Telling it like it is I lost 8st in 18 months… and hated my new body
I lost 8st in 18 months… Dieting transformed Kelly Foster’s figure, but not in the way she’d hoped
Like most women, I always thought losing weight was supposed to make you happier. I’d be able to shop anywhere and wear what I liked. But when I overhauled my life, my body became more damaged than ever...
I’d always struggled with my weight. As a child, I suffered with asthma and would often spend stretches in hospital living off stodgy canteen food. By age 14, I was 16st and towered over my classmates at 5ft 8in.
I became an easy target for bullies. They’d call me fat and lazy and make up songs about me. Before long, I started to believe the horrible things they said.
So when, aged 18, I met Marc, then 19, on a night out, I was amazed that he liked me. He was slim and handsome, and he didn’t seem to notice my bulging tummy.
Our relationship quickly progressed. Marc started working as a civil servant, and I got a busy job as a carer in the local hospital, so we’d spend our evenings sitting on the sofa with a takeaway. While Marc’s active lifestyle – playing football at the weekend – meant he managed to stay slim, I gained 2st. Soon I was 18st and was wearing a size 18.
Total hypocrite
In May 2001, I found out I was expecting. Marc’s eyes lit up with happiness when I told him. In January 2002, our little boy Harry was born. Cradling him in my arms for the first time, I was besotted.
As much as I loved being a mum, after going back to school to start a nursing degree, there just didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day. I didn’t have time to cook. Most mornings, I’d just scoff a Kitkat on the way to work. And with money tight, I always went for the cheapest lunch option in the hospital canteen – most often greasy chips covered in gravy, followed later in the evening by oven chips and microwave pies.
Although both my and Marc’s waistlines suffered because of our bad diet, I seemed to be gaining weight a lot faster. When we married in August 2004, I had to squeeh8ze myself into a size 20 dress.
A year later, after graduating, I started working at the local hospital. But I dreaded having to sit down with patients who were smaller than me to advise them on healthy eating. I felt like a total hypocrite.
By January 2009, our second son, Ted, was born, and three years later, Olly arrived. By then, I was a size 24 and weighed 20st. I felt so ashamed of my size, I’d find any
‘it was a vicious cycle’
excuse to get out of social events. I couldn’t bear the thought of turning up in a baggy top while everyone else wore trendy outfits.
It was a vicious cycle – I was missing out on things I wanted to do but having junk food to soften the blow. Something had to change. I couldn’t carry on feeling so low.
So when Marc offered to take me to a fancy hotel for my 31st in September 2012, I declined. Instead I asked him to pay for a six-week personal training programme that I’d seen online. A new body was the best present he could give me.
I vowed this was something I’d stick to – and I did. I followed the eating plans and the weekly exercise classes – and in six weeks, I’d lost a stone.
I signed up for three more programmes after that. At £100 a go, it wasn’t cheap. But
as sliding my jeans on in the morning became easier, I knew it was all worth it.
By March 2013, I’d lost 4st and was the fittest I’d ever been. But although it felt great to be able to run 5k and lift barbells at the gym, my weight loss had an unexpected consequence. For every pound I’d dropped another fold of unsightly saggy skin would appear. And the closer I got to my target weight of 12st, the worse it became.
By my 32nd birthday, I’d lost 6st. Although I looked fantastic in my clothes, underneath my shrivelled stomach was hanging in front of me like an apron. Looking in the mirror, I’d sob at the sight of myself. And refusing to get undressed in front of Marc meant all the intimacy from our relationship disappeared.
And my excess skin was starting to make exercising impossible, too. Whenever I’d go for a run, I had to tuck the skin into the waistband of my joggers, and place paper towels between the folds to stop them from chafing.
I hated my body more than ever, and by October 2013, I was so desperate, I went to see my GP. He said that because I had Ehlers-danlos Syndrome, a rare condition I’d had since a child, it meant my skin lacked collagen and couldn’t snap back as easily after being stretched. My GP said that because of the EDS, I’d probably never get rid of my excess skin on my own. I was devastated – even more so when the NHS refused to pay for skin-removal surgery.
By March 2014, I had reached my goal of 12st, but the loose skin was worse than ever. I’d often get infections from where moisture became trapped between the folds.
Marc hated to see me so unhappy, and with our relationship suffering because of my crippling self-consciousness, in April 2014, I took out a loan of £4,700 to pay for a five-hour operation to remove the excess skin from my chest, back and bust. My F-cup boobs were also reduced to B cups.
But while my upper half looked amazing, my lower half still looked terrible. The skin on my stomach was so saggy, it smacked the floor when I tried to do press-ups.
Complete agony
Not knowing what else to do, in November 2014, I borrowed more money for a second round of surgery, which would cost £8,600, to sort out my arms, stomach and legs. It meant I had to pick up extra shifts at the hospital to make sure the children didn’t go without, but although it was tough, I knew I had to do it.
During a seven-hour operation, the surgeon removed over 6lb of skin. When I woke up, I was in complete agony. But as the bruises faded and the scars healed, I couldn’t believe this gorgeous new body was mine. I’d always looked on in envy at women with petite waists and perfectly toned legs. And now I was one of them!
I still don’t feel perfect, but for the first time, I’m happy in my own skin. Thanks to my transformation, I’m the healthiest and most confident I’ve ever been. But best of all, I don’t have to worry about being judged any more – and that’s priceless.