Blueeyedboy
Review: Sue Leonard<
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Joanne Harris
Doubleday; €14.99
WHEN the novelist Joanne Harris was 11-years-old, a teacher mentioned that she was unnaturally quiet. Enraged, Joanne decided to challenge that assumption and to show how silly such snap judgements are. So she was an extrovert in one class, quiet in another and displayed different mannerisms for all the different teachers. At the end of the year the reports came back sounding as if they were about different children.
At 45, Joanne remains an enigma. With her short cropped hair, air of certainty and her no-nonsense manner, this Yorkshire woman comes across as straight-laced. When she tells me she had her entire future mapped out at 16 – a Cambridge degree, followed by teaching until she could afford to write full-time – I’m not in the least bit surprised.
When she smiles, though, and her eyes crinkle, she seems altogether softer; perhaps that’s the influence of her mother’s French blood. Quite where her rebel side comes from, though, is harder to guess. When she arrives, she is wearing a leather jacket – and she plays bass in a band.
That sense of identity, and the difficulties of ever really knowing someone else, has always fascinated Harris. She explored the issue in Gentlemen and Players and has extended her complex study of it in her dark new novel, Blueeyedboy. An intricate thriller with multiple twists and teasers, Joanne describes the novel as a Rubik’s cube.
Blueeyedboy, or BB, is 42, but still lives at home, in Yorkshire, with his monster mother. A hospital porter, he spends most of his time online on a website called badguysrock. But are the murders he so lovingly describes really fiction?
"I started wanting to write about a dysfunctional family; one where there’s never really been a father figure," says Harris. "And I wanted to start with the relationship between a man and his mother."
The idea has been germinating for some years, since Joanne was in Naples chatting to a taxi driver.
"He was telling me about his hard childhood and about his two brothers who were close to him in age. His mother had decided they would each wear a particular colour through their childhood, so if anyone lost their clothes she would know who it was. I thought, what would that do to somebody as they grew up? I noticed he was dressed all in his colour, blue. Yet he was in his 50s and his mother had been dead for 20 years."
The novel came out of a hard time. Harris had split with her agent and was being sued by her American agent for something out of her control.
"I was being threatened with arrest in America unless I went to court. To have that kind of thing hanging over you, I don’t think you tend to write too well." She shrugs. "It happens."
Unable to write books, she wrote online, enjoying the freedom of role play, as she entered various communities there.
"I have a friend who spends most of her life online. She’s in a wheelchair and cannot speak. The internet is her window on the world. In the street, she is a victim in a wheelchair, but online she is ebullient, funny and kind of flirtatious. It’s an interesting new personality. Before her stroke she was a quiet, timid person."
Colour pervades Blueeyedboy. It dictates the way the characters respond and behave. More than one of the characters has synaesthesia, a condition that is central to the plot. Blueeyedboy is not an easy read; intensely thought-provoking, it’s also disturbing and confusing.
Harris describes the book as literary Marmite, since fans of her previous books, such as Chocolat, seem to either love it or hate it.
Her American publishers were so disturbed by the change in style that they turned the book down. Harris is unrepentant.
"I’ve branched out in different directions on purpose. I didn’t leave teaching to do another job where people told me what to do."
How, though, did she keep a handle on her new novel’s action?
"Some of it is planning, but a book, to me, has to remain organic. If I plan too rigidly I tend to find the plot starts to overwhelm the characters and the characters start to serve the plot. That is death to a book, so I tend to like a general trajectory, and I fill in the details as I go along.
"I don’t think of the process of writing as creation," she muses. "To me it’s much more like method acting. I nearly always write in the first person, so the more I know about the characters the better I am at writing them. I have to work out a lot about their past.
"Like an actor, I don’t feel myself possessed by characters. I can take off the clothes at the end of the day, and say, ‘right, that’s you done’."
Even so, Harris admits to sharing some of her anti-hero’s darker sensibilities – and that extends to thoughts or murder.
"It’s difficult to believe anyone who hasn’t, even fleetingly, imagined murdering somebody. And given the different pressures that motivate people to commit a crime, anyone is capable of doing it. I could quite imagine committing an act of violence if someone threatened my daughter," she says. "That would be my trigger."
For her next novel, Harris intends to please the fans who found Blueeyedboy a bit too hot to handle.
"It will be easier for them to read. And less emotionally draining for me to write." She pauses. "But books should not just make you feel good. I feel, strongly, that if you don’t explore the dark side from time to time, then the rest of it has no meaning.
"I’m kind of with Blueeyedboy on this one. At one point he says ‘it’s getting the reaction that matters’. If you can get somebody to hurl abuse and death threats at you, that’s better than ‘so what?’ There is nothing as bad as getting no reaction."
This story appeared in the printed version of the Irish Examiner Saturday, May 08, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Carol Coffey
The Penance Room
Review: Sue Leonard
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Carol Coffey
Poolbeg; €13.99
WHEN Carol Coffey left school at 18 she worked in a psychiatric hospital in Dublin. It was tough. The hospital was like something out of Dickensian times and some of the patients were extremely violent. Yet she stayed for five years and found the work deeply satisfying.
"I have a caring nature," she says, when we meet in the Merrion Hotel. "I knew, from years back, that I wanted to work with people who were ‘different’. I remember, when I was young, a girl on our road used to chase us for sweets. Everybody was a bit scared of her, but my grandmother urged me to stop and talk to her. I thought what an isolated life she must have led.
"My job was to work with people who had a learning difficulty and a psychiatric illness. I helped find them jobs outside the hospital. I learned an awful lot there. I felt I was helping as much as I could."
At 23 Carol moved to Australia. But she continued in her caring role. She worked in nursing homes. During the day, all the residents were shoved together into one large sitting-room.
"I started to notice them all. Some of them would have been on opposing sides in war. Some had forgotten their English and only used their first language. There were different nationalities; different religions; people who would normally not mix together at all. I began to realise they all had interesting stories. I was fascinated by that."
Carol has since taken a degree in special education. She’s worked in Australian schools and government agencies. She’s married a man from Co Mayo and, after 10 years in Australia, returned to Ireland. The couple now live in Baltinglass, Co Wicklow.
Since her return in 2000, Carol has worked full time. She’s also written a novel based on autism. But she never forgot the effect those old people in Australia had on her 23-year-old self. She’s used the experience to startlingly good effect, in her latest novel, The Penance Room.
Set in Australia, the novel focuses on a family-run nursing home, aptly named Broken Hill. The story is narrated by the couple’s 13-year-old son, Christopher. He’s deaf and haunted by a train accident in which he lost his foot. A strange yet perceptive boy, he’s determined to help the troubled residents.
When Steve, a research student, asks if he can interview the old people, Christopher is excited. He believes once the residents’ stories are told, all of them can rest at peace. We learn that Mina, who hides food, was once imprisoned by the Japanese. That the reclusive Wilfred was a teenage Nazi. As for the eccentric sisters, Victoria and Penelope, there’s a good reason they’ve never truly embraced adulthood.
The residents aren’t the only ones to harbour secrets. The nurse, Aishling, it turns out, was rejected by her family in Ireland after an altercation with a priest.
"There were a lot of Irish people in Sydney who were running away from something, and many are still there. They never even come home for weddings or funerals. It struck me that one little event can completely change the course of your life. It can go down paths you never imagined."
Central to the novel, though, is the issue of blindness and the effect of their son’s impairment on the nursing home’s owners, Emma and Andy Monroe. Does Carol feel compelled to write about disability in some form?
"Yes, I do like to because there are so many myths out there and I really do want to get the message out. When in my first novel I wrote about autism, I wanted to show that the condition isn’t always as it was portrayed in Rainman. I wanted a more realistic portrayal."
Carol has now completed her third novel contracted with Poolbeg. Yet she’s still working full time – for the National Council for Special Education, allocating resources for children with special needs. Not only that, she’s taking a masters degree too. So how does she fit everything in?
"I spend a lot of time upstairs on my computer, writing and doing my course. I write in the evenings and at weekends," she says. "And in any holiday time I get. My husband, Dave, is very understanding. He’s my first reader, and he’s easygoing. I’m very lucky. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I’ve known that since I was 10 years old. But then other things got in the way.
"I began in 2004. I was recovering from major surgery. I was told I’d be at home for six weeks, but it ended up being three months. I’m used to having a busy life and I couldn’t stick the thought of sitting around. Then I thought this is my chance to write. I began and it just flowed. By the time I returned to work I had a third of the first book written."
When she’d finished The Butterfly State, though, she hadn’t the courage to send it off. It sat in a drawer for four years. Then she thought, at least if I send it to a publisher and they say ‘no,’ I can say, ‘I had a go and it didn’t happen.’ So she sent it to Poolbeg, who requested some changes, and then she got the three-book deal.
"I’m so lucky," she says. "I’ve achieved my lifetime ambition. In the future, I’d like to write full-time. But I don’t know how realistic that will be."
Reaction to The Penance Room has been positive. What does Carol hope readers will gain from her story?
"I’d like them to think about ageing. My sister had the ideal reaction. She said she really enjoyed the book and that when she visits elderly relatives, she looks at all the residents, and wonders what their lives were like. She said, ‘I never thought of that before’."
This story appeared in the printed version of the Irish Examiner Saturday, May 01, 2010
Review: Sue Leonard
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Carol Coffey
Poolbeg; €13.99
WHEN Carol Coffey left school at 18 she worked in a psychiatric hospital in Dublin. It was tough. The hospital was like something out of Dickensian times and some of the patients were extremely violent. Yet she stayed for five years and found the work deeply satisfying.
"I have a caring nature," she says, when we meet in the Merrion Hotel. "I knew, from years back, that I wanted to work with people who were ‘different’. I remember, when I was young, a girl on our road used to chase us for sweets. Everybody was a bit scared of her, but my grandmother urged me to stop and talk to her. I thought what an isolated life she must have led.
"My job was to work with people who had a learning difficulty and a psychiatric illness. I helped find them jobs outside the hospital. I learned an awful lot there. I felt I was helping as much as I could."
At 23 Carol moved to Australia. But she continued in her caring role. She worked in nursing homes. During the day, all the residents were shoved together into one large sitting-room.
"I started to notice them all. Some of them would have been on opposing sides in war. Some had forgotten their English and only used their first language. There were different nationalities; different religions; people who would normally not mix together at all. I began to realise they all had interesting stories. I was fascinated by that."
Carol has since taken a degree in special education. She’s worked in Australian schools and government agencies. She’s married a man from Co Mayo and, after 10 years in Australia, returned to Ireland. The couple now live in Baltinglass, Co Wicklow.
Since her return in 2000, Carol has worked full time. She’s also written a novel based on autism. But she never forgot the effect those old people in Australia had on her 23-year-old self. She’s used the experience to startlingly good effect, in her latest novel, The Penance Room.
Set in Australia, the novel focuses on a family-run nursing home, aptly named Broken Hill. The story is narrated by the couple’s 13-year-old son, Christopher. He’s deaf and haunted by a train accident in which he lost his foot. A strange yet perceptive boy, he’s determined to help the troubled residents.
When Steve, a research student, asks if he can interview the old people, Christopher is excited. He believes once the residents’ stories are told, all of them can rest at peace. We learn that Mina, who hides food, was once imprisoned by the Japanese. That the reclusive Wilfred was a teenage Nazi. As for the eccentric sisters, Victoria and Penelope, there’s a good reason they’ve never truly embraced adulthood.
The residents aren’t the only ones to harbour secrets. The nurse, Aishling, it turns out, was rejected by her family in Ireland after an altercation with a priest.
"There were a lot of Irish people in Sydney who were running away from something, and many are still there. They never even come home for weddings or funerals. It struck me that one little event can completely change the course of your life. It can go down paths you never imagined."
Central to the novel, though, is the issue of blindness and the effect of their son’s impairment on the nursing home’s owners, Emma and Andy Monroe. Does Carol feel compelled to write about disability in some form?
"Yes, I do like to because there are so many myths out there and I really do want to get the message out. When in my first novel I wrote about autism, I wanted to show that the condition isn’t always as it was portrayed in Rainman. I wanted a more realistic portrayal."
Carol has now completed her third novel contracted with Poolbeg. Yet she’s still working full time – for the National Council for Special Education, allocating resources for children with special needs. Not only that, she’s taking a masters degree too. So how does she fit everything in?
"I spend a lot of time upstairs on my computer, writing and doing my course. I write in the evenings and at weekends," she says. "And in any holiday time I get. My husband, Dave, is very understanding. He’s my first reader, and he’s easygoing. I’m very lucky. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I’ve known that since I was 10 years old. But then other things got in the way.
"I began in 2004. I was recovering from major surgery. I was told I’d be at home for six weeks, but it ended up being three months. I’m used to having a busy life and I couldn’t stick the thought of sitting around. Then I thought this is my chance to write. I began and it just flowed. By the time I returned to work I had a third of the first book written."
When she’d finished The Butterfly State, though, she hadn’t the courage to send it off. It sat in a drawer for four years. Then she thought, at least if I send it to a publisher and they say ‘no,’ I can say, ‘I had a go and it didn’t happen.’ So she sent it to Poolbeg, who requested some changes, and then she got the three-book deal.
"I’m so lucky," she says. "I’ve achieved my lifetime ambition. In the future, I’d like to write full-time. But I don’t know how realistic that will be."
Reaction to The Penance Room has been positive. What does Carol hope readers will gain from her story?
"I’d like them to think about ageing. My sister had the ideal reaction. She said she really enjoyed the book and that when she visits elderly relatives, she looks at all the residents, and wonders what their lives were like. She said, ‘I never thought of that before’."
This story appeared in the printed version of the Irish Examiner Saturday, May 01, 2010
Review. You by Nuala Ní Chonchúir
You
Review: Sue Leonard
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Nuala Ní Chonchúir
New Island; €12.99
IT’S SUMMER 1980. At the Olympics, boycotted by America, Nadia Comaneci is enchanting the world; and that includes a 10-year-old in Dublin, who lives by the Liffey with her ma and two young brothers.
The girl, who has a difficult Irish name, is referred to, variously, as little miss prim, cheeky pup, or, by six year-old Liam, as smelly arse. Watching the Olympics, she longs to learn gymnastics, but meanwhile, she has more troubling matters on her mind.
Her ma is sad. She cries a lot, and then is taken to hospital for a little rest. She likes ma’s friends, Noel and Cora, who look after the children in her absence. They’re kind, but it’s not the same. Then there’s her da. He left to live with the prickly Geraldine and they now have a snivelling daughter, Clare. She sees him still, but their outings are never satisfactory.
When her ma links up with Noel’s brother, Kit, life seems brighter, but when ma is off with Kit for a weekend away, tragedy strikes.
The girl is a feisty narrator. A keen observer, she tells the story from her own perspective, but using ‘you,’ instead of ‘I.’ So it’s, ‘you’re clumsy. You’re always letting things drop’. It’s a device that works well, and, of, course, provides the title.
You is a sweet, simple coming of age tale. The girl has a good heart. She never resents helping with housework, or caring for the baby. Terrible things happen; the novel is heartbreaking at times, but it’s never violent. Although the girl has sticky moments with her da, she is surrounded by people who love her. It is reminiscent of Julia Kelly’s debut, With My Lazy Eye.
The novel flows beautifully and is understated in tone. The author, who lives in Co Galway, has already won prizes for her poetry and short stories. This gem is sure to win her further acclaim. Nuala Ní Chonchúir is a writer to watch.
This story appeared in the printed version of the Irish Examiner Saturday, May 15, 2010
Review: Sue Leonard
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Nuala Ní Chonchúir
New Island; €12.99
IT’S SUMMER 1980. At the Olympics, boycotted by America, Nadia Comaneci is enchanting the world; and that includes a 10-year-old in Dublin, who lives by the Liffey with her ma and two young brothers.
The girl, who has a difficult Irish name, is referred to, variously, as little miss prim, cheeky pup, or, by six year-old Liam, as smelly arse. Watching the Olympics, she longs to learn gymnastics, but meanwhile, she has more troubling matters on her mind.
Her ma is sad. She cries a lot, and then is taken to hospital for a little rest. She likes ma’s friends, Noel and Cora, who look after the children in her absence. They’re kind, but it’s not the same. Then there’s her da. He left to live with the prickly Geraldine and they now have a snivelling daughter, Clare. She sees him still, but their outings are never satisfactory.
When her ma links up with Noel’s brother, Kit, life seems brighter, but when ma is off with Kit for a weekend away, tragedy strikes.
The girl is a feisty narrator. A keen observer, she tells the story from her own perspective, but using ‘you,’ instead of ‘I.’ So it’s, ‘you’re clumsy. You’re always letting things drop’. It’s a device that works well, and, of, course, provides the title.
You is a sweet, simple coming of age tale. The girl has a good heart. She never resents helping with housework, or caring for the baby. Terrible things happen; the novel is heartbreaking at times, but it’s never violent. Although the girl has sticky moments with her da, she is surrounded by people who love her. It is reminiscent of Julia Kelly’s debut, With My Lazy Eye.
The novel flows beautifully and is understated in tone. The author, who lives in Co Galway, has already won prizes for her poetry and short stories. This gem is sure to win her further acclaim. Nuala Ní Chonchúir is a writer to watch.
This story appeared in the printed version of the Irish Examiner Saturday, May 15, 2010
The Danger of Diet Pills
Saturday May 15 2010 Irish Independent Weekend magazine.
With the sun coming out and holidays on the horizon, women will be sizing up their winter flab and wanting to lose excess pounds right now. Drastic weight-loss measures are called for, but you've tried all the diets and ultimately failed. You need help. And help can be pill-shaped.
Diet pills are so popular in Ireland, so widely used, that even as Reductil, the controversial appetite suppressant, was being withdrawn from the market in January, there were discussions from eager young mums who extolled the drug on the internet.
And no, they weren't scared by the ban. They were just anxious to know where they could procure a similar pill.
Gerry Ryan often spoke about diet pills. They worked for him, but made him anxious. On his death, some commentators wondered if their use might have sparked a heart attack. It certainly occurred to Suzanne Horgan. As director and founder of the Eating Disorder Resource Centre of Ireland (www.eatingdisorders.ie) she is well aware of the dangers of diet pills.
"Reductil was taken off the market because of its links with heart attacks and strokes," she says. "Back in the 1980s and 1990s drugs like Adifax were withdrawn because of bowel problems. All diet pills have huge side-effects; the effects can be worse than the weight problem."
Many women who attend weight watchers have previously tried diet pills. "They try everything," says Margaret Burke, PRO with WeightWatchers Ireland. "Diet pills can work. But when people stop the diet pills, the weight usually returns and sometimes they put on even more. Pills don't help you to make good lifestyle choices."
Margaret Fahy took her first diet pills at 34. She'd married, had her first baby, moved from London to remotest Mayo and her weight had ballooned to 14 stone.
"I'd had hormonal problems, and used fertility treatment," she says. "We wanted another child, and the first thing I had to do was lose weight. My GP put me on Xenical (orlistat) which works by decreasing the absorption of dietary fat.
"It didn't suit me. I felt sick when I ate anything and I had the most severe stomach cramps. I felt lethargic. I had no energy and I had the most terrible diarrhoea. I'd be in the middle of Penneys and would suddenly have to go to the toilet. Often I wouldn't make it.
"I found myself gorging on any food that did not give me cramps; that could be carrots or digestive biscuits. I took the pills for three months, but they weren't working for me. I lost about five pounds."
Margaret then tried exercise. She toned up and dropped two dress sizes, but she didn't lose weight. So her GP tried her on Reductil. This was 2004, when it was perceived as a new wonder drug.
"My GP did say, 'Don't, whatever you do fall pregnant'," says Margaret. "He said it could have adverse effects on the foetus. With Reductil I did cut down my portion sizes. I didn't eat as much, but I suffered from panic attacks. I had severe headaches and had terrible mood swings. I had post-natal depression and the pills made that worse. I'm surprised my marriage lasted -- those first years were horrendous!"
Margaret came off the pills after two months. She then became pregnant, had her second son, Owen, and six months after his birth became pregnant with her third. After Rory's birth in 2006, Margaret, now 14-and-a-half stone, returned to her doctor in despair.
"He said 'Give Reductil another go'. But it was back to mood swings and panic attacks. I'd have palpitations at the dinner table. My face would go on fire. I'd have them in the shower, too. It was unnerving.
"It was like being on speed. My mind was racing. I couldn't sleep. I'd go to bed by 10.30pm and be still awake at 2am. I'd be wide awake, and tossing. I'd get up, worried about disturbing Martin. Then at 8am I'd be exhausted, yet have to drop the boys at crèche before work."
Margaret came off the pills when her eldest son, Luke, was diagnosed with diabetes at six. She changed the family's diet; Martin lost two stone, but Margaret's weight stayed static.
"So it was back to the orlistat. Back to the migraine and diarrhoea. In three months I lost just four pounds."
Then Margaret discovered LighterLife (www.lighterlife.com). Using the meal replacements, and attending the LighterLife counsellor, Margaret lost three stone -- and she's kept the weight off.
"The support was unbelievable," she says. "I'm now the LighterLife counsellor for Co Mayo. And GPs are referring clients to me."
Teen dieter
Mary O'Donoghue was 17 when she first discovered diet pills. She was on a bus, discussing her Debs, when one of her friends mentioned them. "I thought, 'Whoopee! A quick fix'," says Mary.
Mary was 13 stone at the time. A chunky child, she'd piled on the weight in her teens. "I had bad food habits," she says. "I worked in a newsagents at 14. That didn't help -- I ate the profits!"
It was a miserable life. Mary bought her clothes in Boyers -- more suitable for a woman of 70 than sixteen.
"I went to the doctor; he prescribed Adifax. He told me to go back every two weeks. I didn't tell my mum." The pills worked wonders.
"I lost weight quickly. I was giddy. Life had sped up and I was delighted. I felt great because I wasn't eating. I was full of energy and needed very little sleep. I'd be up, cleaning my room at 4am. I lost about three stone. I went shopping with my friends for my Debs dress. I looked like everyone else. That was brilliant."
The effects, though, didn't last. Mary piled the weight back on, and over the next 13 years her weight yo-yoed. She tried every diet going; every product advertised. And she went back on the diet pills.
"I'd go to the doctor, get a prescription and lose seven pounds. They gave me Ponderax -- I think Adifax was off the market by then. I'd run around, giddy and hyper, but I never told anyone. And when I stopped the weight went on. I crept up to 15 stone.
"Then, one day, I went to the chemist near work where they didn't know me. The pharmacist was reluctant to give me the pills; she wanted to ring my doctor. I was mortified. I got the pills but alarm bells rang. I realised they might be dangerous. And Ponderax is now off the market."
At 30, Mary saw sense. She joined Weight Watchers, and when she lost weight two weeks in a row she realised this was a system that could work for her.
"WeightWatchers is a lifestyle change," she says. "I took off five stone, and 11 years on the weight is still off. I'm a leader, and I'm healthier and happier than I've ever been. And WeightWatchers is legitimate. You can tell people you are on it. My mother still doesn't know about the diet pills."
- Sue Leonard
Irish Independent
With the sun coming out and holidays on the horizon, women will be sizing up their winter flab and wanting to lose excess pounds right now. Drastic weight-loss measures are called for, but you've tried all the diets and ultimately failed. You need help. And help can be pill-shaped.
Diet pills are so popular in Ireland, so widely used, that even as Reductil, the controversial appetite suppressant, was being withdrawn from the market in January, there were discussions from eager young mums who extolled the drug on the internet.
And no, they weren't scared by the ban. They were just anxious to know where they could procure a similar pill.
Gerry Ryan often spoke about diet pills. They worked for him, but made him anxious. On his death, some commentators wondered if their use might have sparked a heart attack. It certainly occurred to Suzanne Horgan. As director and founder of the Eating Disorder Resource Centre of Ireland (www.eatingdisorders.ie) she is well aware of the dangers of diet pills.
"Reductil was taken off the market because of its links with heart attacks and strokes," she says. "Back in the 1980s and 1990s drugs like Adifax were withdrawn because of bowel problems. All diet pills have huge side-effects; the effects can be worse than the weight problem."
Many women who attend weight watchers have previously tried diet pills. "They try everything," says Margaret Burke, PRO with WeightWatchers Ireland. "Diet pills can work. But when people stop the diet pills, the weight usually returns and sometimes they put on even more. Pills don't help you to make good lifestyle choices."
Margaret Fahy took her first diet pills at 34. She'd married, had her first baby, moved from London to remotest Mayo and her weight had ballooned to 14 stone.
"I'd had hormonal problems, and used fertility treatment," she says. "We wanted another child, and the first thing I had to do was lose weight. My GP put me on Xenical (orlistat) which works by decreasing the absorption of dietary fat.
"It didn't suit me. I felt sick when I ate anything and I had the most severe stomach cramps. I felt lethargic. I had no energy and I had the most terrible diarrhoea. I'd be in the middle of Penneys and would suddenly have to go to the toilet. Often I wouldn't make it.
"I found myself gorging on any food that did not give me cramps; that could be carrots or digestive biscuits. I took the pills for three months, but they weren't working for me. I lost about five pounds."
Margaret then tried exercise. She toned up and dropped two dress sizes, but she didn't lose weight. So her GP tried her on Reductil. This was 2004, when it was perceived as a new wonder drug.
"My GP did say, 'Don't, whatever you do fall pregnant'," says Margaret. "He said it could have adverse effects on the foetus. With Reductil I did cut down my portion sizes. I didn't eat as much, but I suffered from panic attacks. I had severe headaches and had terrible mood swings. I had post-natal depression and the pills made that worse. I'm surprised my marriage lasted -- those first years were horrendous!"
Margaret came off the pills after two months. She then became pregnant, had her second son, Owen, and six months after his birth became pregnant with her third. After Rory's birth in 2006, Margaret, now 14-and-a-half stone, returned to her doctor in despair.
"He said 'Give Reductil another go'. But it was back to mood swings and panic attacks. I'd have palpitations at the dinner table. My face would go on fire. I'd have them in the shower, too. It was unnerving.
"It was like being on speed. My mind was racing. I couldn't sleep. I'd go to bed by 10.30pm and be still awake at 2am. I'd be wide awake, and tossing. I'd get up, worried about disturbing Martin. Then at 8am I'd be exhausted, yet have to drop the boys at crèche before work."
Margaret came off the pills when her eldest son, Luke, was diagnosed with diabetes at six. She changed the family's diet; Martin lost two stone, but Margaret's weight stayed static.
"So it was back to the orlistat. Back to the migraine and diarrhoea. In three months I lost just four pounds."
Then Margaret discovered LighterLife (www.lighterlife.com). Using the meal replacements, and attending the LighterLife counsellor, Margaret lost three stone -- and she's kept the weight off.
"The support was unbelievable," she says. "I'm now the LighterLife counsellor for Co Mayo. And GPs are referring clients to me."
Teen dieter
Mary O'Donoghue was 17 when she first discovered diet pills. She was on a bus, discussing her Debs, when one of her friends mentioned them. "I thought, 'Whoopee! A quick fix'," says Mary.
Mary was 13 stone at the time. A chunky child, she'd piled on the weight in her teens. "I had bad food habits," she says. "I worked in a newsagents at 14. That didn't help -- I ate the profits!"
It was a miserable life. Mary bought her clothes in Boyers -- more suitable for a woman of 70 than sixteen.
"I went to the doctor; he prescribed Adifax. He told me to go back every two weeks. I didn't tell my mum." The pills worked wonders.
"I lost weight quickly. I was giddy. Life had sped up and I was delighted. I felt great because I wasn't eating. I was full of energy and needed very little sleep. I'd be up, cleaning my room at 4am. I lost about three stone. I went shopping with my friends for my Debs dress. I looked like everyone else. That was brilliant."
The effects, though, didn't last. Mary piled the weight back on, and over the next 13 years her weight yo-yoed. She tried every diet going; every product advertised. And she went back on the diet pills.
"I'd go to the doctor, get a prescription and lose seven pounds. They gave me Ponderax -- I think Adifax was off the market by then. I'd run around, giddy and hyper, but I never told anyone. And when I stopped the weight went on. I crept up to 15 stone.
"Then, one day, I went to the chemist near work where they didn't know me. The pharmacist was reluctant to give me the pills; she wanted to ring my doctor. I was mortified. I got the pills but alarm bells rang. I realised they might be dangerous. And Ponderax is now off the market."
At 30, Mary saw sense. She joined Weight Watchers, and when she lost weight two weeks in a row she realised this was a system that could work for her.
"WeightWatchers is a lifestyle change," she says. "I took off five stone, and 11 years on the weight is still off. I'm a leader, and I'm healthier and happier than I've ever been. And WeightWatchers is legitimate. You can tell people you are on it. My mother still doesn't know about the diet pills."
- Sue Leonard
Irish Independent
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