I lost almost 3st in a year with fat jabs. It's not cheating

Telegraph

5 days ago

I feel reborn.
I've been trying to think of a less dramatic way of saying it, but it's my birthday this week and I have acquired a delightful new lease of life in my 60s, so reborn is the right word.
It's almost a year since I wrote in these pages that I was starting Mounjaro (tirzepatide), one of the new weight loss drugs that is revolutionising medical science essentially by sending a signal to your brain to tell it you are full. How has that gone? Well, on a purely practical level, I am no longer carrying an excess 38lb around with me – not far off what Royal Engineers must bear on their backs to complete an eight-mile ruck march in two hours. I was carrying my load 24 hours a day, on a small frame and without a soldier's brawn (we'll come to muscle in a minute). I can only offer my sincere apologies to my hips and knees – since drastically taking the pressure off them, all the pain I was experiencing has vanished.
For those who have never struggled with their weight, as millions of us do, Mounjaro and Ozempic (semaglutide, a diabetes drug which can be used off-label for weight loss) are 'cheating'. Just jab fatty's little helper into your thigh once a week and, according to certain critics, it will magic away the pounds without the penitence and self-denial that sections of society appear to feel the fat owe to the thin. While 'fat-shaming' is now frowned upon (although people judge the obese all the time, of course they do), the media can be snarky about those who take medicine to help them slim down. They're not the only ones.
'You really don't want to lose any more,' your thinnest friend will advise you. It's always the slimmest friends who have the greatest difficulty watching you become a healthy size – as if they count on you to be the fat one, and feel betrayed when you start attracting some of the admiring attention that should belong to them, obviously.
That's why many people who are 'on the pens', particularly women, I suspect, keep it a secret, even from their partners. They are scared of being seen as weak-willed and feeble. It is somehow shameful to take a weight-loss drug in a way it is not shameful to take statins, metformin or other drugs that become necessary when you are – yes – overweight. Try to make sense of that double standard if you can.
Well, it's nobody's business, and anyway I'm far too happy with my new self to care what anyone thinks, but my transformation has taken persistence and hard work. Accelerated weight loss equals rapid muscle wastage, and I can't afford to lose any muscle at my age.
Taking advantage of your new, suppressed appetite and shrunken stomach, it would be perfectly possible to exist on a pain au chocolat and a packet of crisps a day (some do), but you would rapidly become ill and malnourished. Your hair would fall out (one of the commonly cited side-effects of Mounjaro).
I hired an exceptional personal trainer, James Wilkinson, from my local gym in Saffron Walden, and we set out on a mission to replace any muscle that was wasting away. Lifting weights at least twice a week, I was under orders to eat as much protein as I could. Cottage cheese was my new best friend. A sentence I never hoped to write.
'You were as weak as a kitten when we started,' James often reminded me when I was squashed and protesting loudly in a medieval leg-press contraption known (not fondly) as the 'bacon-slicer'. I've had more dignified smear tests.
A couple of months ago, I texted James in a panic saying that my legs were suddenly looking 'really weird' and a bit like stringy hams. What could be wrong?
'Er, that's called muscle, Allison,' said the trainer. (He has kept his other clients entertained with reports of my cluelessness ever since.)
Reader, I am an anatomical drawing! Legs are looking really good, arms are a work in progress, but something called 'definition' has been sighted. I am not yet ripped, more lightly frayed, but give me time.
Looking back at the first entry in my Mounjaro diary last August, I weighed just over 12st, way too much for a 5ft 4in female with narrow hips lurking somewhere beneath the pillowy plumpness. My BMI was 28.8 (overweight) and, unsurprisingly, I was pre-diabetic. There was also a family history of heart attacks.
'You are at a crossroads,' my doctor, Rob Howlett, a private GP in Cambridge, told me flatly. 'If you carry on along this path, ahead lies diabetes, stroke, heart disease and dementia.' Gee, the four horses of the health apocalypse.
All of that could be reversed, though, Dr Rob promised. Mounjaro, he said, was 'the closest thing to a miracle drug' he had encountered in his forty-year career. 'It's not just about weight,' he told me, 'the drugs reduce visceral fat, improve blood sugar control and lower the risk of heart disease.'
Basically, the midlife 'midriff bulge' that the much-missed Terry Wogan used to tease Radio Two listeners about doesn't just make it an ordeal to do up a zip; it increases your risk profile for all the major Nasties.
Still, I hesitated. For months. Truth be told, I am secretly one of those judgmental, get-a-grip-woman, just-eat-less puritans I can't stand. I had lost weight before by myself, so I could do it, couldn't I?
'Yes, but you keep putting it back on again,' said the doctor, jabbing at my notes which charted the dizzy highs and self-loathing lows of my constant battle to shed the pounds since having two implausibly large babies in the late Nineties. (Hoovering up leftover chicken nuggets from kids' teas solidified that 'baby weight' into a permanent malaise.)
'The drugs offer powerful, reliable results where diets and willpower often fail,' Rob said. 'That doesn't mean they should replace a healthy lifestyle, but they can give people the head start they need to reclaim their health.'
Feeling pretty low by that point, both physically and mentally, I gave in and signed up with Dr Claire Gillvray, who runs a wellbeing and weight loss clinic in Cambridge. Claire both supplies Mounjaro and offers support to patients, including advice on diet and exercise classes. It was certainly worth the extra expense in the first few months when I bombarded her with queries. I began on the 2.5mg starting dose and felt it take effect within hours, although many people don't experience that until a larger injection. The 'food noise' in my brain that would see me rustling in the kitchen cupboards for something sweet an hour after I'd eaten dinner was stilled.
I was elated when I lost 5lb in the first fortnight, but thereafter progress was slow and steady. Sometimes a pound a week, sometimes nothing at all. In the entry for Friday, Sept 13, when I was stuck at 11.7st, I drew a sad face with a downturned mouth.
On Sunday, Sept 29, I was 11.1st – 'Lost 1 1/4lb this week, too slow,' I scribbled furiously. 'Not enough exercise?!!'
Frequently, I would vent my frustration in texts to Dr Claire, who would calmly reply that 'things are changing internally and remember you are doing this for your long-term health.' Yes, yes, marvellous to think my poor old liver is less fatty, but I want to LOSE WEIGHT, dammit!
It occurred to me that, counterintuitively, I was eating too little, so I increased my daily calories a bit. It helped. At the seven-week point, on Oct 4, a moment of triumph: 'Into the ten's!' I had dropped below 11st.
People are understandably impatient to see the weight drop off. The mistake many make is increasing the dose too quickly, which can lead to those unpleasant side effects the media never stops printing scare stories about. (Boris Johnson reported that he was shedding 4 or 5lb a week on Ozempic when he started to dread the injections because they were making him feel ill. 'One minute I would be fine, and the next minute I would be talking to Ralph on the big white phone; and I am afraid that I decided that I couldn't go on.' I recommend Boris gives it another go with more user-friendly Mounjaro.)
I have only ever gone up to 5mg, the second-lowest dose, and the only problems I've had are with constipation (magnesium tablets at night and a bit more fibre fixed that) and the ghastly 'sulphur burps' which make your mouth fill up with the noxious fumes from a stinky volcano. (I had an attack of the Etna reflux at a smart London dinner and spent the evening trying not to breathe out lest I horrify my famous neighbours on either side.)
Mounjaro for me has always been a slender handrail to hold onto as I try to reset my dysfunctional relationship with food. 'Eat what you need first and then eat what you want,' trainer James advised. It really helped to think very consciously about feeding my body the good stuff it needed to thrive and build that all-important muscle.
One evening, on my way home from a drinks party and starting to feel hungry without having had dinner, I stood scanning the shelves of tempting snacks in the train station shop. The old me would have picked up a bar of Dairy Milk, maybe a sandwich and some crisps – exactly the carbs I was now trying to avoid.
'There's nothing for you here,' I thought, and walked away. I really wanted a snack, but the progress I had made was more precious to me. Not only was Mounjaro helping to reduce my appetite, but I didn't want to taint my success so far by eating junk food. That was a turning point.
Another milestone came in early December when Rob sent me an email.
Subject: 'Blood test results and Gold Blue Peter badge.'
My weight, he said, had dropped from 11st 13lb to 9st 13lb – a reduction of 16.4 per cent. I was no longer diabetic. Bad cholesterol had fallen by 30 per cent. Something called triglycerides (fat in the blood) dropped by 40 per cent.
'Amazing!' my doctor exclaimed. 'Not just the drug, Allison, you have made a big difference as well. But the combination of the two is stunning.'
What a feeling of accomplishment – I was overjoyed. I had restored my body to her rightful self. To borrow a mantra on the gym wall, which I would once have found tooth-rottingly absurd, I was the me I wanted to be.
Not just that, there was a new mental clarity. Having cut back on refined carbohydrates and focused on protein and fibre, I was now free from the blood sugar surges and crashes that had dictated my mood for so much of my life. It was like I'd been chained to a lunatic (greed/comfort eating) for years and suddenly released.
It took time to adjust. My rings were loose on my fingers, and I suffered from a strange kind of body dysmorphia, unable to navigate my new size. In a favourite boutique, I found a top I liked but there was only an extra-small or a large on the rail. I asked for a medium and Hayley, the owner, laughed. 'You'll get into that extra-small,' she said. Who, me? She was right – it fitted.
My daughter sold many of my bigger clothes on Vinted; others I've donated to charity shops, while some old favourites went to another Mounjaro user who's lost a heroic 4 1/2st and is now down to my original size 14 (another 2st to go before she reaches her goal).
I have bought myself a new wardrobe of colourful or striking clothes I would never have dared wear. My new blue-and-white Margaret Thatcher pussy-bow tribute dress would have looked frumpy on me before, instead of elegant, I know. This new person no longer wears cardigans over summer dresses in the heat.
'You've been used to trying to hide your body, now you're not hiding,' Hayley said, and I realised that was true. Buying new clothes isn't cheap, of course, but think what I've saved on that hip replacement a consultant warned I'd probably need before I started Mounjaro – and the excruciating pain that has since vanished.
I've also been able to revive outfits that I'd imagined I'd never wear again. What a surprise and a pleasure it is to put on a skirt you last wore pre-motherhood and find that it fits!
Someone flatteringly asked if I'd had a facelift – no, but another major saving! I do have friends on Gaunt Watch – they've sworn to warn me if my cheeks look like they're caving in, which can be a consequence of excessive weight loss.
If I had a magic wand right now, I would wave it and give this feeling – this lovely freedom from self-consciousness, this sense of being confident and entirely happy in your own skin – to every single person who has struggled time and again to lose weight and fallen back, dejected, into the sticky embrace of the Cookie Monster. Please don't think of it as cheating; think of it as a leveller that gives everyone the willpower to shed burdensome pounds and embed routines that make for sustainable change.
A month ago, Health Secretary Wes Streeting said: 'The NHS should be providing this medication to as many people as is needed. Obesity is now one of the leading causes of ill health, costing the NHS billions.'
He's absolutely right. Although Mounjaro has finally been approved for use on the NHS in England, it is only under incredibly strict criteria – including that patients must have a BMI of 40 or over, plus four other weight-related conditions such as type 2 diabetes and heart disease. This spectacularly misses the point: weight loss like mine (and early intervention) is meant to prevent those serious conditions from developing in the first place. We could curb the obesity epidemic and start getting millions who are mired in misery and hopelessness off the sofa – and off disability benefits too.
Dr Claire Gillvray is passionate about the medication as a health game-changer and wants everyone who needs Mounjaro to be able to access it. 'I worry about the health inequality and the delay in access within the NHS,' she says. 'I want to use it with my patients to get them ready for hip surgery and those with mental health problems to prevent them developing metabolic syndrome and dying 20 years younger than they should, but that unfortunately feels like years away.'
Claire Gillvray, Rob Howlett and James 'See, I told you you could lift it' Wilkinson have been my guides on this incredible journey.
'You've changed your life around, Allison,' Claire says, 'gained healthy life years, but it has not just been about the injection. You have worked really hard. I'm proud of you.'
If I can do it, so can you. I had no interest in exercise, and my main food group was paprika Pringles. Today, I'm lifting two-and-a-half times the weight I could a year ago and, every morning, I sprinkle on my Greek yogurt a protein-rich sawdust that rightly belongs on the floor of a gerbil cage. It's worth it because zips do up without protest, my triglycerides are world class and I'm not going to get dementia.
At speaking engagements around the country, I've met Telegraph subscribers who read my original Mounjaro article last September and decided to try it too. (Wives tended to lead the way, with dubious husbands grumbling, but soon converted, and now approaching smug.) They come up beaming, often hug me, gesture down at their sylphlike forms and whisper, 'Best thing ever.'