US Edition
When I read Oprah Winfrey’s comments about the “fighting in her brain” she endured when battling to lose weight I knew exactly what she meant. Like her, I felt I should be able to figure it out, but just couldn’t, and like Oprah I’ve found using weight loss jabs to be life-changing. The US megastar has been shamed for using them as have I, although in a much smaller way as I’m not a public figure. (I’m 56, work in an NHS hospital lab and live in Edinburgh with my husband David, 58, and two sons Euan, 25 and Paddy, 20 – and I’m going through the menopause.)
In fact, my weight issues only really began with the menopause. When I first met my husband David 15 years ago I was in my early 40s, a single mum who was slim, fun-loving and confident. We married six weeks later in a whirlwind, we were both so happy to have found love in later life.
But then a year and a half into the marriage I hit the menopause. Over the next 10 years I turned into a fat, frumpy old lady. I was struggling with hot flushes and mood swings and felt pretty sorry for myself.
At 5ft 6ins my once size 8 figure expanded to size 16. The pounds had piled up around my middle, my limbs were reasonably slim but with my big barrel of a tummy, even bending to tie shoe laces was a struggle.
I knew belly fat was the most dangerous type of fat as it puts a strain on your heart. My own mother had had heart disease and diabetes, and other family members had heart attacks, so I was worried.
What’s more, I broke several bones – my toe, two ribs and my collar bone - just doing ridiculous chores. The doctor said I had osteoporosis, and prescribed HRT, vitamin D and calcium tablets. When I was weighed the scales tipped 12st 9lb, the heaviest I’d ever been. He gently said, “if you lost weight it would help prevent more bones breaking”.
For all the warning signs my weight would make me physically unwell in later life, it was my mental health that affected me the most. I’d stopped taking pride in my appearance, I rarely bought clothes and when I did I just grabbed baggy T-shirts and leggings from Primark in which to hide. My libido was zero and I always insisted on the lights off in the bedroom.
I felt tired all the time, and comfort ate – greasy food from the canteen, chips with curry sauce washed down with red wine in the evenings.
I tried joining a gym but with bad knees and a frozen shoulder it wasn’t working. The idea of joining a slimming group and getting on the scales in front of everyone was not for me either.
I tried the Cambridge diet, a liquid one, but was left hungry and craving junk food. Trying to restrict myself was mental torture, as Oprah described, there were all these noises in my head, what can I eat, what can’t I not eat, I obsessed over any forbidden food.
The first time I heard about Ozempic was about a year ago; it was a little known drug those on reality TV show The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills talked about. Elon Musk also used it.
I started researching it and found private companies making it available here. I didn’t go for the cheapest option, picking a well-established Australian company offering a whole package, including an app which connects to weighing scales, access to a dietician and coach and a whole community of other users for moral support.
The original payment was £179 pounds for four weeks. Initially I was too embarrassed to tell the family but the size of the first box – complete with scales and a month’s worth of injections packaged in ice – gave the game away.
They were horrified that I was doing something dangerous or illegal, and couldn’t see why “at my age” I was bothered about weight.
I assured them it was all legitimate and that the jabs had been safely used on diabetics for years.
You inject yourself once a week; I chose to put mine directly into my belly as psychologically I wanted to target it. I started on the lowest Ozempic dose of 0.25mg, and within 48 hours I stopped feeling hungry. Better still, the noises in my head just went.
Instead of waking up craving a full English, I just wanted some eggs and toast, it felt like giving my body what it actually needed.
By day 14 I had lost 7lb and I started taking pictures every fortnight to track my progress. I couldn’t stop smiling, but when I openly said I was using Ozempic I was met with disapproval. People said it was “cheating” and that I was “stealing the drugs from diabetics who actually needed it”.
If I’d been losing weight counting calories people would have been cheering me on but there is a stigma around Ozempic. I had wanted to share my results on social media to encourage others, but my inbox is often filled with hate messages, suggesting there is long term health risks (which I don’t believe as the drug has been used for over a decade for diabetics) and even that I “should die”.
After one month I’d lost a stone. In the second and third month I upped my dose to 0.5mg as advised, and had shed a total of 2.5st. The only side effect I suffered was a weekly bout of diarrhoea.
Because of shortages of the drug the price increased to £230 a month which I was happy to pay as I loved my new size 8 figure.
For the next six months I increased my dose to 1mg but my weight plateaued. While I didn’t want to lose any more I was scared to come off it as I’d heard the weight can pile back on.
But last November I went cold turkey – and thankfully haven’t gained a pound.
I can still contact the company I used for guidance even now I’ve stopped using the pens, which I feel is reassuring and responsible.
I’ve stuck to my protein based diet as it feels as if I have reset my body – and mind – not to want junk food. Feeling happier and healthier is a great incentive to not go back to hoovering up the family leftovers.
Some people go right off alcohol on Ozempic, I personally didn’t, but I drink less now, but I still don’t exercise.
Of course I look better, but the biggest improvement has been with my mental health. I now love buying bright and slim fitting clothes, from Hush, Karen Millen and some Gucci treats.
I take care of myself and can wear a bikini with confidence. David says it’s like I’m a different woman, who loves life again, laughs and gets up to dance. I feel like J-Lo!
People say there’s “Ozempic face” meaning you look gaunt, but I love having a slimmer face. I do have Botox and tiny lip fillers but that’s because I now take pride in myself. When I look back at the pictures of me in a big white bra and non-matching pants I see a woman who had given up. Now I buy underwear that makes me feel sexy.
I am angry with myself that I didn’t do it sooner and stayed in that dark place so long. I’ve also set up a Facebook group Wegovy Weight Loss Support so users can shape tips. I monitor the content to make sure it is not irresponsible and I turn away young girls who shouldn’t be taking it. (In the UK, Wegovy is essentially the same drug as Ozempic, but it is the version that is licensed for weight loss. Both share the same active ingredient, semaglutide, but at different doses, and are branded for use by separate groups of people – Ozempic for those with Type 2 diabetes, Wegovy for weight loss.)
I don’t believe it is “stealing” drugs as I was paying privately, while being a healthier weight means I’ll be less of a drain on the NHS in the long term. Previously, I was always going to the GP about little things, now I never need to. Ozempic gave me that helping hand to put me in a better place.
As told to Susanna Galton
You can follow Jacqueline’s journey on Instagram and TikTok @50plusqueenager