Madam Reverie

First and foremost - don't buy massive bottles of powdered Protein mix. Your tastes change after surgery and what you could tolerate before, you might not be able to tolerate afterwards and if you've bought in bulk - you're stuck with it. (I know this, through experience) Same goes for flavours of Isopure, etc. Get a wide selection of sachets, so you can try all the types in the world and find which one 'works' for you. Get a heatpad/electric blanket. Trust me, you'll be glad you did. (No carbs can make you feel cold) Get a few (5) tins of soup/consumme - make 'em bland and lump free at the start. Upgrade to thicker as you move along. Get a small selection of Jello. Again, you don't want to be stuck with flavours you can't tolerate Yoghurt - 0% Total by Fage. Its low fat, tastes good and is very good for you. Get a chewable/liquid multi-vitamin. Again, get one packet/small bottle. You don't want to get stuck with something you can't tolerate. Get a glass/bottle (open topped, not valved) you can drink your Water out of. Know how much the bottle/glass holds, so you know how much you're drinking every day. Or, get an empty 2ltr soda bottle, fill it up with water and work your way through it every day. Water is very important. You do NOT want to get dehydrated. If you can't handle water, get some crystal light sachets (again, a variety just in case you can't stomach some) and use that to flavour your water. And a bit of a random one... I found that at the start, I wasn't getting nearly enough Fluid in to 'flush' my kidneys out properly. This made my urine smell a bit concentrated and a bit, well, funky. Consequently, I felt the need to wash a lot (paranoia and hyper sensitive sense of smell post op - which can happen). I recommend some baby/intimate wipes to make you feel 'fresher', just whilst you're upscaling the amount of fluids you drink. That's it for now.. I'm sure loads of people have loads of other ideas. If I think of anything else, I'll get back to you!

I think the answer to that, is 'it depends on how you do it'!!!

I don't think I've had mine yet (apart from creeping smiles as the sizes have got smaller) I'll get back to you on that

I was given clearance by my bariatric nurse for one small drink after 4 weeks (and there was good reason for it) Since then, I have one-two and call it good. Now I'm four months out, I can drink Guinness and thoroughly enjoy it. If in doubt, follow your doctors advice.

Not sure that's very business-like. But hell, I'll try anything. I forgot to add you need to wear those boots you were talking to Indigo about! Hell yes - I'm that sexy beast in the corner rockin' those red boots! McButter... it was Indigo and I that were talking about the Red Boots

Dear Mum, I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful — in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I’d pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I’d be big enough to wear it; when I’d be like you. But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ‘‘Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.’’ At first I didn’t understand what you meant. ‘‘You’re not fat,’’ I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ‘‘Yes I am, darling. I’ve always been fat; even as a child.’’ In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that: 1. You must be fat because mothers don’t lie. 2. Fat is ugly and horrible. 3. When I grow up I’ll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too. Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself. With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ‘‘Oh-I-really-shouldn’t,’’ I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty. Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good. But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves. Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at seventy-nine years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face. I remember her ‘‘compassionate’’ response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ‘‘I don’t understand why he’d leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You’re overweight — but not that much.’’ Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either. ‘‘Jesus, Jan,’’ I overheard him say to you. ‘‘It’s not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.’’ That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad’s ‘‘Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less’’ weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else’s food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate. As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth — as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own — paled into insignificance when compared with the centimeters you couldn’t lose from your waist. It broke my heart to witness your despair and I’m sorry that I didn’t rush to your defense. I’d already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I’d even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ‘‘simple’’ process — yet one that you still couldn’t come to grips with. The lesson: you didn’t deserve any food and you certainly didn’t deserve any sympathy. But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it’s like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up. No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves. But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better — better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise. And it’s not just about you and me any more. It’s also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only three and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don’t want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves. The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends — and the people who love them — wouldn’t give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body’s thighs or the lines on its face wouldn’t matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect. Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ‘‘flaws’’ is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back. Let us honor and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum. Love, Kasey xx Kasey Edwards is an author from Melbourne. Learn about her books on her website, or follow her on Twitter. This is an excerpt from Dear Mum: a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it’s too late, or would have said if only they’d had the chance. All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. (Published by Random House and available now.)

Oh yeah, I'm in for a bit of this... Must be the 'fresh air' diet...

Ahh, bollocks to that! <hangs her head in shame>

lol aint that the truth. 5ft 10 turns into 6ft 3. With an attitude to match

Oh no, it deffo isn't a 10.5.. I wouldn't get my foot into that. Trust me, I've tried. Shame... 'cause I've seen the ones on ebay and some of them are rocking! The one that aren't, I'd need to be a bit transgendered for

That's beautiful. A little bit plat-formy.. and not available above a size 6 - but they're definitely the right colour and along the right lines! Size 43 people. I think that's a US 11.5. Help me find some lady of the night boots, people

I'll be like the old dear off of 'Benidorm'.. Just with a little less green eye-shadow and frosted pink lipstick! I have been looking for size 43 fire-engine red suede boots for the longest time.. I couldn't find any that matched the dress. Which shop did you go to online? Well, seeing as my new chums all appear to be a wee bit vertically challenged in comparison; maybe I should get some flats? Although in saying that, I can't walk in ballet pumps either. I think I just have to face it. I am a hobbit.

No guts- no glory

Me, too, honey, me too...

You been on the sherry again???? Oh my lord, I wish I had. I've had a 'single serving' bottle of red wine with my dinner tonight. To steel the nerves and all that. Have you ever heard anything like it? A 25cl bottle of wine? Its just not right....

Aww, that made me feel all warm and fuzzy. It is very very true. I promise (hand on heart), I will endeavor to make such cataclysimic cock-ups, that you and I will be proud. In fact, I shall start tomorrow! x

Double posting weirdness

YOU ARE KIDDING ME?! Please tell me they're like bright red? Like Fire-engine red? And suede. And with high heels?.. Oh my god, where did you get them from?!! TELL MEEEEEEE!!! I have a new bright, fire-engine red dress that DEMAND a pair of boots to match. I was going to wear the dress next time I go out for dinner with my lovely new friends. Although, I was also giving consideration to hiring a mobility scooter to stop myself from falling over and breaking an ankle again. Because, you know, drink and heels don't mix....

Dear Lord, I wish I had a 'dislike' button for that one... 'All this sunshine and beach BBQ is getting boring'?! BORING?!!!! I'll swap your boring for freezing my poor wee little arse off any day! x

Its under Nationality and Occupation. x

And there ain't nothin' wrong with a bit of Debbie Harry. She is smokin'. I'm trying to channel my inner 'Cyndie Lauper' at the moment... Or is it more accurately, Cruella De'ville

Revs, think you'd suit them .... got them online and they are gorgeous. Was trying to recreate a Debbie Harry look from many years ago, lol x Oooh, do they do size 9's/43's? Sadly, one of the many features I inherited from the Irish side - massive boats masquerading as feet

Cow thieves! There are cow thieves in our midst! I don't know what I am. Yes I do. Mad. 1/2 Irish, 1/4 Scott and 1/4 English. Yes, I think that's officially screwed!

Indigo?! Where'd you get those red boots from?! I want some!

I'm in this gang, too. Now I've lost 40-odd pounds, they can kiss my ever-decreasing-yes-I-know-I'm-big-but-beautiful/striking/pretty-faced(delete as appropriate)-backside. Grrr.....