Ever since Jen and I started this Substack, I’ve been meaning to write about my experience with taking Ozempic/Wegovy for weight loss. After seeing the reception to her post, This Is Why You’re (Meaning I’m) Fat, it seemed like a good time to share it.
About 1-1/2 years ago I was chatting with my Beverly Hills anti-aging doctor (yes, there is such a thing, and yes, I see him regularly) about my weight when he suggested I try Wegovy. (For the unaware: Ozempic and Wegovy are the same drug (semaglutide) produced by the same pharmaceutical company (Novo Nordisk). When Novo realized people were losing weight on Ozempic, they trialed it at a higher dose for weight loss and called it Wegovy.) When I told my doctor I was interested in trying it but heard it was impossible to get, he said he gets it from a compound pharmacy so I wouldn’t have to wait.
“What are the side effects?” I asked.
“Not much,” he replied. “Maybe some gastro issues.”
When it comes to losing weight, I’ve tried every diet known to man. I’ve taken phentermine, shit myself for a week on Alli, and even injected myself with pregnancy hormones while eating 500 calories a day on the HCG diet. (I’m not proud.) So the idea of injecting myself weekly didn’t put me off. I said okay and decided to try it.
And a little history on my weight: Like Jen and many other women, my weight fluctuates greatly and has been climbing for years. In my thirties, I weighed around 130 to 140. In my forties, 150 to 160. During COVID lockdown I got to 180. And on this day, at my doctor’s office, I weighed in at 200 pounds, which is like a size 14 for me. At this point in my life I don’t want to lose weight so I can squeeze into a size 4 — I just don’t want to get diabetes and die. (Or worse, get diabetes, lose a foot, and live).
A week after my appointment, my semaglutide arrived in the mail with a bag of syringes and alcohol wipes. I had been reading a bunch of tips from people on Reddit in anticipation of starting, so I was prepared to cut all my meals in half and drink a lot of water. Everything seemed easy enough except the directions on how much to give myself. Rather than call my doctor or the pharmacy and ask them to clarify, I did some math and thought I figured it out. (In hindsight, this might not have been the best solution because I’m pretty sure I overdosed myself, but I’ll get to that at the end of the post!) With that, I stuck the syringe in the bottle, pulled out a little bit of the liquid, plunged it into the fatty part of my belly, and I was done. It was simple. It was a Wednesday night.
Thursday morning I woke up and didn’t feel like eating breakfast. For lunch, I made a Greek salad with grilled chicken and wolfed it down. It was half the size of what I usually ate, but I was full by the time I was finished — really full — which is when the problems started.
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