Just what the doctor ordered

Her job was to dish out healthy advice. But Sarah Shelley, 40, from Birmingham, felt like a big, fat fraud

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the question I dreaded.

‘Have you ever thought about going on a diet?’ I asked my overweight patient.

My cheeks burned red.

It was July 2015, and working as a radiographer at Birmingham’s Royal Orthopaedic Hospital,

I had to discuss lifestyle changes that could help people recover from their injuries.

But my patient was eyeing my bulging figure, while I was cringing with embarrassment. I was 38 and weighed 26st. And here I was lecturing

others on losing weight. What a hypocrite!

Shuffling awkwardly in my size-30 scrubs, I handed them a leaflet and started talking about portion control and healthy eating. If only I could follow my own

advice, I thought.

I could tell my patient was thinking exactly the same. It was mortifying.

I kept a brave face until they left, then burst into tears. Ever since I could remember, I’d been big.

When I was growing up, I’d tuck into huge portions of meat and potatoes with my mum and dad.

It wasn’t the best diet, but they didn’t know any better. By the age of 3, I weighed 3st, and at 4, I was 4st.

At 14, the chairs at school would break under my huge 14st bulk. Things carried on that way into my teens and 20s, putting on a stone every year. ‘Fat cow!’ a man shouted from his car as he drove past me one day.

It was mortifying, but I got used to the cruel comments.

Developed a thick skin to match my thick middle.

In my late 20s, I met and married my lovely husband, John, now 43.

He loved me for who

I was.

Just out of the Army, he was pretty fit physically, but he soon started to enjoy my home cooking, too.

Every night, I’d pile huge portions of pasta or rice, meat, bread and potatoes onto our plates.

During my long shifts at the hospital, I’d snack on crisps – sometimes six packets in one sitting.

I felt sluggish and constantly exhausted, hiding in baggy jumpers and long T-shirts to cover my belly and bum.

I never wore bright colours, as I didn’t want to be noticed.

Sometimes it would really get me down and I’d sob my heart out.

‘I feel disgusting,’ I confessed to John in February 2015.

‘You can lose it if you really want,’ John reassured.

Then, in June 2015, I got

Weighing more than 25st, I was off the scale – literally!

a leaflet with my payslip.

The NHS wanted all staff to speak to their patients about healthy eating and weight loss if they had a BMI of 40 or more. My heart sank.

‘How can I tell other people to lose weight when I’m so fat myself?’ I cried to John.

After having the chat with a few patients, I knew I couldn’t carry on being such a hypocrite, telling my patients to lose weight when I was morbidly obese myself.

I felt like a fraud.

They were never mean, but I could tell by the looks on their faces what they were thinking.

At least if I’m trying to do something about my weight, I can be honest with them,

I figured.

A friend had recently lost 7st on the Cambridge Weight Plan, and he was looking great. So, in July 2015, I joined, too. But attending my first oneto-one session was daunting.

Especially when it was time to step on the scales.

I heaved myself onto them, but to my horror a message flashed on the screen. ERROR. Weighing more than the 25st limit, I was off the scale – literally!

It was so embarrassing.

‘It’s OK,’ my consultant reassured me.

She gave me a selection of meal replacements, including milkshakes and porridge for breakfast and lunch.

For my evening meal, I’d weigh a small chicken breast or piece of meat with – what seemed to me – tiny portions of broccoli or carrots.

I still cooked the usual amount for John, though, and his plate was like a mountain of food compared to mine.

My stomach rumbled as I watched him tucking in, finishing my own dinner in minutes. Over the next few days, I got hunger pangs.

‘I’m starving,’ I told my colleagues as I rushed around at work.

It was really tough, but I was so determined to carry on. ‘If this doesn’t work, I’m going to be fat forever,’ I told them.

But, as the weeks went on, my uniform started to feel a bit looser.

Six weeks after starting the plan, it was time to step on the dreaded scales again.

‘You’ve lost 2st!’ beamed my consultant.

I was overjoyed.

After that, I lost a stone every month.

I had to raid charity shops for smaller clothes, used a belt to tighten my uniform at work.

‘You’re looking great,’ John smiled.

My regular patients started to notice, too.

‘You’ve inspired me to do the same,’ one said.

Knowing I was helping my patients made me even more motivated.

In December 2016,

I changed hospitals with my job – and was sent to pick up a new uniform.

I was nervous when the assistant asked what size I was – I didn’t know what to say.

I hadn’t dared to go shopping for new clothes for ages, scared I’d just put the weight back on the minute I did.

She looked me up and down and handed me a size-12 top and size Small trousers, sending me off to the changing rooms.

I trembled as I pulled on the uniform.

Surely I’ll have to ask her for a bigger size, I thought.

But I gasped as I looked in the mirror.

It fitted me perfectly.

I’ve now lost an incredible 13st 7lb – that’s half my body weight!

I feel so confident, and I wear exactly what I want. I even slipped into a glamorous slim-fitting ball-gown for a recent work do.

Now, when I tell my patients I used to be a size 30, they don’t believe me.

I have to show them ‘ before’ and ‘after’ photos on my phone.

I’m the living proof they need to show you can lose weight if you really want to.

Telling other people to lose weight was just what I needed to change my own life.

I’ve gone from super-size to super-medic, and no longer feel like a massive fraud.

I’m finally practising what I preach!