Y L I M FA Los ng weight gave Natasha Pink, 36, from Farnborough, the best reward anyone could ask for...
WORDS BY LAEA MARSHALL IMAGES: SWNS
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ently knocking on the bathroom door, my husband Ross called in. ‘Is everything OK in there?’ he asked. ‘No, not really,’ I sighed. On the other side of the door, I was sat on the edge of the bath, staring at the single line on a pregnancy test – it was negative. It was 2013, and Ross, then 30, and I had been trying for a baby for five years. When we’d met in a nightclub back in 2004, we’d got together pretty quickly. We married in May 2008, and decided to start trying for a baby right away. But we were in no rush, so when the first year went by, we weren’t too worried. Now, though, after five years, we were getting desperate. After countless pregnancy tests, I was feeling deflated. Emerging from the bathroom, I collapsed into Ross’ arms in tears. ‘It will happen soon, don’t worry,’ he whispered. Not convinced, I headed downstairs to get dinner ready. Filling up a plate of nachos, I topped them with melted cheese, then served them with a side of salsa and sour cream. Tucking in, the oozing cheese
instantly melted my sadness away. But this wasn’t the first time I’d been comfort eating. When Ross and I had first moved into our own place together, I had no idea how to cook. We relied on quick ready meals and greasy takeaways on most nights, and over the years, my weight started to pile on. Then, ever since we’d started trying for a baby, I’d been finding comfort in food. Every time a pregnancy test came back negative, I’d stuff my face with cheesy nachos, a pasta bake, or a packet of biscuits. For breakfast, I’d usually make a fry up, before heading off to my job in payroll. I’d usually have a high calorie sandwich for lunch, accompanied by a full-fat fizzy drink, followed by crisps and chocolates throughout the afternoon. In the evenings, dinner would usually be something over the top – like a plateful of mac and cheese or a takeaway curry. I wasn’t doing any exercise, either, and my desk job meant that I was hardly moving at all. As the years went by, the weight piled on, and my clothes got bigger and bigger. Every time I looked in the mirror, I felt so ashamed. But for me, losing
I stuffed my face to hide the pain
weight was always tomorrow’s problem. And anyway, I had more important things to worry about – like why I was struggling to fall pregnant. A few months later, Ross and I went to see a doctor. ‘Please help us,’ I begged. ‘We want to have a baby.’ Over the next few days, I had tests done on my fallopian tubes, and Ross’ sperm count was also tested. In the end, though, the doctor couldn’t find a specific problem. We were told we could undergo IVF, but there was a catch. ‘You need to lose some weight to be eligible,’ the doctor explained. ‘Surely I can’t be that big?’ I said, somewhat insulted. But, standing on the scales in the doctor’s office, I was in for a shock. I weighed 19st. Reading the
Before numbers, I burst into tears. I’d been in complete denial, and I was so angry with myself. I knew I was big, I just never realised how big. And now, my weight was the only thing standing in the way of my dream of becoming a mum. Wiping away my tears, I suddenly felt determined. ‘I have to
