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| How my bad marriage made me put on Weight |
LEA WALKER - Big Brother Contestant !
During her pregnancy body conscious Lea As I waddled down the aisle, leaning on my shopping trolley I waited for the next jibe.
‘Look at the size of her,’ they’d whisper. Or sometimes they’d just come straight out with it, saying:
‘Oi, fatty! Don’t you think you should put those sweets back?’
I
couldn’t believe people could be so cruel. In those days it took all my
nerve to go to our local supermarket. I was 24. Only months before this
I’d been a slimline size 8 but my pregnancy had changed me into the
incredible inflated woman.
I
was already four months pregnant when I married my husband Matt in May
1994. It was hardly my dream wedding, standing in the registry office,
feeling like an 18 stone freak. By the end of my pregnancy I’d blown up
to a colossal 23 stones.
‘Don’t worry, it is a little unusual but it’s just water retention,’ said my GP.
But
that was no good. My pregnancy was hell. It was the red hot summer of
‘95. My ankles felt like elephant’s legs, my swollen skin was burning
hot and painful to touch and my stretch marks had begun to bleed
because of my ever-expanding 62 inch belly. I could hardly walk. I felt
like a beached whale.
Henry was born at
‘You
need to lose some weight, you fat cow,’ he’d say. I was so upset. My
confidence was already shot to pieces. I didn’t need him to rub salt
in. But I chose not to answer back. After all, he was right. I was
repulsive.
For
my own good, I desperately needed to lose weight. I’d already lost 2
stones immediately after the birth. In between looking after Henry I
started my own weight loss plan. I stopped eating. Well, not entirely.
I’d have fruit and water every day. And that was it. Not the most
sensible solution, I know. But it seemed to work. The weight dropped off as fast as it’d piled on. By May 1999 I weighed 6st4lbs.
‘You’re too thin,’ my best friend Greg said one day.
‘What are you on about?’ I said defensively. I went running, did step aerobics. I felt full of energy.
‘I can see your bones,’ he said bravely.
Someone had to tell me. I’d been so obsessed with losing weight I couldn’t see what I was doing to myself.
It
was a slow recovery but I began to put weight back on. But I still
hated the way I looked. Because I’d been so big before I had folds of
loose skin everywhere. My pitiful 30AAA bust hung like flapping
spaniel’s ears. The excess skin from my tummy would hang down like an
octopus’ head. It was revolting. Going on holiday would be a nightmare.
I couldn’t wear the wear the skimpy bikini briefs I wanted to because
the skin would flop out. I’d go bright red, hoping no-one would notice
and quickly tuck it back inside. In the end I was confined to what can
only be described as ‘bucket pants’.
I
couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. I’d stare at the
disgusting thing looking back and collapse into fits of sobs. Then one
day I was watching telly when Baywatch came on. Pamela Anderson looked
amazing.
‘If I could have any body, it’d be hers’, I said to
Matt.
‘In your dreams,’ he mocked, ogling the big bosomed beauty on the screen.
Why shouldn’t I? I thought angrily. Then an advert flashed up for a plastic surgery clinic. Out of curiosity I gave them a call.
By
June 1999 I’d had my first boob op to increase my size up to a 30DD.
When I came around after the surgery, I couldn’t believe it. One minute
I had no chest, the next I looked down and had two humungous boobs
staring back at me.
‘I
feel amazing! I can’t take my eyes off them!’ I said, tears in my eyes.
The very next day I was showing them off, bandages and all, at my
friend Sam’s birthday barbeque.
‘Oh. Mi. God. It’s Lara Croft!’ Greg said when he saw me.
But Matt was his usual
unimpressed self.
‘They’re alright’ was all he could say.
If
the truth be known we only married for Henry’s sake. It wasn’t working.
Matt made it clear he didn’t care about us. He was only at home when he
had to be. He’d bully me, day in, day out. We’d argue all the time.
That Christmas Eve he left us, without saying a word. He went to work
and never came home. That night we went to stay up the road at my mum
and dad’s. When we returned home to our semi on New Year’s Day he’d
taken everything, tv, furniture, the lot.
‘I
know we don’t have two pennies to rub together. But I feel better that
he’s gone. Me and Henry are better off without him,’ I said to my mum.
By
2000, I had sold the house and moved in with my parents. They loved
having us around and helped me get back on my feet. I even got a little
job as a landscape gardener. Then in August I began to feel poorly. I
had red hot stabbing pains under my armpit. I ignored it for a while,
thought I must’ve pulled a muscle at work. Eventually I went to the
doctors.
‘Your right breast is rejecting the implant. We need to get you into surgery right away,’ he said.
I was shocked but didn’t feel nervous. I saw it as an opportunity to put a few things right.
‘Can you make them bigger?’ I said with a smile on my face. I’d made a bit of money from the
sale of the house so I thought I’d put it to good use.
The night before my op I was so excited I could hardly sleep. When I woke up after surgery I had even bigger boobs.
‘You’re lovely as you are,’ mum would say.
But
she knew me well enough. For as long as I can remember I’d been
insecure about my body. At school I was picked on because of the way I
looked. I was twig thin, flat-chested with a horrible hooked nose. I
dreamed of being curvy with big, beach ball boobs. The bigger the
better as far as I was concerned.
After
surgery I started to think about my stomach. I was fed up having to
hide it. I’d already been refused a tummy tuck on the NHS so I decided
to go private. In May 2004 I took the plunge and had abdominal plasty
to flatten my stomach, liposculpture to take the flabby bits from my
thighs, back, knees, calves, hips and bum, rhinoplasty to straighten my
nose and 30JJ breast implants. I had the whole lot done in one go.
After a few weeks the numbness and the bruising had disappeared. Within
six months my body was exactly the way I wanted it to be.
Some
people might think I’m over the top. I know surgery isn’t everyone’s
cup of tea. People do sneer and are sometimes quite rude. But I’ve been
put down all my life and I’m not really bothered what others think. My
family and friends have been behind me one hundred percent and Henry,
now 9, is my little protector.
‘Stop staring at my mum!’ he’ll say, if someone’s eyes linger
on my cleavage for too long. He told me the other day that the kids at school say I’m the new
I’ve
transformed every part of my life and not just on the outside. I’ve
never been as happy as I am now. I’ve just bought a new house for me
and Henry. And I’ve had some offers to do
glamour model shoots, something I’d love to do full time one day. I’m
single right now. But I’m a choosy lady. It’ll have to be a very
special someone to come into our lives. Because, right now, I have
everything just the way I like it.
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