There are moments in life when you know something significant is happening. Getting married. Buying a house. Accidentally replying all to an email. And then… Standing in your kitchen, holding what can only be described as the world’s most expensive tiny pen, wondering whether you’re about to become a healthier version of yourself or accidentally inject your spleen. That was me. One year ago. One tiny jab. One enormous amount of unnecessary drama. Because if you’ve been here f

So, after Thursday’s unexpected episode of “The Street That Never Sleeps,” complete with police cars, heart palpitations, an optical migraine and my Visible Band having what can only be described as an existential crisis, I was hoping Friday might decide to be a little kinder. It didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet, but it did at least stop throwing quite so many surprises at me. Friday - Running on Empty (and Electrolytes) Friday was another work from home day because I w

Weekly Weigh-In: Week 53 - The Incredible Shrinking JABatha Strikes Again Weekly loss: 2 lbs Total loss: 35.5 lbs (16.1 kg) Well… Would you look at that. Another two pounds have packed their bags, left without paying rent, and disappeared into the witness protection programme. At this point I’m convinced my fat is secretly emigrating. When I got ill with Long Covid, PoTS and OH, life threw me a plot twist that absolutely nobody ordered. One minute I was happily jabbing away o

You know those weekends where you think: “This is it. This is the comeback weekend.” Yeah… Mine submitted a complaint to management. Saturday (Day 360) I remember waking up during the night with my heart absolutely galloping. Not because my body had decided to malfunction for absolutely no reason (although that’s always a possibility these days). No. I’d had the most ridiculous dream imaginable. There was apparently a burglar hiding in my wardrobe. Not stealing anything. Just

Wow… what an evening and what a night... The pain. Bloody hell. I honestly don’t know whether yesterday’s steroid injection actually went into my shoulder or somehow took a scenic detour and ended up in my brain stem. At this point I’m willing to consider all possibilities because it would certainly explain why my neck has all the flexibility of a Victorian grandfather clock. Need to look left? Not happening. Need to look right? Also not happening. Need to look behind me? Wel

Honestly… The last couple of weeks particularly but I would stretch as far as few months (- the temp), have felt like I’ve accidentally been selected for some new reality TV show called “Survive If You Can.” Temperature? Approximately 100 billion degrees. Sleep? Cancelled. PoTS? Thriving. Shoulder pain? Operating on a level previously only achieved by medieval torture devices. I genuinely think these have been the worst three weeks I’ve had in a long time. You know it’s bad w

You know when people say, “Things come in threes”? Cute. My body clearly misunderstood the assignment and went for the unlimited subscription. At this point I don’t wake up in the morning… I log in. Every day starts with me wondering which part of my body has submitted a complaint overnight. Heart? Blood pressure? Brain? Shoulder? Eyes? Energy? Let’s spin the Wheel of Medical Misfortune and find out! Honestly, if my autonomic nervous system worked in an office, HR would’ve ma

So… By this point I’d accepted that my body had become… quirky. You know how every family has that one slightly eccentric relative? The one who microwaves fish in the office, owns fourteen ornamental owls and still pays for everything by cheque? Well… Apparently my nervous system had become that relative. Completely unpredictable. Slightly embarrassing. And absolutely refusing to behave itself. The thing that really started confusing me was the fact there didn’t seem to be an

So there I was… Completely convinced I was just taking a little bit longer than everyone else to recover. Because that’s what we all do, isn’t it? We compare ourselves to absolutely everyone. “Oh, Susan at work had Covid and she was fine after ten days.” “My neighbour was back at the gym after three weeks.” “My cousin ran a half marathon six weeks later.” Brilliant. Good for Susan. Well done, neighbour. Congratulations, cousin. Meanwhile I was celebrating the fact I’d managed

Right… I think it’s only fair that before anybody says anything… I say it first. Yes. I know. I’ve completely abandoned you all. One hundred and fifty-six days. ONE. HUNDRED. AND. FIFTY. SIX. Honestly, I’ve ignored this blog for longer than some people stay on Love Island before getting dumped. Babies have been conceived, cooked and born. Governments have probably changed. My herbs have died, been replaced and died again. Even Facebook has probably assumed I’ve forgotten my p

Strap in. Cancel plans. Text your loved ones. Hydrate aggressively. This post is going to be LONGER, LOUDER, UNHINGED, UNEDITED, and EXTREMELY JABatha. Right. FIRST THINGS FIRST. Admin. Housekeeping. Clearing the air. YES - I am aware I vanished. NO - this was not a creative sabbatical. NO - this was not a “strategic pause”. NO - this was not a soft launch of mystery, intrigue, or personal rebrand. NO - I did not go on Eat Pray Love. If anything, I went on Cough Wheeze Dissoc

Ahhh yes… Thursday and Friday. Days 148 and 149. Two days so weird and chaotic they deserve their own Netflix mini-series. Or at least a three-part BBC documentary narrated by David Attenborough: “Here we observe the modern woman in her natural habitat… at home… staring blankly at her laptop… praying for WiFi stability.” Because babes, I worked from home BOTH days. Me. WFH. Back-to-back. THURSDAY: DAY 148 — Emails, Retching & Riveting Glamour I woke up like a Victorian child

Oh, where do I even begin? These last three days - Monday to Wednesday - have been a swirling tornado of snots, fevers, Zoom meetings, digestive rebellion, and existential dread. Apparently, I brought home a little souvenir virus from my recent Poland trip, because why wouldn’t I? Christmas markets are basically human anthills, and somewhere between dodging drunken Santas and elbowing my way to the mulled wine stall, I caught something that has now turned me into a sad, sligh

A very very long blog post, featuring: Poland, pierogi, panic, over 20k steps a day, history, sausages, ancestral ghosts, and one terrified British boyfriend meeting The Parents. My loves, gather close. This is the Holiday Edition of The Mounjaro Chronicles. The Odyssey of JABatha Christie. The almost 9-Day Polish Whirlwind Tour, where I: dragged my British boyfriend across four cities, walked more steps than a Fitbit employee on a performance review, ate more food than shoul

Thursday – Day 134: A human popsicle, a headache, and the emotional support of Stranger Things. I woke up Thursday feeling like a weak Victorian child who needed broth and a blanket and perhaps a fainting couch to dramatically collapse onto. Bit headachy, a touch fragile, and honestly the perfect candidate to star in a tragic Netflix documentary called “Not Today, Immune System”. And of course, I cannot be ill now. Absolutely not. Universe, LISTEN - I have Poland coming up. S

Monday. Office day. Also known as the weekly episode of “Will I Survive The Mounjaro Freeze or Become a Decorative Ice Sculpture Found in Zone 2?” Honestly, the way this jab has turned me into a walking glacier should qualify me for some sort of winter survival show. I slept in TWO layers of clothes, plus a duvet, plus a blanket, plus the heating on full blast. At this point I’m basically sleeping inside my own personal Michelin Man cosplay. And STILL I was cold. I woke up at

Saturday began with the kind of early start that makes you question your entire identity. Who books a hair appointment for 9am on a Saturday? I guess… me. Clearly I hate myself. Dragged myself out of bed, muttering something violent in the direction of my alarm, and immediately clutched my collagen coffee like it was an emotional support beverage. Honestly, at this point I don’t even know if collagen works but if it stops one hair from thinking about running away from my head

Thank GOD it’s Friday! And what a Friday it was - the kind of day that starts with you thinking, “Oh, I didn’t drink that much prosecco last night,” and ends with you clutching the kitchen counter like a Victorian heroine fainting at the sight of a corset. I genuinely didn’t think I drank that much. I was fine when I got home! Totally coherent, totally functional, totally not-on-the-verge-of-calling-myself-an-Uber-to-my-own-front-door. But no - the prosecco and all the rich f

Ohhhh buckle up, my darlings, because Thursday – DAY 127 served weather trauma, fashion excellence, public transport emotional damage, and Mounjaro-fuelled digestive foreshadowing. A buffet of chaos. A tasting menu of survival. A chef’s kiss of JABatha-level melodrama. Waking Up: The Ruby Radio Show™ Alarm goes off. Ruby immediately switches into her BREAKFAST BROADCAST MODE, like she’s about to read the 6am headlines on BBC News. Except the headlines are: “Mummy, I want snac

Weigh-In Week 18: The Tale Of The DISAPPEARING JABatha My darlings, gather round. Week 18 has arrived, and once again the scales have spoken, beeped, flashed, and declared: another 2.2lbs has left my body like a disgruntled tenant who finally realised they haven’t paid rent since 2016. This brings the grand total to a deliriously theatrical: 30.9lbs lost 14 entire kilograms evicted from my person - the equivalent of an ENTIRELY UNNECESSARY amount of mass that I will now compa