The girls rabbiting on about love handles didn’t hurt my pride — what’s left to hurt when you’ve been prodded and poked in a hospital — but made me take a proper look at myself. Now I’m less hooked on the idea of Acomplia, I can look in the mirror and not flinch. I’ve got spectacular scars on my chest with all the stitches out. But I’ve really gone to seed. I’m quite tall and big boned. Now, I’m looking like a half-melted candle with my head sticking up as the wick. (more…)

As part of my post-Acomplia therapy, I rang the foreman down at the factory. He said they were keeping my old job for me. In fact, truth be told, he said they were missing me. The younger kids couldn’t hack it at all when it came to the kind of work I could do in my sleep, so the sooner I got back to work the better for everyone. (more…)

This district nurse — Molly’s her name (some Irish connection in her family, apparently) — has the right end of the stick on all this. She thinks I’m still living in a dream world, not connecting to the real world at all. All I’ve been thinking about since that doctor mentioned it, is this Acomplia. As if a pill can solve all my problems. Like sex. Not getting it up? Take a little blue one. Got blood clots? Take rat poison and hope you don’t die too. (more…)

So there I am hiding myself away in this nursing home while whoever the manufacturer is decides to get his act together and get this Acomplia on the market. It’s frustrating. Here I am — been close to death twice now — and I need this Acomplia to pull me round. The way that doctor was talking, I pop an Acomplia or three and it’s the job done. Shame someone doesn’t know someone on the inside as can slip us a bottle or two on the quiet. (more…)

So, there I am lying on the settee in the living room fantasising about having Acomplia to save me from myself when the front door bell goes off like a clap of thunder. I’ve managed to clean up the mess of vomit in the bathroom and get myself downstairs, but death still feels like the quickest way to get rid of all the pain. (more…)

  Hangovers I have had. But that morning, it broke all records for raw pain. I’m one day out of hospital and several pints to the worse in the pub after the ambulance releases me back into the wild. You have these great Disney pictures in your mind — Bambi has been rescued from a fate worse than death by some cute kids who nurse him back to health (giving him Acomplia to help him quit whatever he’s on). Then, with tears in their eyes, they let him go. The shot tracks Bambi just out-of-sight behind a bush where a lion tears it to bits (what a waste of good Acomplia unless it cures the lion of its addiction to Bambis). Well that’s how I feel. That night of joy in the pub, welcoming home the conquering hero, has left me on a rack of pain. Everything that could hurt, hurts big time. (more…)

If you’re a nervous type, this is going to turn into a bit of a rant. Reader discretion advised. This was my first time in a hospital for real. For all my bad habits, I’d never had a day off work, never been sick at all. Then suddenly, heart attack and bits of scaffolding holding me together. And I’m surrounded by a load of people talking at me. I know they all mean well, but most of them are really annoying, like they don’t really live in my world and understand my problems. (more…)

These are my true life confessions. Hopefully, they’ll help you get through your problems. If someone like me can make it, so can you. (more…)