Page 2 of The Brat and the Bodyguard

Then, it’s my turn in the spotlight. An assistant beckons to me, pulling the curtain open.

“Ainsley O’Lachlan,” he mutters, checking his clipboard. “It’s all you! Go get ‘em, girl!”

With that, I step out from behind the curtain and into the spotlight. It’s as bad as I thought. I’m temporarily blinded from the bright lights in my face, but the assistant hisses at me again.

“Go, go, go! Go!”

Ah yes. La Bianca is paying me to strut my stuff down the runway in their clothing, so I better get to it. I smile even wider, still unable to see, and begin to stalk down the runway with confidence and verve. It’s so bright, though, that the audience is just a mass of dark shapes as flashes explode at the far end, photographing my curvy form.

I suppose itisflattering in some ways. I grew up a bigger girl, and no amount of dieting and exercise could “fix” it. After my parents died, things got even worse. I ate to soothe my sadness, and ate even more to counter the despair. I ballooned in size until I was considered medically obese, and it wasn’t until my doctor stepped in that things turned around.

“We need to get your sister help,” he told my brother Patrick. My big bro is almost twenty years older than me, and was already an adult when our parents passed. It was natural that he became my guardian, looking out for me as a parent more than a sibling.

“What do you mean?” Patrick asked the doctor, his black brows lowered. “Ainsley looks fine to me.”

The doctor shook his head and clucked, his voice hushed as if that would prevent me from over-hearing.

“No, Ainsley is medically overweight and could stand an intervention. Anearlyintervention,” he stressed. “Your sister is only in her pre-teens, and by teaching good eating habits, as well as the benefits of staying active, we may be able to curb her weight gain.”

“What are you talking about?” my brother demanded. “Of course she’s going to gain weight! She’s still growing.”

“Yes, but the weight is coming on too fast. I can show you growth charts, Mr. O’Lachlan, so you get a better sense of what girls her age weigh, and where Ainsley is on that scale. In fact, our growth charts can be mapped over time, and you’ll see that Ainsley has been gaining too much weight, too fast.”

My brother looked livid, but he managed a curt nod of acknowledgment. I never loved Patrick more than at that moment because my brother’s always been protective of me. He’s always tried to shield me from the unfairness of the world, although of course, he couldn’t shield me from our parents’ death. But my older brother did everything in his power to protect me, and has never stopped although I’m now in my early 20’s. I suppose I’ll always be a little girl in his eyes, needing care, comfort, and oversight, and it’s not so bad. At least Patrick didn’t die too, in the horrific car accident that claimed our parents’ lives.

But the long and the short of it is that when I was a pre-teen, I joined the equivalent of a Weight Watchers Junior in Ireland, with carefully scored “points” for different foods, as well as support meetings and weekly weigh-ins. They sucked, and I hated being there with a room full of girls just as miserable as me because we were allegedly “too fat for society.” Even worse, the program didn’t work for me. I carefully tabulated my food points, did my “quality workouts” as prescribed by the program, and monitored my sleep, breathing, and heart-rate, in addition to my monthly cycle. But all it did was the opposite! If anything, the stress and anxiety from being on a diet made me eat more, and I gainedmoreweight, to the chagrin of my doctor.

This horrific cycle continued for a year or two, and finally, he broached the topic of bariatric surgery.

“Are you shitting me?” Patrick gasped. By now, our family business was doing millions of revenue each year, and Patrick was a rich man. My brother was dressed in a bespoke suit with his dark hair brushed back, and a gleaming watch on his wrist. He definitely attracted more than his share of attention from the nurses out front.

But that was of no concern to my doctor, who merely stroked his his grey mustache thoughtfully.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. O’Lachlan. I’m worried by Ainsley’s continued weight gain—”

“It’s because she’s growing,” my brother bit out.

“Yes, but the weight is coming on too fast and too much still,” the physician said in a patient voice. “The procedure is just something to consider. I’m not saying you have to, or that Ainsley has to, but bariatric surgery is an option to have on the table.”

Again, they were speaking as if I wasn’t right there in the room with them. I think it’s because I was still young then, and they considered me a child, unable to understand the heavy topics at hand. But I decided to take charge of my own life, and my own future, in that very second.

“I’ll do it,” I said in a firm voice. Both my brother and the physician swung around to look at me, their expressions surprised. It’s almost as if they’d forgotten that I was there, sitting on the exam table. But I turned to them with a cool, determined expression on my face.

“It’s fine,” I say. “There have been a lot of studies on bariatric surgery, and I’ve done some research on my own. Of course, I’m interested in hearing more about your thoughts, Dr. Lynstrom, but it seems like something that could benefit me greatly. Plus, I’m sick of all this diet and exercise stuff. It doesn’t work, full stop, and I’m open to the procedure.”

With that, the wheels were set in motion. I was maybe about fifteen at the time, and we settled on a gastric sleeve, which is a weight-loss procedure that involves removing a large portion of the stomach to create a smaller, tube-shaped organ. The remaining stomach is reattached to the patient’s small intestine, and the result is that you can no longer eat as much, and feel satiated after a snack. Sometimes, patients lose so much of their appetite that they become nauseous when eating, or stop eating after only a few bites and become malnourished. It’s crazy, but it happens.

But I was attracted to the procedure not just because of its success rate, but also because it’s laparoscopic, meaning that the surgeon makes a few incisions in your abdomen, and does most of the surgery on your insides via camera. Pretty amazing, right? The best part is that I have no scars, and that the surgery worked! I lost a massive amount of weight within the first year, much to the delight of Dr. Lynstrom.

“I knew you could do it, my girl,” he said in a fatherly voice while nodding with approval. “You were a great candidate for the sleeve, and it’s worked out seamlessly.”

“Well, Idohave to watch what I eat,” I said with a wry grin. “Otherwise, I don’t get enough nutrients, and oh – I’m drinking that shake you recommended, and I just ordered the multivitamins you recommended too.”

“Very good,” the physician nodded with approval. “You’re taking care of yourself. Our health is a lifelong journey, Ainsley. We have to take care of our bodies because it’s the only one we get, so why not care for it? Treat it like a temple. I realize that’s borrowed from the world of wellness, but there’s truth to it. Our bodies deserve to be cared for, because without your health, you have nothing.”

I nodded seriously, and from that moment on, I took care of myself mentally, physically, and spiritually. The gastric sleeve was the jumpstart to a new life, and it’s been incredible, although let’s be honest – I’m no skinny-minnie. Instead, I’m a girl with curves who savors them. I like my big breasts, wide hips, and thick thighs. I like that I have an hourglass figure because at least Ihavea figure. Before, I was shaped a bit like a doughboy, and wore loose, sloppy clothes to hide myself. But now, I wear flattering, form-fitting clothing that emphasizes my luscious new shape.

Even more astonishing, I was scouted to be a plus-size model! Never in a million years did I think this would happen, but it did, and it was a dream come true. I was in line with my besties at the food court one day, when the cashier began talking to me. At first, I thought he was a weirdo who was trying to get my number, and it turned out that he was – because he was also a part-time model scout, and wanted me to come by the agency for some Polaroids.

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