I thought ditching my bad eating habits would make me feel better, but it didn’t. When I discovered the reason why, it was devastating. By Claire Szydelko, 42
My tummy rumbled and I looked at the clock. It was time for lunch and, because I’d skipped breakfast, I was absolutely ravenous.
I plodded into the kitchen and made myself a pile of chicken sandwiches, daubed with mayonnaise.
I polished off the lot along with a packet of crisps, then washed it down with a fizzy drink.
Feeling the waistband of my size-28 trousers straining, I felt a wave of guilt.
I really didn’t want to be this big. I hated it. But my binge eating habits were so ingrained, I didn’t know how I’d ever break them.
I’d started putting on weight after falling pregnant with my eldest son Joshua at 16. When I’d found out I was expecting, it was like someone had given me a green light to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it.
My partner Lee and I were keen to have a big family, and after Joshua came his sisters Luci, Amy, Bethany and Keeley.
With each pregnancy, I put on a little more weight.
But I was so busy looking after my brood, it left me with little time to do anything about it.
Although I’d cook healthy meals for the kids, I’d stuff myself with bread, pies, crisps, biscuits and chocolate.
Every time I thought about losing weight, I’d feel defeated before I even began. I just didn’t know where to start.
In time, my health began to suffer. I had high blood pressure, high cholesterol and diabetes.
When I walked anywhere, I’d be instantly out of breath and my joints felt like they might explode with pain.
Then one morning, I woke up and my first thought was: I need to make a change.
I’d just got sick of being so big. I couldn’t run around with the kids, I hated my body and lived in baggy clothes that covered up my lumps and bumps, and I felt unwell all the time.
If I was going to get my life back, I had to lose weight.
Now, having thought it, I needed to say it out loud.
‘I’m going on a diet,’ I told Lee.
‘I’ll do whatever I can to help,’ he said.
So, we sat down together and planned some healthy, home-cooked meals we could all enjoy.
I stopped snacking on crisps and chocolate and, as the weight started to come off, I joined a gym too.
In time, I lost more than eight stone. But instead of easing the pain I’d felt when I was bigger, I began to get shooting pains in my legs and back.
I was working as a waitress in Pizza Hut, so I told myself: ‘It’s because you’re on your feet all day.’
But when the pain got increasingly worse, I went to my GP. He sent me for tests, but no one could find anything wrong with me.
Eventually, I booked myself in for a private scan. The results were devastating.
‘You have a form of bone cancer called Ewing sarcoma,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m afraid it’s terminal.’
Although I’d known there was something wrong, I’d never expected it to be this serious.
Now I listened in shock as the doctor explained the cancer had already spread to my lungs and I’d need chemo and radiotherapy to help prolong my life.
As his words began to sink in, I burst into tears. I thought about the kids, who were now aged between eight and 20.
I’d never thought for a moment that I wouldn’t
see them grow up, get married, have kids themselves.
Leaving the hospital, Lee and I were both in pieces.
‘How are we going to tell the kids?’ I wept.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied.
But we knew we had to face it.
So, back home in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire, we sat them down.
‘Mummy has cancer,’ I said. ‘But I’m going to fight it.’
They were all in tears and we hugged them tightly, desperately wanting to make it better for them.
We knew the treatment was going to make me ill, so my youngest daughter Keeley, eight, and Bethany, 13, moved in with my sister as my chemotherapy began.
Despite the change to their lives, the kids coped well.
Over the next three months, I focused on getting through the treatment.
It was tough and some days I felt so ill, I could barely get out of bed.
After that, I was told I’d be monitored and might need further treatment in the future.
Over the next years, my health remained stable, so I focused all my energy on spending time with Lee and the kids.
What didn’t remain stable was my weight. I’d done so well before my diagnosis, but I just hadn’t had the energy to keep it up with everything that was happening.
Coming to terms with my illness and what it meant for my family had been tough. But in time, I began to feel more positive and I realised the best way to keep going was to eat better, lose weight and exercise.
‘I need to be as healthy as possible,’ I told Lee one evening. ‘I want to be with you and the kids for as long as possible so I’m going to join Slimming World.’
‘If that’s what you want to do,’ Lee said, ‘I’ll support you.’
So, I signed up to a local group and at my first meeting, I stepped on the scales and watched as they settled on 17st 2lb.
I’d put on a couple of stone, but I’d lost it before, so I knew I could do it again.
Back at home, Lee and I got back to cooking healthy meals from scratch.
We knocked up tasty chicken salads and healthier versions of family favourites, like lasagne.
I reduced my carbs and read about nutrition to make sure I was getting everything I needed to stay healthy.
The weight began to come off and after just nine months, I was thrilled when I hit my 10 stone target. Since then, I’ve lost even more. I’m now 9st 5lb, and a size eight.
I feel lucky that five years on from my diagnosis, I’m still here and I’m doing OK.
Although I know losing weight and getting fit doesn’t change my diagnosis, it makes me feel I’m doing everything I can to be around for Lee and the kids for as long as possible.
And, whatever the future holds, I’m determined to treasure every moment I have with them.