“So how are the jabs going?” my friend said to me in the local pub, using her index finger to poke me in the leg. It didn’t feel friendly. “Has your hair fallen out yet?” I laughed… sort of. A month ago, I started Mounjaro at a low dose. I somehow feel like I have to say low dose. I anticipate less judgment than a high one perhaps? I had reached a point on my “weight loss journey” where I tried all the different options. I’d exercised (weights, running, swimming). I’d eaten protein until I couldn’t face chicken breast or one more tin of sardines. I’d cut out crisps and anything delicious. Nonetheless, it seemed that I was gaining weight in my early fifties.
I’ve got a mixed response to being on the jab train. There’s a fair amount of judgment and ridicule when you tell friends. It kind of teaches you a lot about who they really are and how they feel about you. “You’ll look like Golom,” said one. “You’ll end up hobbling about like an old lady,” said another. And the worst: “It’s a massive shortcut. Such a shame you’re resorting to it.”
These are just some of the comments friends and acquaintances have made. I find it funny that women can be so vehement in their opinions when it comes to weight. The key themes are that you’ll go too far with the weight loss, (like some of the celebrities who haven’t done a great job advertising jabs), or that you’re too lazy to do it the proper way. “I would never inject myself with a medication just to lose weight,” one friend commented on a post I’d written on Instagram. I’ve been open about using jabs, chiefly because I felt a need to demystify the experience, and also I am a notorious over-sharer.
