I Was Given Two Weeks To Live

- Ellen Finch

My friend Andrea put her hand on my stomach and smiled. ‘Can you feel him kicking?’ I asked her excitedly. It was November 2007, and I was seven months pregnant with a baby boy – my third child.

Having experienced six miscarriages, I was elated to see my bump grow. ‘I can’t wait to meet him!’ said Andrea. But then her tone suddenly changed and she became very serious.

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she said gently. ‘It’s about your weight.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m worried that if you don’t do something, it’s going to kill you,’ she continued.

Embarrassed and angry, I didn’t respond. Instead, I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the house, humiliated. But I was out of breath before I reached the end of her drive and I realised Andrea was right.

Out of control

Most women put on some weight during their pregnancy, but in the space of seven months, I’d gained 10st 7lb.

Before I’d fallen pregnant, I’d weighed 15st, I had an active lifestyle and ate home-cooked meals – I thought I was healthy. But soon after I fell pregnant, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and put on insulin injections. It had been since then that my weight had spiralled out of control.

I started snacking more, munching up to four packets of crisps a day before treating myself to a Chinese takeaway a few times a week.

‘Surely that’s not enough to pile on over 10st!’ I sighed to my partner John*.

But he was as worried as Andrea, and although her warning had hit me hard, I knew she was only doing it out of love for me.

Andrea and I made up, but I still didn’t take what she had told me seriously.