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Big momma

You know you're too fat when you can't put your own pants on...


Published by: Jai Breitnauer
Published on: 11th February 2010

Staring at my knickers laying on the floor, I felt tears well up. My boys Dave, Dan, Paul and Luke were dressed and ready for school, they just needed their mum to walk them.
Taking a deep breath, I tried bending down to get my underwear and pull it on - but at 28st and 5ft tall, I just couldn't manage it.
'Rebecca, could you come here?' I said, calling my daughter, 10, and hastily wrapping a towel round me. It didn't cover much...
'I've got a bit of a problem.' I forced a smile as she appeared at the door. 'My chest... well, my back. I can't bend down...' I fumbled over excuses as my little girl looked at
me confused.
Taking a deep sigh, I bit the bullet.
'I can't get my pants on. Can you help?'
'Oh, of course Mummy,' she grinned, grabbing my enormous, size 36 underwear off the floor. I smiled weakly as she instructed me to step into the leg holes.
What sort of mother was I? So overweight my kids had to dress me. That night, cuddled up to my husband Stuart, 43, it was all I could do to keep the tears at bay.
'I need to lose weight,' I croaked. 'I can't go on like this.'
'Don't be so hard on yourself,' he smiled. 'You've had five kids! And I love you as you are.'
Bless... We'd met in 1995 and, even though I was already large, he'd loved me. He still did.
Don't get me wrong, I'd tried every diet in the book, but nothing worked. Sure, I'd lost the weight, but it wasn't long before I piled it back on, and then some. Eventually, I'd given up.
Unable to face another depressing diet, and not knowing where to turn, I'd plodded on.
But it was time to change. The next day, I visited my younger sister Sarah to cheer myself up - and get some advice. She knew how stressed I was about my weight.
'I'm just going to use your loo,' I smiled, hauling myself up from the sofa and heading for the bathroom. Sitting down, I heard a grinding noise, then a crack.
Oh no, please no...
Standing up, I looked at the remains of the loo seat, crushed under my weight. What was I going to do? Just leave? Ask if she knew it was broken?
'I'm really sorry,'
I said, coming downstairs. 'I think I've broken your toilet seat.'
'Oh, errr, that's okay,' she lied. 'It was on its way out.'
But I couldn't let people make excuses for me my whole life.
'I've got to take action,' I told Stuart. 'What if I end up housebound? What if I die? There must be an alternative to a diet.'
'A while ago you mentioned a gastric band,' he said. 'I'm not keen on you having an operation, but if it makes you happy...'
'Yes!' I smiled. 'Yes, it would!'
But when I looked into it, my heart sank. The NHS wouldn't pay, and privately it would cost ?8,000. 'We don't have the money,' I wept.
'We'll find it,' Stuart promised.
I shook my head. 'I'm not going to get us up to our eyeballs in debt because I can't stop eating,' I wailed.
Reluctantly, I went on another diet. But it didn't stick. None did over the years, and I was really starting to feel down.
To cheer me up, Stuart suggested we go to the dogs at Wimbledon.
'Remember when we were first dating?' he smiled. 'We loved a night at the greyhound track.'
Waddling up to the ticket booth, I waited for him to pay. 'Through the turnstile, and on the left,' the usher said.
Turnstile!
'There must be another door?' I pleaded. There was a huge queue behind me, though, no way I could turn back. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, pushing the metal bars with my ample stomach. I heard the turnstile creak... and stop.
It wouldn't budge. 'Stuart,' I hissed, eyeing the crowd behind me. 'Give me a push.'
'What's that, love?' he shouted over the commotion. I heard everyone's voices die down. All eyes were on me.
Feeling my cheeks burn, I fixed my gaze on Stuart's shoes.
'I'm stuck!' I squeaked, trying to sound like I was laughing. 'You'll have to push me!'
People sniggered behind me, a murmur went down the line.
'Don't be daft,' Stuart smiled, but when I looked up and he saw the tears in my eyes, he knew I was deadly serious. Stepping forward, he gave me a good shove and... Phew! I was through!
As I stood to the side trying to compose myself, I saw the smirks of other punters walking past.
'That's it,' I sniffed, as Stuart tried to calm me down. 'Gastric band surgery it is.'
The next day, my son Dan, by now 22, got on the internet and booked me an appointment at a clinic, while I phoned the bank and got a loan. Just four months after being trapped in a turnstile, I went in to have the band fitted.
'You'll eat nothing but soup and yoghurt for the first three months,' the consultant said. 'Then mushy food for another three months.'
I nodded, trying to push images of Chinese takeaways and fried breakfasts to the back of my mind. I thought of being able to dress myself instead. 'When you start eating properly again, you can't have anything too greasy or spicy and no more than a saucer full,' he added. 'If you eat more, it could damage the band and make you ill.'
This was going to be tough, but I was determined.
When I'd recovered from the initial surgery I started exercising - gentle walking at first. Every time I passed the bakery, I had pangs for thick-cut white bread smothered in butter... Come on, Julie, I'd think. You've spent thousands on surgery, don't waste it.
I hated being deprived of my favourite foods, but when I got on the scales and saw the pounds dropping before my eyes, it was worth it. Eighteen months after surgery, Stuart suggested we go for dinner. 'You've worked so hard, you deserve a treat,' he grinned.
True - I'd lost 12st by then, was down to a size 14.
Walking into our local Italian, I felt sick with nerves. All around me, people were tucking into huge bowls of pasta with creamy sauce, and giant cheesy pizzas.
'I won't even be able to eat one slice,' I sulked. 'It'll be a waste, and people will think I'm strange.'
'Don't worry,' Stuart smiled. 'I'll order for both of us.'
I blushed as he ordered a giant pizza and an extra plate. But to my relief, the waiter just smiled. 'Easy peasy,' Stuart grinned, pouring me a glass of wine.
After that, life got easier as I realised I could still be me, just smaller, and smaller... Soon I'd lost so much weight I was going shopping with Rebecca, buying clothes from high street stores I'd been too afraid to walk into before.
'This is nice,' I smiled, picking up a size 16 black dress.
'That'll hang off you,' Rebecca said. 'Try this.' She grabbed a 10!
'Don't be daft!' I laughed. But she bundled me into the changing rooms. 'You were right!' I gasped, looking at my tiny reflection.
I'd lost 18st, dropping to 9st 12lbs and fallen from a size 36 to a 10. I was happy and confident.
Me and Stuart have started ballroom dancing, and I've even gone back to work as a nurse.
One night we popped into a local pub. 'All right, mate! Long time no see!' smiled a bloke called John who he used to work with.
Then quietly he whispered, 'Who's the new bird?'
'Oh no, that's my wife Julie.'
'I've seen your wife!' John laughed. 'I know what she looks like! Your secret's safe with me.'
Stuart tried explaining, but John was having none of it! As far as he was concerned, I was a completely different person - and in a way, he's right!
Julie Tedder, 41, Old Coulsdon, Surrey