Unhappy with her body, Maisie made drastic plans. Would she come to regret them?
Bleary-eyed and sitting up in bed, I cradled my baby daughter with one arm as I gave her a bottle.
Meanwhile, my free hand dipped in and out of the family-sized pack of M&M’s on the duvet beside me.
No sooner had I fed and settled baby Bunnie, then it was time to do it all over again with her twin brother Bertie — polishing off the last of the chocs at the same time.
Looking after twin babies was pretty relentless, and I often relied on chocolate to get me through the night feeds.
Although, the truth was, I’d always been obsessed with food.
Growing up, I’d often finish one of mum’s healthy stir fries at home, before heading up the road to my nan’s and claiming I hadn’t been given any tea.
‘Poor love,’ she’d say. ‘How does sausage and chips sound?’
As an active kid, I’d got away with the extra calories. But by the time I’d had my eldest son Preslie at 19, I’d ballooned to 17 stone.
I’d tried every diet going, only to pile anything I managed to lose straight back on again.
At 26, I’d managed to lose six stone by intermittent fasting and running daily. But then I’d met the twin’s’ dad, quickly falling pregnant.
And with Bunnie and Bertie’s arrival, things had started to go pear-shaped once more.
Before long, it wasn’t just the night-time treats either.
As my relationship with their dad became strained, I took to comfort eating.
By the time the twins were two, I’d put all the weight I’d lost back on — and then some.
At 5ft 7in and 18 stone, my knees cracked when I climbed the stairs and my back constantly ached.
I knew I could lose weight through dieting again if I tried. It was keeping it off that I struggled with.
‘I want gastric sleeve surgery,’ I pleaded with my GP, desperate for a permanent solution.
The op would permanently remove a large part of my stomach, leaving a small ‘sleeve’ so I could physically only manage small amounts of food.
‘You’d need to be at least seven stone bigger than you are to be considered for that surgery on the NHS,’ the doctor replied.
'I want gastric sleeve surgery'
When I looked into going private, clinics in the UK wanted £12,500 for the op, which I couldn’t afford.
That’s when I started looking into getting a sleeve done in Turkey.
I kept coming across good reviews for Dr Ergin Arslan, who worked at Gözde Hospital in the city of Izmir.
The twins’ dad, who worked in the building trade, agreed to pay the £2,500 cost of the surgery, plus £120 for the flight.
So in May last year, I flew out with his sister, while my mum looked after the kids.
Although I’d done my research, I knew there were risks and I sobbed saying goodbye to Preslie, Bunnie and Bertie.
But I couldn’t go on as I was. Plus I was doing it for them too, to be a better mum.
Researching the op, I’d found hearing about other people’s real life experiences in Turkey really helpful. So I shared a blow by blow account of my own journey on social media.
For example, how I came round from the three-hour keyhole surgery in total agony due to the escaped gases, from where they’d inflated my abdomen.
For two weeks, I could only eat liquid foods. Then it was two weeks of purées before I could start on ‘soft’ solid foods.
Psychologically it was hard. Even once I was allowed ‘normal’ food again, just four mouthfuls of a roast dinner would leave me feeling full.
But the ‘head hunger’ would still be there, telling me to eat more. Except if I did, I’d be sick.
It was tough, but it worked. I was losing on average a stone a month.
Trouble was, I was deflating so quickly that before long, my tummy skin felt loose and my bum looked like a wrinkly Shar Pei dog, from all the excess skin!
My boobs had totally disappeared, too.
I’d already decided to have another surgical fix when, five months after the gastric sleeve, I split up with the twins’ dad.
Still, I kept on squirrelling away every spare penny from my job as a receptionist at a doctor’s surgery.
By eight months post-op, I’d lost eight stone.
And exactly a year on from the first surgery I flew to a different Turkish hospital, the Corlu Vatan in Istanbul.
I’d booked in for a ‘360 degree’ tummy tuck, with ‘fleur de lis’. It meant that excess skin and fat would be removed from my belly in horizontal and vertical directions, and I’d also have liposuction on my ‘flanks’ and back.
Alongside that, I was having my bum and my mons pubis — the front of my lady area — lifted, plus breast implants. It was £7,000 of surgery in total.
This time I was totally alone in the country, which was terrifying.
‘Where’s Dr Nebil?’ I asked, panicked, when I couldn’t spot my surgeon, Dr Nebil Selimoğlu, in the operating theatre.
Instead of replying, someone put a mask over my face.
‘Goodnight,’ he said.
Then everything went black.
When I woke I was freezing, despite being under blankets.
But at least on the first day I was given morphine for the pain. By the second day, they weren’t allowed to give me any more because it’s so addictive.
Paracetemol wasn’t touching the sides.
Where the breast implants had been put in under my chest muscles, it felt like there was an elephant sitting on my torso, making it hard to breathe.
I felt like I was dying.
‘This is the worst thing I’ve ever done,’ I sniffed to my followers in a TikTok video, tears welling. ‘They’ve stopped my morphine, I'm in agony. I just want my mum!’
I was soon flooded with comments. Some were supportive, thanking me for sharing. Others were saying I was just paying the price for my vanity.
Thankfully, the pain did gradually start to subside.
Then, during one dressing change, a nurse took a snap of me on the bed.
‘Oh my God!’ I cried.
Other than my boobs looking a bit too high — which I was assured would settle — I’d never looked better.
On day five, I was well enough to be wheeled to my aeroplane seat to fly home.
Mum moved in with me until I was back on my feet, and my mate Sarah helped with the school runs too.
Preslie, 11, couldn’t believe it was still me when he saw me.
And Bertie, four, asked: ‘Why has Mummy got big boobs now?’
Even though immediately after the op, I’d wondered whether I’d actually make it through the experience, six months on, life’s good.
Where before I lived in oversized baggy clothes, now I make an effort every day.
I can wear whatever I like, and I’ve started getting loads of men sliding into my DMs.
That actually makes me a bit sad, because I’m still the same person — and they didn’t think I was worth messaging before!
Looking back at photos of me at my biggest makes me unhappy as well.
I’m currently saving up from my current job in retail to go back to Turkey in January, to get my thighs lifted.
To anyone considering getting their own ‘mummy makeover’, I’d say that my journey definitely wasn’t for the faint hearted. But it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.
Maisie Smith, 31, Portsmouth, Hampshire