I’m going to be honest. I take a weight loss drug. These days, we are hearing constantly about Ozempic, as if it’s some cure all catchall miracle- and don’t get me wrong, these drugs can do miraculous things but there are a lot of misconceptions, as there are with so many other miracles. In 2016, I wrote several blog posts about my attempts at exercising and losing weight, so I figured I would do a follow up now that I’ve lost 103 pounds. I would also like to point out that I will be the first person to tell you to love yourself as you are, and that we are all beautiful. This is a personal journey for me, and not in any way indicative of how I feel anyone else should approach their health or their weight.
Fat people and poor people tend to get a lot of blame hurled at them, with people who have never been fat or poor finding a way to diminish the human experiences of others by placing blame. Fat and poor people must be lazy, they’re sponging off the healthcare system, they make Americans look bad (although these days we all seem to have done that all by our very own selves). When in all actuality, there are so many reasons people find themselves overweight or impoverished. For simplicity’s sake, I’m going to focus on the fat part of it in this passage.
Between genetics, medical issues like hypothyroidism and diabetes, childhood traumas, and lack of education or access to healthy foods, the world can be stacked against people who aren’t naturally thin. Our lives tend to revolve around food and alcohol- our social situations are bathed in the golden glow of appetizers and awash in tails both mock and cock, rife with calories and promises of feeling good and letting the bon temps roulez. So one hand, we are, from birth, encouraged to celebrate (but not too much) and grieve (but not too much) with meals, and on the other hand, encouraged to PelotonOrangeTheoryHotYogaLoveKickboxingJazzercise and to AtkinsSouthBeachKetoPaleoMediterranean in all of our *ahem* free time.
I have been one of those people my entire adult life. Even as a teenager, a rather lovely one I can see in retrospect, I was convinced I looked all wrong, and did the myriad get skinny quick solutions, including a pretty grotesque bout with attempted bulimia in college for a bit. I found fear and loathing in the mirror, and often washed down my disgust with a second helping of whatever was being served. Because I’m a good cook, my method of indulgence was not Twinkies or soda, but I always found a way to overeat a bit nonetheless. I was diagnosed as hypothyroid around the time I had the twins, and unlike the average of 98.6 for all you normies out there, my basal body temperature hovers around 96, meaning my internal thermostat has done shit the bed.
In the summer of 2023, I had reached my highest weight ever, despite initially using my Peloton daily (it later became a very expensive clothing rack and bra dryer), and decided to join my son in going sugar free till Thanksgiving. It was hard work but I cut out simple carbs and sugar, and managed to drop about twenty or so pounds, and arrived at my physical in October with a renewed sense of pride and hope. And then my doctor informed me that my A1C had surpassed the Borderline (and not the fun Madonna song circa 1983). I was diabetic. And this wasn’t a complete surprise-I had gestational diabetes with my pregnancies with the boys, with Lucas I was able to control it with diet, and with the twins, with insulin shots. I had been cruising along on Metformin for years, despite its fun sidecar, Shit-Your-Pants-While-Shooting-A-Wedding.
I had been reading in the news about these diabetic drugs, and asked my doctor to try one. She told me I was trying to be like the Real Housewives of Clifton Park. I cried. It wasn’t a great moment. Two months later, at my follow up appointment, I had dropped another ten pounds but not the numbers I needed for my blood sugar, so she begrudgingly put me on the titrating dose of the drug, Mounjaro. And then refused to allow me to use the actual therapeutic dose, so a more knowledgeable health care provider did, and I was off to the races.
There seems to a fun misconception that people who use these medications are taking the “easy” way out, the way the Phen-Fen users of the mid 90s did, before that pesky “hole in the heart” thing was discovered. I can assure you that this hasn’t been easy. While it has worked wonderfully to lower my A1C and take me out of the danger zone for diabetic repercussions, and helped me to lose weight, I have had to put in the work. I test my blood sugar multiple times a day, I try to avoid alcohol, sugar and simple carbs. I have become the permanent designated driver, the girl who orders salads, AKA the least fun one on the Willy Wonka Tour. I feel so grateful for the possible years this may have added to my life, but that being said, wouldn’t recommend it to everyone. It can, and usually does, come with some hefty gastrointestinal side effects, including sometimes debilitating nausea. I have lost the majority of my beloved hair, it comes out in clumps in the shower, in my hand, on my brush. It’s expensive, costing around $1000 per month without insurance, $100-200 with. And for those who use it for weight loss alone, studies have shown people tend to regain the weight once they go off their regiment. But for me, it has changed some of the parts of my life that felt out of control. I have a really extensive perfume collection, because perfume has never let me down in a dressing room, it never makes me feel shitty about myself or leave creases in my stomach from being too tight. And now I buy clothes- I can’t seem to stop buying clothes, because for the first time in my whole life, I like the way I wear them. I also don’t wake up with the shakes because my blood sugar has plummeted while I slept. And I no longer dread going to the doctor, knowing they will find a way to quietly chastise me.
But it still somehow wounds me when I see comments online from people who are ignorant to the facts, the things people manage to say about obesity, about weight loss drugs, about what they perceive as laziness or “blights” on the system. I would hope those same people don’t also find a way to criticize folks who need chemotherapy or who use advil for a sprained ankle, or who give their kids braces or glasses. In fact, I would hope that we could all find a way to maybe stop being shitty about other people altogether, because as it turns out, we are all doing the best we fucking can.
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