I swapped Big Macs for my babies
But what I really wanted wasn’t on the menu at the takeaway
My cheeks burnt with shame. My BMI was 37
Ifelt the lump in my throat before I even looked at the pregnancy test in my hands.
And when I saw the result, tears started welling up in my eyes. ‘It’s negative,’ I said, to my boyfriend Ryan, 25.
It was December 2013, and we’d been trying to conceive for almost a year. Trying...and failing. Every month that passed, our hopes were destroyed.
Desperate to take our mind off it, we went to the pub.
Walking back from the bar with a bottle of wine and two vodka shots, my heartache eased for a while.
But the next morning, sitting at my desk with a raging hangover, there was only one thing that made me feel better.
Food.
‘Anyone want anything from McDonald’s?’ I asked colleagues at lunchtime.
Half an hour later, I was back at my desk, laden with a large Big Mac meal and a full-fat Coke.
Back home four hours later, my stomach was rumbling.
‘What shall we have for dinner?’ I asked Ryan, flicking through a pile of takeaway menus.
We settled on a Chinese, ordering
a chicken chow mein with a large portion of chips. As the months went by, we carried on drowning our sorrows in booze and eating takeaways. Drank four nights a week. Stopping off at our local takeaway on the way home for fried chicken and chips, or pizza.
Large, of course.
It wasn’t long before I noticed I was piling on weight. I’d been a size-10 when I met Ryan in September 2012. To our surprise, just three months later, I suffered a miscarriage before we even knew
I was pregnant.
It made us realise we wanted to be parents and we’d started trying.
Yet now, after a year of comfort eating to mask my disappointment, I struggled to fit into a size-14. Ryan and I were referred for tests. ‘Everything’s going to be OK,’ Ryan reassured as we arrived at Hillingdon Hospital. But a dye test revealed one of my fallopian tubes wasn’t working. I needed to have surgery to clear a blockage. And, when I woke after five hours later, doctors had bad news. They’d had to remove one of my tubes because it was too damaged.
‘We’re never going to have a baby,’ I sobbed to Ryan.
I was given Clomid, a fertility drug to encourage egg production into my remaining fallopian tube.
But six months later, I still wasn’t pregnant.
Ryan and I carried on trying.
Indulging in takeaways four nights a week, and boozy nights in the pub.
My weight kept on creeping up, and soon I was a size-18.
I always got dolled up for nights out, taking hours doing my hair and make-up. But inside, all I wanted was a baby.
In August 2015, we met a consultant to discuss options.
Desperate for a child, I thought we’d be referred for IVF straight away.
But at 16st 4lb, I was heavier than I’d ever been.
‘Before we can refer you for treatment, you need to lose 5st,’ the consultant said gently. My cheeks burnt with shame. At 5ft 5in, my BMI was more than 37. I was obese.
Ryan sat next to me, holding my hand supportively.
But all I could think about was the piles of chips I’d devoured over the past couple of years. The takeaway boxes stacked high.
I knew I’d piled on weight, but now the truth was here in black and white. If I didn’t stop indulging in food, I’d never be a mum...