by Tom Watson
To Jo Dalton, who made me find the time to live for the people I love.
Contents
PROLOGUE
INTRODUCTION
1 Tipping the Scales
2 Inspired
3 Fit for Purpose
4 Downsizing
5 Healthy Turnaround
6 Channelling My Mind, Challenging My Body
7 Tackling Big Sugar
8 Remission for All
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
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Prologue
On a chilly evening in December 2012 I attended a festive get-together hosted by a former colleague. Leanne Johnstone had worked alongside Gordon Brown in Downing Street for a couple of years – she’d organised his diary – but had relocated to the United States in 2010. She returned to England every Christmas to spend time with her extended family, though, and this particular year had also decided to organise a meet-up in a central London pub for her old Westminster friends.
The place was full of familiar faces, including a clutch of MPs and civil servants. With a pint of Guinness in one hand and a pork pie in the other, I found myself chatting with a workmate’s husband, a consultant dermatologist by the name of Dr Sunil Chopra. I had never really spoken to him at length before, but I found him to be a really interesting and engaging character. He told me all about his research work, notably the development of an ointment to treat basal cell carcinoma, one of the world’s most prevalent cancers.
‘All being well, it’ll have the potential to save thousands of lives,’ he said.
‘That’s incredible,’ I replied. ‘Sounds like you’ve made a great breakthrough.’
Sunil then quizzed me about various parliamentary goings-on, including my involvement in the News International phone-hacking inquiry that had taken place that year.
‘Loved the way you took the Murdochs to task.’ He smiled. He was referring to the Commons’ Culture, Media and Sport select committee meeting that I’d spearheaded in the midst of the scandal.
‘I’ve got a copy of the final News of the World framed on my office wall at Westminster,’ I said, smiling back. ‘Can’t say that I miss it.’
Dr Chopra and I continued chatting for a few minutes, until our conversation hit a slight lull. I noticed him nervously running his hand through his hair, as if something was vexing him.
‘Everything all right?’ I asked.
‘Listen, Tom, I’ve really enjoyed speaking with you,’ he said, lowering his voice to a near-whisper, ‘but there’s something else I’d like to discuss, if you don’t mind.’
‘Go ahead,’ I replied, assuming that he was going to ask me about the Tory government’s cuts to medical research, or something along those lines.
‘There’s no easy way of saying this,’ he went on, taking a deep breath, ‘but I have a feeling you may be diabetic.’
What the hell… yelled a voice in my head as I took a few moments to process this bolt from the blue. Sunil, meanwhile, shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
‘I know I may be stepping out of line here,’ he said, ‘but I’m just a little worried that you could—’
‘Hang on a minute,’ I interrupted, a little testily, ‘you’re assuming that just by looking at me? I mean, I know I’m overweight, but…’
‘I’m a medic, Tom, and I just happen to know a little bit about type 2 diabetes,’ he said, offering me a sympathetic smile. ‘My hunch could be wrong – I hope it is – but I really think you need to get yourself checked out.’
‘Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private,’ I replied, mindful of eavesdroppers in this pub full of revellers. I’d been a parliamentarian long enough to know how quickly gossip could spread through Westminster.
So, in a quiet corner away from the hubbub, Sunil outlined the various ‘markers’ that had triggered his diabetes radar. He began, perhaps unsurprisingly, with my chunky frame, which, as per usual, was clad in a black, baggy suit. I rarely weighed myself, but I guessed I was edging toward 22 stone (140 kilos).
I cringed slightly as Sunil suggested that my solid pot belly could be an indicator of excess deep abdominal body fat – so-called ‘visceral’ fat – a small amount of which normally surrounds vital organs such as the liver and pancreas. This condition often pointed toward insulin insensitivity, he explained, which was a precursor to developing type 2 diabetes.
My frequent trips to the loo that evening (probably averaging about three per hour) had also given him cause for concern – I hadn’t realised he was keeping a toilet tally, I told him – and he was worried about my general appearance, too, blushing slightly as he described me as ‘a little bit clammy-looking’ (he was spot on, to be fair; I never went anywhere without a pocket handkerchief to dab my damp brow).
While Sunil reeled off a litany of diabetes indicators, as the strains of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ floated across the pub, I actually felt a little sorry for him. Informing a relative stranger that he might be suffering with a serious, life-changing disease can’t have been an easy thing to do in the circumstances.
‘Mince pie, anyone?’ said Leanne, smiling, as she approached us with a large platter of festive nibbles. I took this as my cue to bring our chat to a close.
‘Certainly not the kind of conversation I expected to have at a Christmas party, Sunil,’ I said, firmly shaking his hand, ‘but maybe I should thank you for being so honest.’
‘Just get yourself booked in for that blood test,’ he replied, perhaps relieved that I hadn’t told him to back off and mind his own bloody business, ‘and if I were you, I’d do it sooner rather than later.’
In February 2013, having spent a few weeks mulling over this bombshell, I found myself perched on the edge of a chair in the Westminster surgery of Dr Shaukat Nazeer, awaiting the results of my blood test. My GP, in his early seventies, with a shock of greyish-white hair, scanned the all-important printout, nodded his head and confirmed that yes, with my blood glucose levels coming in at 6.7 mmol/l (millimoles per litre), I did indeed have type 2 diabetes. I had officially joined the ranks of nearly three million sufferers in the UK.
‘I must say, you don’t seem very surprised, Tom,’ he said, peering at me over his wire-rimmed spectacles.
‘No I’m not, really,’ I responded, with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘I hadn’t exactly come here expecting good news.’
Indeed, in the lead-up to my appointment I’d consulted a wide variety of books, articles and websites relating to type 2 diabetes. Although I was very wary of presupposition and self-diagnosis, there was no doubting that many of my own signs and symptoms had tallied with those that I’d read about: a constant thirst, an uncontrollable appetite and poor sleep quality, to name but a few.
Dr Nazeer, with typical pragmatism, then outlined the disease that, in all likelihood, I’d probably been suffering since I was in my thirties. Type 2 diabetes, he told me, was a long-term metabolic disorder that occurred when someone was severely insulin-resistant, or when their pancreas stopped producing enough of it.
‘Insulin is a hormone that helps your cells to absorb glucose, or blood sugar,’ he said. ‘If it’s lacking, or if you don’t respond well to it, too much glucose stays in the blood, and not enough reaches the body’s cells. And it’s that deficiency that makes you feel tired and hungry.’
‘That makes sense,
I guess,’ I said.
‘But what you need to realise, Tom, is that diabetes is a very serious condition,’ he added. ‘Raised blood sugars can increase the risk of strokes and cardiovascular disease, and can cause kidney, nerve and eye damage, so it’s really important you keep this under control.’
Given these circumstances, I’d have to get used to monitoring my blood sugar, which would be measured in two ways. Firstly, Dr Nazeer would regularly check my long-term glucose levels via the haemoglobin A1c (HbA1c) test, a basic but effective method that would ascertain how I was managing my condition. Secondly, I could also monitor things on a daily basis myself, using a finger-prick and test strips.
Dr Nazeer then wrote out a prescription for a powerful drug called metformin, which, all being well, would help to regulate my blood sugar levels, thus easing my symptoms and slowing down the disease’s progress. He also assigned me to a dedicated diabetes nurse, who I’d visit for regular check-ups and weigh-ins, and referred me to a consultant endocrinologist, who’d help me to gain a better understanding of the illness. In addition, I’d receive one-to-one advice from a specialist nutritionist, who’d assess and address my dietary habits.
I left the surgery and took a taxi back to my Vauxhall flat, feeling totally and utterly deflated. While the diagnosis hadn’t come as a surprise, the prognosis had knocked me sideways. I had been given the distinct impression that my type 2 diabetes was irreversible, that I’d be popping pills for the rest of my days and that I’d be shackled with this chronic and debilitating condition for ever. I felt like I’d been dished out a life sentence.
Introduction
There is a tendency in these polarised times to believe everything, or to believe nothing. These pages are an account of what worked for me on the journey to losing 100lb (45 kilos), reducing my blood pressure and reversing my type 2 diabetes. I began 2018 several stones heavier, and I left the year feeling so much lighter, in so many ways. It was a journey that began with three books written by Dr Michael Mosley, Dr Aseem Malhotra and Dave Asprey, and which exploded into an obsessional amateur interest in nutritional science and cellular biology.
To those who may think that Downsizing is a blueprint, I apologise in advance, because it’s not. All I can do is tell you how I changed my life in 12 months, what led me to my darkest moments and what helped me to see the light. You must find your own route to success, though, and you must develop your own rules and rituals. My weight-loss journey worked for me, but it’s not for everyone, and prior to embarking on any low-carb, high-fat (LCHF) diet you should be checked out by your GP, particularly if you are on insulin or are taking other medications.
I also need to emphasise that, whenever I reference diabetes in this book, it will invariably relate to type 2 diabetes. Type 1 diabetes is an autoimmune disease which results in the body destroying the cells in the pancreas that produce insulin and, as a result, it cannot be reversed or put into remission. It is an important distinction to make.
I don’t claim to be an expert in the field, either – I’d prefer to describe myself as an obsessive amateur biohacker – but, when it comes to type 2 diabetes, I’m living proof that it can be managed (or even reversed) through a combination of diet and exercise. With this in mind, I’m committed to telling my story with honesty and candour, and I’m keen to challenge the orthodoxies at the very heart of public policy.
Some will no doubt condemn me for what I have to say; after all, I broke the nutritional guidelines endorsed by my own government. To them, I can only say that I did it to the best of my ability by reading relevant studies and research and, whenever I needed clarification, I sought advice from people with a scientific background. Others may not want to believe my articulations because they challenge the findings of people who are far more qualified than me. I am sorry if I annoy or offend anyone in this respect but, putting it simply, I can only speak from my own personal experience, and this particular route proved successful for me.
In the end, to understand the science of weight loss you have to enter ferocious global arguments being waged between clinicians, governments and food conglomerates over many continents. And you have to deconstruct some very powerful axioms that are so fundamental to our lives that they determine what we choose to put into our bodies.
I broke the most powerful food rule of all: the one that said that fat is bad for us. Incredibly, increasing my saturated fat intake helped me to break a thirty-year sugar habit. I am a sugar addict, you see. If I’d continued consuming the sucrose (and other sugars) that sustained three decades of cravings, I could well have been dead by now. And that’s the other thing you learn when you are a hundred pounds lighter, and mercifully sugar-free: sucrose is the most powerful drug in the world. And when this toxin eventually breaks your pancreas, the fat produced in your liver from starchy carbohydrates continues the damage by effectively strangling your organs.
Let me emphasise that again: I am a sugar addict. I believe I will die if I resume this dependency, and for that reason I still employ the approach of a former drug user to create a basic daily discipline of eating food and buying food. And as I’ve journeyed toward a healthier life, I’ve begun to understand the all-pervasiveness of the ‘Big Sugar’ economy. The corporations that run the global system of production and consumption – Kellogg’s, Coca-Cola, Pepsi, that’s you – are using every ruse they can to hold up reform of the system.
If Vladimir Putin had silently poisoned four million British citizens, we’d be at war with Russia. Yet these huge conglomerates – which I’ve taken to calling the ‘Global Sugar Industrial Complex’ (or GSIC) – have helped create a societal tolerance of sugar that has done just that, and more. Of the three million-plus type 2 diabetics, two million of those currently medicated by the NHS have an entirely reversible condition. Now that I’ve experienced this physical and emotional turnaround for myself, I feel like I’ve found a new goal in life: Remission for All.
But the health journey for me has also been politically instructive. There’s a golden rule of politics: the more harm an industry inflicts, the greater the lobbying spend. When a former House of Commons intern sent me a Christmas card from her new role at British Sugar, I knew I was on to something. The more I learned about the techniques used by the GSIC, the more I realised that the sugar lobby is the biggest and most powerful of all. They literally hack our brains.
The biggest gain from losing a third of my body mass was the most unexpected: I’ve got my brain back. A thick fog has been lifted. I can recall facts quicker and my concentration is deeper and longer. I can pay attention in meetings more than before. I have more patience. I feel more compassionate. I say this because if two million of the UK’s 3.4 million type 2 diabetes sufferers can achieve similar mental gains through quitting sugar, then we can significantly lift the productive capacity of the nation. Our international cognitive punch can be accelerated.
So what is stopping people transforming their lives? Contrary to the reflexive commentators in the national press, it’s not sloth and laziness. There isn’t a simple answer to why, as a nation, we’ve staggered into a public health crisis of our own making; but I do believe that one of the likeliest reasons is global sugar’s all-pervasive marketing.
They make Russia’s fake news factories look like amateurs. Not only do the GSIC hack our brains, they try to manipulate our emotions. Those Michael Jackson concerts you went to as a kid? Pepsi sponsored them because an executive probably wanted our childhood memories to be synonymous with soda-pop. And Coca-Cola’s marketing plan explicitly states that they seek to ‘inspire moments of optimism and happiness’. This is why they sponsor big sporting events, not the surgical wards that amputate the toes and feet of British men and women week after week due to sugar-related conditions. For the millions of us who are predisposed to sugar intolerance and insulin resistance, this is manifestly not the case.
If you’re reading this book it’s likely that you’re concerned about your weight, or your hyper
tension, or your high blood-glucose readings. Perhaps you’re feeling anxious about your health, and are fearful for the future.
Please don’t panic. It is eminently possible that, through nutritional change and a slight increase in exercise, you can actually transform your health. And if you have type 2 diabetes or pre-diabetes, you may even be able to reverse your condition or significantly improve it. I am testament to that.
At 52 years old, and having transformed my health, the pursuit of a long and purposeful life carries far greater significance for me than when I was a hedonistic young man. I want to live another half-century, and I want it to be fulfilling. I have effected changes in my life to make that outcome more likely and, because I hold a position of relative influence in the public arena, I want others to be allowed that same opportunity. Ultimately, I’m keen to encourage others with type 2 diabetes to experience the many benefits of remission. As a Member of Parliament I often hear the phrase ‘take back control’. That’s what I’ve done, and I’d love others to be able to do the same with regard to their own bodies. I want them to have the joy of transformation. I want them to feel stronger and smarter.
Since I revealed my diabetes diagnosis, back in September 2018, I have been moved and inspired by the extraordinary public response and support for my personal battle. Hundreds of people have contacted me through emails and via my social media channels to say how they have struggled with their health and well-being, just like me. So many people have been in the same boat as me, beset with feelings of guilt, denial and helplessness in the face of being diagnosed with a deadly serious, potentially life-limiting condition. That’s why I felt compelled to write this book: to inform others with type 2 diabetes that you have nothing to be ashamed of, and that you are so far from being powerless.
On the one hand, Downsizing is a polemic on how global sugar is wrecking our society, and is a call to arms for a Remission for All movement. On the other hand, it is the shared insight of a middle-aged fat bloke nicknamed Tommy Two Dinners who lost 100 pounds in a year, who found the will to exercise and who rediscovered his health and happiness.
