One day I will Be Normal...Not!
By Nicho
I have been obese all my
life. I was given away at 6 months of age to an elderly ‘aunt’ who, although
she did love me in her own way, had about as much idea of how to raise a child
as she did astrophysics. She would,
these days, be called a ‘Feeder’.
There was no room in my vocabulary for “No thank you, Auntie Jinnie” for I
would receive a sad look from her mournful face and something on the lines of “
But I queued up all afternoon for those” or “ I walked all the way to Wavertree
Road for that for you…” or similar such
emotional blackmail.
So, being the people-pleaser I was (and still am) I didn’t argue and ate the
proffered cake or whatever it was. I didn’t even like the cakes – I still don’t. But, in those days you did not argue with an
adult – you did exactly as you were told and the idea of not doing so was
totally preposterous!
The results of
this being, by the time I was sever years of age I was also seven stones! I know this because my big brother Brian –
nearly 12 – took me to the local shops and he spent two of his precious pennies
to weigh us both on the big round cumbersome machine in the doorway of the
Chemist.
From school-age, I lived
with my Mum and family in the school-week and every week-end and holiday -
including Christmas – I was packed off to Aunti Jinnie’s again.
I had no friends, for when do you make your friends? At the week-end, playing
out with school chums, or going to the morning matinee at the pictures to see
Gene Autry, Flash Gordon and the original Batman, I believe. I had to ask my
husband because I NEVER GOT TO GO.
My Auntie was very house-proud
– never to be seen without her green overall – and so it was “Sit there and
write a story” or “Sit there and draw something nice” or sometimes my uncle Joe
would set some ‘sums’ to keep me occupied.
I had been bought a bike for my Seventh birthday but was never allowed out of
the garden on it.
The result of all this, as you can no doubt guess, was a steady increase in
weight and loss of self confidence to match.
I was teased mercilessly at school and outside.
“Hey Fatso” was a good one and “look at the arse on that” another of ,very,
very many unkind comments – too many to
recount and indeed I’d forgotten most of them five minutes after they were
uttered, so de-sensitized was I.
Even one of my junior school teachers joined in. He never missed an opportunity
to put me down or be cruel. Mr Jones was
a giant of a man – he stood on my desk once and I put my ruler next to his
foot. His foot was longer than my 12 inch rule….
He was Welsh and had black horn-rimmed glasses and greasy black hair.
One occasion, we were
waiting in a little queue waiting for him to mark our work. For once, I was
relieved! I knew mine was right and it was tidy too! He had nothing to pick on
me for. Or so I thought…
The little boy in front of me was one of the nice kids – Kenneth Barnett – and
Mr Jones decided to have a go at him –poor Kenny was in a tizz – this giant
booming at him “what’s two and two boy!” Now, as one of the brighter kids in
the class, clearly Kenny knew that answer but was too terrified to speak. Jones continued booming and when Kenny totally
froze, it was clear Jones was getting no more from him so he started on me.
“Go to reception class in the infants and ask the youngest child what two and
two is!”
I, of course, answered with “…but I know what it is – it’s fou…” I didn’t get
to finish.
“Shut up and just do what I say” he screamed at me. I knew there was no point
in arguing – it would just get worse for me. So off I went and did as I was
told, not wanting to do what HE wanted me to do which was to hide somewhere and
not do his command.
Yup – daily life with Mr Jones was full of little joys like that or the time he
needed one of the kids to stand on a table to stick something on the wall and
asked for the tallest – me. He laughed fit to bust and said “Ha – there isn’t a
table in the school that will take HER weight. She’d break it!” He said this
whilst standing on said table. Six foot five and about – I’m guessing now I
have a son that size – at least 17 stones.
Some of the kinder kids looked away, ashamed of him but some of the
‘other’ kind, laughed along with him and kept it up for some time afterwards,
as they had validation from a teacher.
I was at an extremely low ebb and started refusing to go to school. My Mum brooked absolutely NO nonsense so I
was amazed when she said she would intervene on my behalf! She had never stuck up for me before?
A little while later she asked me how things were at school and I told her that
he’d seemed to have got bored of being a bully and left us almost entirely
alone! But I thought it might be because of his arm. “Why?” she asked “what’s
wrong with it?”
I told her it was in a cast so he must have had an accident.
It was not until just before
she died she told me that on telling my oldest brother David about this bully,
he’d said he’d have a word with him instead because if he was a bully, he might
not treat my Mum with respect and David wasn’t a small man!
Apparently, he’d had more than a word!
So it went for the next
couple of years – the comments went over my head by now – but I wondered why
people thought it was okay to speak about another person in that way within
their earshot. It baffled me. It STILL does!
By the time I was 12 my
weight had risen to a massive 14 stones!
I got a bit of confidence (I’d passed the 11 plus and got into a
prestigious High School) I put my foot down – I was NOT going to Aunties every
week-end and holiday any more. It was making me fat and miserable and I had no
friends!
I lost two stones within a
term and got to 12 stones at the school nurse check in. It was the first (and
only) time I was pleased to be weighed in public.
I remained thus for the rest of school and even dipped to the top eleven stone
level once or twice when it was found I was good at some sports.
But those days being what
they were, it wasn’t the ‘done’ thing for young women to ‘run about like
hoydens’ so when I left school, the sports stopped and the only exercise I had
was walking my dog – which I did most evenings but it wasn’t enough.
There were no sports centres then. The only Gyms were full of sweaty, old men
boxing and women were not allowed. Women weren’t ‘allowed’ a lot of things, I
was to discover!
About this time, was the ‘Twiggy’ era.
My god – if I felt out of sync before ….!
Buying clothes in a size 16 was next to impossible. The town was filled with
‘Boutiques’ from which nothing over a size ten was ever known to emerge.
M&S DID do a size 16 but
your grandma would have looked old fashioned in it. Crimplene was the order of
the day – a kind of figured nylon which was not only hot and sweaty but CLUNG
to you if you didn’t wear a ‘foundation garment’ and such apparel was not on
the shopping list of anyone under the age of 40!
So I learned to make my own
clothes. My Mum had a stash of old heavy linen sheets she never used (she’d got
those horrific nylon sheets !) so she said I could have them. Some of them were
like actual drill! How anyone put them on their beds I have no idea and
laundering them must have been a nightmare but they made fabulous bell-bottomed
jeans! I even had people in clubs coming
up to me and asking me where I’d got them from!
The lighter fabrics were made into tops – mainly smock tops which were in
fashion at this time. Saved me a fortune
in clothes, which I then spent on shoes and boots! Never had a problem with me
feet!
I became a singer in a band
(several actually) and that was all kinds of fun! And no-one seemed to care that I wasn’t built
like a pipe-cleaner because I had a great voice.
I had boyfriends and in a way being fat was great – it filtered out the knobs
who were only interested in arm-candy – my boyfriends were nice people!
I met my lovely Hubster and
married and had four fab kids and the grief was passed to them. Now it was
“Your Mum’s fat!” Dear god – how do some
people bring up their kids? They must
HEAR these things to repeat them! I know
at least one of my lads had - and won – a fist fight because of it.
So, yes, I would have at some point liked to have been ‘normal’.
I did join gyms etc but with four kids, a husband who worked shifts and a full
time job, it was impossible to do ANYTHING at the same time every week. It was
also expensive. I had kids to clothe and feed and a mortgage to pay – there was
NO MONEY for frivolous things. We’d never had a family holiday until a friends
Mum offered us her caravan in Wales.
The kids always went on one with the school or the Church but me and Nic
never had one. Every month we were still about two thousand pounds in the red
right up until they left home for Uni or flat-life, then it started coming down
a bit.
All was on an even keel then fate decided – nahh – lets pose another problem
for her to solve….
I was on my way to work in my car, stationary as there was a red light ahead.
Some daft woman in the house on my right, decided to reverse out of her drive
and across the road at about 30mph and got me!
I saw it happen but had cars both ahead and behind me so couldn’t
move! So, back damage and extreme pain
for the next eight years. But at least
the compensation under my insurance paid the overdraft off! Silver linings –
you have to take them where you find them.
However, once again immobile, my weight piled on again. Seventeen stones
and climbing. I changed jobs to a local firm which was nicer as the girls there
were civilized – unlike the mob at the Old Swan branch. Wendy, Kathy, Julie and
I had a great system and we had fun too. We had a weight-loss challenge – which
I won – bit unfair as with me being heaviest I would be bound to lose more
temporarily. Keeping it off was the secret I didn’t have.
But fate hadn’t finished with me yet…..
Fibromyalgia. It is one horrible, cruel condition and way
back then, it wasn’t known about so you were a liar and a drama queen or it was ‘in your imagination’ along with
CFS, Lupus, ME and all the other conditions we now know a little more about..
It was never officially diagnosed so I got no help from anywhere and had to
carry on working – I couldn’t even get a blue badge…….
I remember going Christmas shopping for presents for my now grown kids and I
got out of the car in the car-park of Next, walked to and into the store and
there was not a seat to be seen and I HAD to sit down or collapse. So I went back to my car and cried my eyes
out. I think that is when my depression
began, actually, although I didn’t realize that until I just wrote it.
I was popping Solpadeine
like sweeties – I didn’t want any of the heavy drugs that came with Fibro –
they turned me into a Zombie – so I just carried on – in retrospect, I don’t
know how!
I put more weight on until
at twenty-two and a half stone I said “Enough! No more bloody diets – they do
not work! You just put it all back on and more with it.
I went to my lovely doctor, who had tried his best with my different symptoms, but
had no idea about Fibro (neither did I until a friend on a craft forum sent me
a link to the Fibromyalgia Association. She had it and recognized my ‘whinges’
for what they were). Good grief – it was like my shopping list!
But I knew if I persuaded my doctor to read up about it and diagnose, I
wouldn’t get what I wanted – Bariatric surgery!
I got my surgery – which,,
by the way, is not cheating, it’s not a cure it’s just a tool.
You still have to do the ‘work’ yourself and if you don’t – you put the weight
back on.
I lost seven and a half stones and it has stayed off apart from one stone which
keeps bobbing up and down. Try as I might – I can’t get below fifteen stones.
But now I know why – thanks to a Dr Gabriel Weston who has done a long medical
study on sets of twins – one fat one thin – to find out why.
I’m not going into it here –
it’s too complex and long but suffice to say I will never, ever be ‘normal’.
The surgery was amazing though and gave me a new lease of life – I in fact
think it SAVED my life because I would not have seen seventy two carrying
another two women around. So I got rid of one of them – she can walk – but I’m
stuck with my twin.
The good news though, is that the surgery fixed my sleep apnoea, my diabetes
AND…wait for it…my Fibromyalgia! Yep!
I don’t know how or why but
when I awoke after surgery I was waiting for the pain to hit. I was on my back
and could NEVER lie on my back – it was too painful. I asked the nurse when the
anaesthetic would wear off and she said “Oh – that wore off ages ago.” Gobsmacked is not a big enough word!
That was 11 years ago and
I’ve had no significant pain since. Not until about a month ago, that is..
I’ve had a cough for about
18 months which has not cleared up with anti’b’s or steroids so doc though he’d
try me on a different asthma inhaler.
Bad idea. I got every
symptom on the list of side effects, one of which is muscle and joint pain .
I’ve been off that inhaler for a month now and almost back to where I was with
everything except the fatigue and the muscle-pain.
The bad point is it’s
making my gym visits very unfulfilling when I can’t do what I could do eight
weeks ago with ease.
I just hope the Fibro has not come back.
I really would have liked to be ‘normal’,
just for a bit……...
