chapter 14

I got so big that I couldn't do anything but eat and sleep. My huge size had an impact of everything! My neck and soft palate was so fat that I'd snore, something I never used to do. Sometimes, it was so bad, that I'd cut off my own air supply and I'd wake up gasping!
I was so helpless that I depended on Marion for everything. Literally EVERYTHING!
I'm not sure whether she'd expected it to go so far, or she'd not expected to be so involved, but she hated to be so tied. She still had a job to do, but she couldn't do it because I needed twenty four hour care.

It was too much for her. She left.
But before she left for good, she sacked all the staff downstairs and hired new. I'm not sure why. It wasn't up to her to hire and fire. The way the buisiness was run was... er...none of her business.
The pub closed for forty eight hours for staff training by the new manager.
I was left alone, stranded and hungry for forty eight hours!
I shouted out, but no one came. I could not reach the phone. I shouted until I was hoarse, but no one heard me.
Then when someone finally did, they were absolutely horrified. Seeing someone my size was bad enough, but by then, I was caked in faeces. My conveen had come off and I smelled of stale urine.
They went away, came back with someone else. They called for help, but did not know what to do to help. They knew I needed cleaning, but to do so meant they had to move me and they did not know how to do that.
Nevertheless, they padded around me with some fresh sheets, opened the window to lets some fresh air in, but I was still lying in a dirty wet bed.
I was hungry, but they did not want to give me anything to eat. They cruelly said I was fat enough, it was about time I used up my own fat stores!
How impertinent!
It was an hour or so later when the first of the ambulance crew arrived. He quickly assessed the situation, without consulting me and got on his radio to ask for reinforcements.
Once they arrived, I was cleaned up as best they could and spoke to the bariatric specialists about getting me out.
I didn't want to get out! I had not left the building for night on two years! Why would I want to leave now? All I wanted was something to eat! A nice thick shake would do! Why were they all talking about me? Why would they not listen?
Before I knew it the fire brigade were there and they started knocking down half the new extension to get to me.
I was unceremoniously hoisted out on a crane, wrapped in only a sheet. Half the town were standing in the street watching, while the other half watched from the comfort of their own homes as my plight was boardcast throughout the region. I was put in the back of a bariatric ambulance and forced to endure one of the worst journeys I had ever made.
To get onto the main road, the ambulance had to negotiate several sleeping policemen and chicanes. They were designed as 'traffic calming' measures, but they did not make it a comfortable ride.
I felt every bump and every bend in my flesh as it wobbled and jiggled with the shift in gravity.

At the hospital it was worse. I was prodded, poked and scanned. Roll this way, roll that way. Did they think that if they rolled my fat they could make it disappear? Yet still, I did not get any food!
I had blood taken, my vital signs were monitored, I was hoisted, moved, hoisted into bedpans, hoisted off, forced to comply with their regime... in my own interests. What did they know about my interests? No one had bothered to ask me!
Eventually I got something to eat. A tiny chicken salad that hardly filled a corner of my big belly. I was nearly crying with the pain of hunger!
I had to suffer meagre portions and someone else's ideas about 'sensible eating', then I spoke at length with the dietician. She lectured me about reducing my fat and sugar intake. I ought to increase my proteins and... well I switched off after that. I was not interested in what was sensible. I was so hungry, I could have eaten HER if she'd have been put in a spit and roasted! What did human flesh taste of? Was it something like chicken, or more like pork, or beef, or succulent lamb. No doubt her flesh would be like venison, very lean, but very tasty! She probably would not need much cooking.
At least, after my meeting with her, she recognised my hunger. She recognised that, at my size I needed more calories than a 'normal' person just to keep ticking over. My blood pressure had to be higher than normal because the blood had further to go. My heart had to pump harder to make my blood go the distance.
Despite my size, my blood results showed that I was malnourished. I needed extra vitamins, minerals and other ingredients provided in supplementary drinks. That means that I got three meals a day off the ward meal trolley. I got to choose what I wanted off the menu, but the dietician revived it and adjusted it accordingly. In addition to that I got three supplement drinks a day.
These were very like my beloved shakes, but not so think. They left a bit of an aftertaste in my mouth, but I did not mind that. The only unfortunate thing was... there was not enough! I was still hungry all the time. I could not sleep for it. I was still hungry after every meal.

I was in a small ward with three other bariatric patients. They were all smaller than me. One of them had his mobile phone with him and ordered takeaways to be delivered to his bed.
The smell made me even hungrier. Watching him tuck in was even worse. I could not place my own order because my wallet was still at home with all my credit cards. I had to rely on the NHS.

Several months went by. My weight plummeted, but as it did, my mobility improved. I still needed help to get out of bed, but I could walk short distances with the aid of a Zimmer frame. My continence improved because I was able to go to the toilet, although I still needed help to clean me down at the back because I couldn't reach. I still needed help in the shower to make sure every crevice in every fold was cleaned and dried properly.
Indeed, I found my flesh was even more jiggly and wobbly than it was before as I had acres of loose skin over the top of the fat that remained.

As my mobility improved, the physiotherapists got involved in my care. They showed me some light exercises and stretches to do to improve my strength and flexibility. I hated doing them because I was so lazy, but I could see that if I persisted with them I could reach the point where I could regain my independence to a point where I could at least look after myself.
I started going on home visits for a day, or even staying overnight at the weekend.
I did not like the new staff at the pub and they did not like me.
They were all into being fit and healthy. They had changed the menu accordingly. They had lost all the local customers. They wouldn't even come in for a drink now.
Instead of having retirees coming for their lunch and staying most of the afternoon, they got half a dozen cyclists who had struggled up the steep hill to get there. They would have a quick, light lunch, then they would be back on their cycles for the return journey.
Some days they got no one in for lunch.
Evenings were slightly better, but I knew that many customers had stumbled in expecting the old menu, but realised too late to simply walk out.
Fewer customers meant more expensive prices for less food.
I tried the food out. I thought the dietician at the hospital would be proud of me! Their tomato soup was thin and watery. I'm not sure if it had ever even said 'hello' to a tomato! The 'home made' bread made with ancient grains was so crusty and tough it was like eating cardboard. They didn't even have any butter, what they had was a tasteless low fat spread, that left me thinking the cardboard bread was much better without it.
There were several salads on the menu. I ordered one to go with my main meal, but I sent it back because it looked like a caterpillar had got there before me.
There were no proper chips, just these fancy sweet potato and squash baked chips. I tried them. They were no substitute for the real thing. They were dry. The only crispness were the burned, charred edges.
The main meals themselves were truly terrible. I'm not sure whether they'd got their inspiration from those fancy London chefs, but steamed fish or chicken with steamed vegetables and no sauce was not going to get the customers flocking to the door.
The desserts were so uninspired they might as well have just put an apple on a plate, not forgetting a spoonful of yogurt on the side... oh yes! That'll be £7.50 please!
The other issue with them was their attitude. They were all slim and fit, all ate healthily and had never had an issue with their weight. As such, they were snobby and totally intolerant when someone was not the same as they were. Why did people allow themselves to get fat? They asked. Why could they not simply eat less and exersise more? It was a simple equation.
They had to tolerate me because I was their employer. There was more than one of them could not even watch me walk into a room because they were so repulsed by the sight of my rippling fat and loose skin.
I heard one waiter insult me when he thought I could not hear him and I heard him openly criticise a lady because she was slightly overweight.
This was my business and they were ruining. Hardly anyone used the bar, because of course alcohol was unhealthy. How could they run a healthy business that included a bar? The manager had even laid the bar staff off there were so few customers.

I watched them. I made notes. I earmarked certain staff out for immediate sacking for offending customers.

As soon as I was discharged from hospital altogether, I had black marks against every single one of them. I sacked the whole lot of them. I refused to give them references.
I would have re-employed all of my old staff, but many had moved on. Still I