When medical opinions collide

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Ten months and a five month waiting list ago I managed to finally meet the NHS dietician. She said:
Have you tried losing weight before?
Yes I replied, thinking of the drawer full of clothes that had become too small I’ve done Weightwatchers, Slimmingworld, Slimfast, calorie controlled, Atkins… She rolled her eyes and tutted at the word.
The fertility consultant says that women with PCOS, which I have, respond best to a low carb diet I said.
Atkins…Atkins is just awful. she said and launched into calorie controlled diets being the only non-fad diet option.

Like a good patient I listened, made notes and obeyed. Admittedly, my own eyebrows were raised on the need for protein for breakfast, but not poached eggs or baked beans as they were a ‘cooked breakfast’, and thus naughty and I will be spanked and sent to bed without my fruit snack (good, fruit is boring).

The NHS fertility consultant said Drop the sludge, Patient, drop two stone on two months. It can be done, ‘just run up and down a lot of stairs’.
Cue 1240-1300 calories a day, being continuously ravenous, convinced my stomach was digesting itself, that it would collapse in on itself causing a black hole into which my rebellious body, office space, city, country and ultimately anything within a several billion space radius would be sucked into and destroyed, never to be seen again.

Ultimately, according to my private fertility consultants, my metabolism and the optimum health of my reproductive organs, the bits that I was trying to make fruitful, was compromised. Crash dieting causes the body to redirect all energy to the live saving parts of your body, not the life giving bits.

Ten months and only 13 lbs later, my body is doing a wobbly, sludgy victory lap (or it would if it could get off the floor for laughing so hard) jeering
Laydeee! Hey, Dietician Laydeeee! In your FACE Laydeee . It deserves an ASBO.

The last time I lost weight to a noticeable level was on Atkins. I went from a size 22 to a loose size 18. Hunger didn’t exist any more, neither did skin problems (finally zit free, wahay!!) low energy or bitten fingernails (eating is an oral fixation, more on that another day). New trews were bought, found to be too big the next month, then assigned to the bottom drawer. They have since been worn to death and sent to The Great Big Rag pile in the sky.

So after plateauing for more months than most people spend on diets, I give up. Sod you, calorie control; yeah, and the horse you rode in on. I’m back on Atkins.

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