No Ozempic, Thanks

Herself speaks.

I had an appointment today to follow-up with my primary care doctor about the 'POP' injury from a couple of months back. It took a while to heal, but it appears to have done so, and I’m getting back on the treadmill and into my regular activities. (It’s been very hard to be motivated to resume regular exercise, what with Mustache being dramatically ill, and Miss Kitty needing dental care, and life, and my general inability to prioritize my self-care, and all that….)

The doctor and I went over my current meds, and scheduled my annual physical for the end of August. And then we had a conversation – necessary, though horrid, as always – about my weight. I’m overweight. I know it, you know it, everyone who sees me knows it. There’s more of me than there should be, in order for me to be as healthy as I could be. And my doctor is the right person to raise the issue. So, time to address the metaphorical (literal-tiny) elephant in the room. 

She asked whether I need medical help to lose weight, and told me that there are a variety of pharmaceutical options, including two in pill form, and in two shot form (e.g., Ozempic/Wegovy). I’m not interested in Ozempic/Wegovy; those seem quite drastic, overused, and trendy at the moment, and I’m not sure of the safety of them, to be honest. That definitely would need a whole lot of research before going down that kind of road, and no thank you. The pill forms – stimulants that serve as appetite suppressants – also give me pause. Risky/safe? Effective? They are designed to be short-term. What happens long-term? Is it just a yo-yo forever? 

The bigger (haha sigh) issue:  inside my head, it seems like such a Moral Failing to resort to pharmaceuticals in order to lose weight. Wouldn’t just getting a grip on myself, eating right, exercising right, doing better, be enough? Shouldn't it be enough? Why isn't it enough? Clearly that’s not working for me right now. I must not trying hard enough. 

Maybe I should stop eating my feelings.

Maybe I just… suck.

So much self-loathing. I can tell myself all I want that fat is morally neutral. It certainly is for other people I see - I don't judge people for their size. But the truth of the matter is, in my head, for me, it isn’t. I judge me for my size. And, truth be told, other people do, too. I am treated a certain way by other people because of my size -- like a fat girl. 

No one wants to be treated like a fat girl. Trust me on that.

So many thoughts. What do I decide? Do I admit defeat? Do I do the shameful, easy-way-out, pharmaceutical aid to weight loss? Will it even help? Can I just bootstrap myself, actually TRY, and do better? Will I ever succeed? Is that just wishful thinking? Foolishness, in the face of so many failed efforts?

I wish I could talk to someone about this, in real life. I cannot talk to people I know, so many of whom have weight issues or food issues or orthorexia, or will blithely say “you’re not fat!” even though I am (fat is morally neutral!), or will bemoan their own "fat" even when they weigh approximately as much as one of my thighs, or who will not understand at all because they do not eat feelings and do not find solace in carbohydrates when their heart aches. And because I already feel as though I am physically repellent to others, to even bring up a discussion of my physical existence will only draw attention to HOW repellent I already am. 

I am alone, enveloped in my cocoon of muchness, and I am sad. Perhaps, if I spend time feeling that sadness, instead of feeding that sadness, I will get somewhere. Somewhere... smaller. 

All these thoughts in the space of the three milliseconds, while the doctor looked at me, expectantly, waiting for me to say, yes, please prescribe me something to go with my diet and exercise, or no thank you, let me try harder myself with diet and exercise alone. 

What did I decide?

Let's go for a walk. And we can talk about the whole fat thing.