Flopping down into my chair, I could hear my tummy rumbling. It was summer 2010 and I was exhausted and hungry, yet I didn’t have the energy to heave myself up and into the kitchen to make dinner. So I slung off my shoes, sank back and jabbed at my phone to order a Chinese takeaway – egg fried rice, chow mein, prawn toast, chicken in sweet-and-sour sauce, and I’d treat myself to a few prawn crackers too. Swiping it out of the hands of the delivery driver seconds after he’d rung the doorbell, I drooled over the steaming foil packages.
Working full-time as a receptionist for the local council in south London and being a single mum to my children, Shamara, then 18, and Tyreece, nine, took up all my time. ‘I’m so tired,’ I sighed on the phone to my mum Ailen, then 68, most days. ‘Haven’t got the energy to cook.’ I decided I had no time for exercise either.
Most nights I’d reach for takeaways, McDonald’s, fish and chips, Doritos and Pringles, all washed down by Coke. It was an easy option when I was rushed off my feet. The kids loved it too!
I’d always been a chubby child and teenager, enjoying the plentiful portions from my traditional Caribbean upbringing. And now I knew I was piling on the pounds even more. In fact, at 5ft 7in, I now weighed more than 22st.
In October 2010, I turned 40 and went along to my routine NHS health check, giving blood and urine samples. But I was stunned when the GP gave me the results. ‘You’re borderline diabetic,’ he warned.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة May 16, 2022 من WOMAN'S OWN.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة May 16, 2022 من WOMAN'S OWN.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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