I hated being the fat friend, so I inked myself an ultimatum. By Amy Bowles, 37
As I watched the figures on the dancefloor, I let out a sigh of regret.
I was on a night out with my friends, but while they were all letting loose, I was sitting on the sidelines.
And I was too embarrassed to admit why.
‘Are you all right, Amy?’ asked my older sister, Lola, as she sat down next to me.
‘I’m fine,’ I replied.
But that was a lie.
The truth was, at 19st and a size 22, I felt too self-conscious to strut my stuff with the others.
Although I’d always been on the larger side, I’d put on more weight after the birth of my second child two years earlier.
I couldn’t resist a takeaway and my love of heavily buttered toast and crisp sandwiches wasn’t helping either.
But it wasn’t just that I struggled to find clothes to fit me, my weight was also having an impact on my health.
‘At this rate you’ll have a stroke by the time you’re 30,’ my GP told me.
She prescribed me high blood pressure medication and encouraged me to lose weight.
But it was hopeless.
Despite years of trying different diets, I couldn’t shift the pounds and keep them off.
Feeling desperate, I started to research other options and hit on something.
'Are you all right, Amy?'
‘I’m going to apply for weight loss surgery on the NHS,’ I told my partner, Matt.
He was slim and didn’t really understand why losing weight was so hard for me. But he knew I had to find a way, for the sake of my health and for my two kids.
So, at 31, I was assessed and the doctor said: ‘You could be eligible.’
First, I was put on a healthy eating plan to prove I was committed to losing weight. I had to lose five per cent of my body weight to be referred to the consultant.
I felt determined, but then Covid struck and sent everything into chaos.
I struggled to keep to the plan and it took me ages to lose the weight I needed.
But finally, two years later, I was booked in for surgery.
Matt dropped me off at the hospital and I was prepared for the two-hour operation.
The surgeon was going to remove three-quarters of my stomach, including the part where the hunger hormone was produced.
It meant that I’d only have to eat very small amounts of food to feel full.
I felt so hopeful as I was wheeled into the operating theatre, but when I woke up, I was in agony.
The following day, back at my home in Swanley, Kent, I was in a lot of pain.
‘This is much worse than I thought,’ I said to Matt.
I was supposed to have 80g of protein per day, but it took me three days to manage just 20g.
But there was an upside. Within weeks, the pounds were dropping off me.
Five months later, I’d shed 7st and my doctor gave me the go-ahead to stop taking my blood pressure medication.
I was thrilled and, to make sure I never slipped back into my old ways, I had my heaviest weight of 267lbs tattooed on my wrist.
‘This way I’ll stay motivated,’ I told Matt.
But there was a snag. Although I went to the gym regularly, my weight loss had left me with loose skin.
And when I looked in the mirror at my sagging belly and bingo wings, I felt almost as self-conscious as I had before.
Skin-removal surgery wasn’t available through the NHS, so I began to research alternatives and opted for an operation in Turkey.
It was far cheaper there than in the UK, and the surgeon I spoke to on the phone was very reassuring and professional.
So, a year after my weight loss surgery, I flew to Turkey and paid £5800 for a 360-lower body lift, plus a breast lift and implants.
The operation took nine hours and, when I woke up in agony, Matt and my mum were worried.
Doctors had removed so much skin that my tattoo of a sun around my belly button had completely vanished.
I flew back home soon afterwards and although it had all gone well, my stomach wound wouldn’t heal properly.
It looked like I had two belly buttons.
So three months later, I returned to Turkey to have the excess skin on my arms and thighs removed and the surgeon also operated on my stomach again.
The following year was a real challenge. Every time I recovered from one surgery, I went in for another.
I was always in pain and it was a struggle to look after the kids.
In total, I had four skin-reduction surgeries, removing 15lbs of excess skin and costing a whopping £12,000. I also needed another gastric surgery to deal with acid reflux.
‘I feel like I’m a pro with anaesthetic now,’ I joked with Matt.
It was a long slog, but two years of surgery later, I finally had my dream body, and I could flaunt it in short-sleeved tops and little dresses.
My confidence skyrocketed.
There was no more sitting on the sidelines for me.
‘You’re like a different woman!’ my friends told me when we went dancing.
I’ve lost 9st altogether and now weigh 10st.
For the first time in my whole life, I’m not the odd one out.