried to control my eating habits. God, I'm escalating into mindless psycho-babble. I do apologise.


I've told 2 of my closest friends but I haven't told any of the others. I think this is because I'm terrified that any of the 'mean girls' from school may get to hear and discuss me in a mocking fashion between themselves. GET A GRIP WOMAN. You haven't seen any of them for nearly 10 years, they're all in their 30's with lives of their own and won't have given you a passing thought in years. I'm beginning to sound like a damn, crazy person.


Actually, I know where this is coming from. I was in the ever popular chip shop (why there of all places?) a couple of weeks ago and a girl from my class at school walked in. At school she was 'podgy' but now she is tall, slim, wearing skinny jeans and ordering salad in pitta bread. I, on the other hand, looked like the 'before' footage from Extreme Makeover. I know she kind of half clocked me but I'm pretty sure she didn't realise where she knew me from. Me, for my part, spent the longest 5 minutes pretending to have some vital texting to do, whilst keeping my face turned away, waiting for them to shout out that my order of 2 large kebab and large chips was ready. What's worse is she was really nice at school and I'd love to have known how life was treating her but, instead it felt like one of those nightmares when you dream you are naked in public. I drove home and didn't utter a peep about it to Jack Spratt.


Perhaps I'll feel different about telling people once I'm confident that I'm able to use the band effectively and have a visible result.


Anyway, on a more positive note, I am still managing to stick to my pre-op diet. Whey-hey.

Introducing Fernie Fields

In my first post I mentioned that I used my weight as an excuse not to be the woman I wanted to be. It's sad, a bit pathetic and true.


So I'm going to share a secret. I have a secret longing to 'vamp' it up. In the past, whenever I felt my weight was low enough, and I had that rush of confidence that you only seem to get get when you've lost weight and feel good with yourself. I used to feel able to dress in a way that felt more like 'me'. I was never one to follow the crowd and used to revel in looking different (funny that looking 'fat' different never feels as good). I was forever drawn to charity shops and used to drive my mum barmy with my love of 50's and 60's clothes.


As I got older and the yoyos would reach even bigger highs, this side of me seemed to get buried (quite literally) and I found that the last thing I wanted was to be noticed. Suddenly being noticed was for having a body I felt ashamed of. Being the fattest girl in the uber cool bar. It's also difficult to be glamorous when you're bursting out of your size 22's or men's clothes.


This is where I've been recently. Self-esteem rattling around floor level. Punishing myself for my weight by denying simple pleasures in life such as having my hair done (ummm think it's a year at the moment - and even then it was a 'mobile hairdresser' who put me some subtle highlights in at home at Xmas 2005. I use both the word 'hairdresser' and the term 'subtle highlights' in their loosest terms as I what I ended up with was bright burgundy and white stripes in my hair. Yes, I had become Bagpuss). Marvelous. Just what I needed to boost my self esteem.




I digress. But you get my general point. I've been feeling ugly, unattractive and undeserving of any pampering. Well sod that! 2007 is bringing about some changes.

A turning point came whilst watching the 'Faking it - Burlesque Special' at Xmas. I found myself with tears streaming down my cheeks (it's the melondrama again) and clapping for the lass who faked it as a Burlesque artist. I love the glamour of Burlesque - not in a pervy way mind - but in the attitude. Immodesty Blaize (the burlesque mentor) was so sensitive and positive to her student, who, although did not have a weight problem, was plagued with self doubt and low self esteem. My cockles were thoroughly warmed. One of the tips she gave her student was the tool of an alter ego, the approach was that although she herself may not feel she could do something, her alter ego could. This really struck a cord with me and in the New Year my alter ego was born....


I'd like to introduce you to .... Fernie Fields. Taa Daah! She still needs some work and is very shy but, by jimminy, give her a few months and she'll be waving the feather boa about with the best of them. All in the comfort of her own home I hasten to add. Jack Sprat fell in love with the glamorous me and I do feel sorry for him being lumbered with the current version.

Aaaaaaaanyway, to aid Fernie in her development I have bought her an alternative workout DVD. So far it has only been watched and attempted in a comedy fashion but I highly recommend it. It's hilarious and actually makes the whole exercise 'ordeal' a scream.




You need a DVD player that is multi-region. The cheap ones normally are and I'm not ashamed to say that ours was very cheap :)


So there you have it. That's one of the goals of my weight loss campaign - rediscover my glamorous side ... I know Fernie Fields is in there somewhere.


More melondramas coming soon. I'll leave you with Zorita below ... she's from the old school burlesque tradition and I raise my hat to her.

The Pre-operative Diet

"Blythe waits patiently as the clock ticks"


11 days pre-operatively.
Starting Weight: 16 stone 3lbs
Current Weight: 15 stone 7lbs
Weight Lost: 10lbs

If you've made it this far then well done. So after all that off-loading in the previous post I suppose I should get down to the nitty gritty.


Having had my consultation, seen the dietitian and been given a date for my surgery, I was given the pre-op diet advice. This seems to differ from surgeon to surgeon. Some people seem to be asked to lose a stone prior to surgery, some people are asked to restrict their diet for a week or 2 weeks. Some people do the milk and yogurt diet. It seems that all this restriction is to shrink the liver and thus allows the surgeon to furtle about inside you with greater ease.
Here's the paradox: I'm getting the surgery as I have finally acknowledged that I have difficulties with controlling my diet and the first thing that I am asked to do is diet. So has it sent me straight to the biscuit tin? Hell, no.


Must be the thought that I am only doing this for 2 weeks and then there's the surgery. So far I have stuck religiously to 800 calories a day. Mucho protein and even remembering the vitamins. In fact I have been finding it too easy I think... so much so that this morning I started questioning my need for surgery. I have been yoyoing between 15 1/2 and 16 1/2 stone for 12 months. I lose 5 lbs, put on 6lbs. Lose 8lbs, put on 5lbs ... you get the general pattern. Now I'm starting to get a bit cocky ... I can do this myself, I don't need surgery, think of all the money I'll save (or to be precise - think of how much less debt I'll be in), and then I won't be risking any of the horrible potential complications and side effects.


Who am I kidding? Lets examine what will happen in reality. I'd stick to this brilliantly for maybe a week, maybe a month ... lets go crazy - maybe even 3 months. I'd lose a stone, 2 stones or even 3 stones. But, then it'll happen. That thought, that urge, that hunger pang ... and I may even have an internal battle in my mind. Or, I may just start to over-eat without even really thinking about it, find myself pulling into the petrol station or heading to the drive-thru on the way back from the office. But it will happen and once it starts it just doesn't seem to stop. Then comes the guilt and the shame, the flip-side from being on top of the world with my success to the depths of despair because I know that the one thing that suppresses those feelings of gloom will be even more food. Then comes the carbohydrate highs .... and the subsequent crashes. Oooops I'm becoming melondramatic now.


So surgery it is.


What will happen if I get the urge to over-eat? Will I still get these urges? Will it be like when I had gallstones and the fear of the pain was stronger than my will to eat? Will I wake up after surgery a brand new woman with all of this food baggage magically erased? Fat chance.
I do have hope though. I have hope that I can get a handle on this. I have hope that I'll feel full when I've eaten. I don't get full. Or if I do I'm not aware of it. The sheer volume of what I can eat makes me blush. My stomach seems to have an infinite capacity to hold food and as soon as I have stopped I want more. Many a time I've eaten my dinner and thought, "I could eat that again" and have. I don't have 3 meals a day - my whole bloody day is a meal. I merely interrupt it to sleep and perform my ablutions. Jack Spratt is just lucky that I put the baked potatoes down long enough for a bit of nooky.

Come on, positive thoughts ... onwards and upwards (but not the scales).

The Very Beginning......

For the record this picture isn't me. Her name is Blythe and she represents everything that I am not. She is petite, she's stylish and she's beautiful. Actually I'm going to add that she's confident, well, she is in my head. Frankly she is a whole lot nicer to look at than a photo of me and for the sake of the integrity of this blog I think anonymity is probably the best option.

So, down to business. It is 11 days until I undergo banding or, to give it it's full title, laparoscopic adjustable gastric banding. And, for the record, I am scared.

This blog is for entirely selfish reasons, I'm going to need something to do to take my mind off food. It'll be nice to have a record of my journey and, I guess, there may be people who might find it useful.

I'll get it out of the way now. I'm an addict. Food is my addiction. It is my nemesis, my friend, it keeps me busy when I'm bored, it makes me calm when I'm stressed and it makes me happy when I'm sad. It also takes up far too much of my time mentally and causes me a ridiculous amount of distress. I love it and I loathe it. It's my dirty little secret and my excuse for not becoming the woman I dream of being.

I'm not going to bore anyone with all of my weight's ups and downs, suffice to say I am a classic yoyo dieter and I yoyo from 9 stone to 17 stone. I have never been anorexic, or bulimic but, I suppose you could pigeon hole me as a binge eater (or as it is known in my family, greedy). I have been on a diet merry-go-round since I was 13 and I am about to turn 33. 20 years and I ended up 5 stone heavier than when I started - oh the bitter irony. I totally acknowledge that there are many people who would like to be as light as 17 stone but, in my experience, sometimes your actual weight is irrelevant. I know I have, at various points in my life, been more distressed at being 11 stone than at being 14 stone. Go figure!

So here I am, finally choosing weight loss surgery as a bit of a last resort. I'm aware that many people have negative feelings about weight loss surgery but, as anybody who has had it or is considering it will tell you, it is not an easy decision to make. Nor is it an 'easy option'. I am well aware that it is a physical treatment for a psychological issue. But, how long can the human psyche tolerate repeated failure? I once heard somebody say that the definition of idiocy is repeating the same action whilst expecting a different outcome. I'll hold my hand up and announce to the world that I am indeed an idiot. I may have won small battles with my weight but they've been short-lived, and ultimately, the war on weight was slowly being lost. So it's time to bring out the big guns. Surgery to try and get some reasonable portion control and this blog to vent my spleen when my mind is being crazy.

So what have I tried?

1. Counting calories. My introduction and the start of the slippery slope. I still believe in it though and know that the basic equation of reduced calories = weight loss is how one ultimately loses weight. How you go about reducing those calories is another story.
2. Gall Stones. Ok, not strictly a diet method but I'd managed to give myself gallstones by the age of 16 and for 5 years (until they were diagnosed) they did act as a painful means of weight control.
3. Amphetamines and Ecstasy. I said I would be candid so I ask you please not to judge me. I was a child of the rave era - what can I say? I wouldn't drink anything as alcohol contained the dreaded 'empty calorie' and here was a pill or a powder that made me feel fantastic, gave me energy to dance all night and took away my appetite. At times I took the amphetamines and simply cleaned the house very quickly, feeling thinner by the minute. This was a lifetime ago and I haven't taken anything since I was a wild, young thing.
4. Ionamine (prescription diet pill). At the age of 21 my new neighbour offered a post-operative (gallbladder removed), ballooning 14 1/2 stone girl a new magic solution. He ran a slimming clinic that employed a doctor to prescribe these prescription only diet pills. Basically they were simply legal speed in my opinion and made me both thin and quite bonkers. Quite rightly they have been withdrawn from prescription.
5. Overeaters Anonymous. This was while I was living in London. Several very famous 'happy' heavyweight celebrities attended the various meetings. It didn't help me and I couldn't hand over responsibility for my eating behaviour to a higher power. The only person responsible for me eating 4 Cadbury's Twirls in under 10 minutes was me. I know the 12 steps works for some people but it simply wasn't my bag.
6. Prozac. I read somewhere that it reduced the appetite and so I requested it from my GP. It didn't help reduce my weight but I was noticeably less distressed about it. This request for Prozac in turn lead to number 7.
7. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I was glad the GP was offering help but the Eating Disorders Unit only really dealt with Anorexia and Bulimia. I was just fat and felt like a fraud for taking up their time. In retrospect, I didn't engage with the therapy and in an effort to be seen as successful (and discharged) I said what the therapist wanted to hear. I finished my 16 weeks of Out-Patient appointments 2 stone heavier and with the invasive thought that the In-Patient anorexics could be using me as inspiration not to eat.
8. Obesity Life Line. Or Lighter-Life as its now known. Again, initially it was brilliant but the powdered soups and vile nutrition bars slowly caused me to lose the will to live. Greedy girl took over and at my 26th Birthday Party I more or less polished off a whole Entermans Carrot Cake. I was too ashamed to go back.
9. Slimming World. How I wish Slimming World truly worked. The idea that you could eat unlimited amounts of 'free food' was like music to my ears. I stuck to it, I wrote everything down that I ate and I did lose 3 stones but there are only so many baked potatoes (served only with pickled onions) that you can eat before the weight starts to creep back on. I had 'words' with my group leader who accused me of cheating. I was most indignant, I had stuck religiously to the 'rules' and was gaining 1/2 lb a week. As most rational people will realise - there is no such thing as a (syn) free lunch. Eat enough of anything and you will get fat. End of.
10. Falling in love. At the age of 30 I truly fell in love. This kept me motivated to keep trim and exercise but despite the most gorgeous, sensitive soul mate, I soon became contented and used the excuse that if I didn't provide delicious goodies and meals then he would lose weight. The result? Well Jack Sprat remains slim and healthy, whilst I am a little, round pudding.

Which brings me to the present day. At 16 stones the final straw that has made me seriously assess what I have done to myself and why I need to conquer this addiction is my health and my fertility. As a result of the yoyo dieting I have developed Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, Type II Diabetes and hypertension. In the space of 6 months I've gone from no tablets to rattling with the amount I am now on and the impending threat of insulin injections if I can't control my blood sugars as soon as possible (currently they stick at 15 regardless of all the tablets - s**t, s**t, s**t). I love my Jack Sprat and I desperately want his babies but I also want to be around to see them grow up.

So gastric banding it is. Is this just another fad to add to my list? Well I am going to say no. This is something that I chickened out of 3 years ago and something that I am doing after a huge amount of soul searching. I am doing it with an informed mind and realistic expectations. Ultimately I am doing this to save my life and try and free myself from my self-imposed prison of obesity........ I should have warned you there'd be melondrama.