Buckle up. This one is LONG, chaotic and dripping in that signature Mounjaro-induced madness. Before We Begin: Mounjaro Truly Said “New Phone, Who Dis?” to My Habits Honestly - can we have a moment for the habit rewiring this pen has done? Because 125 days in, I’ve realised Mounjaro is basically that strict but loving Eastern European auntie who smacks the pierogi out of your hand and shouts “NO! Eat half! Better yet, don’t eat at all!!! Drink tea!!! THINK ABOUT YOUR CHOICES!

Ah… 5 am, that blessed/unholy hour when the universe reminds me I exist. Did I wake gracefully, smiling, stretching like a sophisticated human being? HAHAHAHAHAHA. NO. Instead: My phone screamed like a banshee hopped up on espresso. Ruby, my feline overlord, ran her 4–5 am Cat Podcast, featuring: “Mrrrrrp” Intro Theme Keyboard tapping like an office admin on steroids Head-butting me repeatedly (Subscriber Engagement Segment) Emergency Alert: “Mum, I Think You’re Dead So I Mus

By your girl, JABatha Christie - solving mysteries, losing appetites, and surviving cat podcasts since Day 1. Let me take you back… way back… to Friday at 3pm, when I jabbed myself with 10mg and promptly transformed into a medically-induced Sleeping Beauty. Honestly, I slept like a tranquilised otter drifting down a river of dreams, UNTIL the Cat Podcast between 5am and 6am - yes, Ruby and Molly launched their daily BBC MeowLive “Let’s ruin Mum’s REM cycle” episode. 10mg knoc

A JABatha Christie production Season 1, Episode 120 & 121: “Cement Arm & The Friday Redemption Arc” THURSDAY - DAY 120 A day that started earlier than the sanity of any human should allow. THE 5AM FOOLERY Another early start. Another office day. Another episode of Why The Hell Is My Alarm Awake Before The Sun. And of course - OF COURSE - I was woken up not by the gentle chime of my phone, but by the cat podcast happening live in my bedroom. Ruby, Queen of Chaos, Duchess of Dr

Weigh-In Week 17: The Return Of The Slay Ladies, gents, cats, rats, and household spirits hiding under the sofa - your girl has shed another 1.1lbs. Total: 28.7lbs lost AKA: 13 kilograms AKA: basically a medium-sized farm animal at this point Let me tell you… watching that scale drop was like watching a soap opera miracle. I half expected the theme tune to start playing and the scales to whisper: “You thought it was over, didn’t you?” “Plot twist, babe.” Week 17 came in with

A three-day saga of pain, drama, collagen powder and bacon-roll trauma. Let me start with this: I had to squeeze three days into one post because life decided to throw me into a blender set on “puree.” Honestly the first half of this week was so horrendous - at work and outside - that I’m convinced I briefly astral-projected out of my own body, looked at myself, and said: “No babe… not today.” But hey, it happens to the best of us, right? MONDAY — Aka: Who Woke Me Up at 5am a

Darling readers, gather round. Let Auntie JABatha pour herself a rum and Coke (because wine is now as welcome to my body as a wasp at a picnic) and tell you the tale of The Laziest Weekend Known to Humanity™ - brought to you by Dose 10mg, the pharmaceutical equivalent of being unplugged from the mains. Because WOW. Saturday (Day 115): I woke up… and immediately questioned my life choices. Specifically: Why did I increase to 10mg? Why does my arm feel like it’s been been used

Well, my darlings… it’s official. Thursday Jab Day has been retired. Gone. Over. Finished. He served me faithfully for 16 dramatic, bloated, and occasionally constipated weeks - but the time has come for change. Yes, I, JABatha Christie, have switched allegiance. The new era has dawned. Welcome to Friday Jab Day - same needle, new vibe. Thursday evenings were becoming… too much. The pressure. The anticipation. Jabbing too late. The emotional rollercoaster of weigh-ins, self-r

Ah, Thursday. The day formerly known as Jab Day, the day of office appearances, and apparently, the day I decided to become the fearless heroine of my own anxiety-inducing action film. Scene One: The Dawn of Courage (and Cat Chaos) It began, as all heroic journeys do, with an alarm. At 5 a.m. sharp, the delightful sound of my phone shrieking through the darkness like an angry robot demanding productivity. Of course, my first alarm had already gone off much earlier - not elect

Weigh-In Week 16: The Great Plateau Has Fallen! Friends, Romans, jabbed countrymen – lend me your needles! For I come bearing miraculous news. After three long, gruelling weeks of emotional turmoil, quiet rage, and dramatic sighing in front of my bathroom mirror, the scales have finally moved. Yes. After being trapped in a weight-loss desert - where the only thing shrinking was my patience - I have finally lost 1.8 lbs this week, bringing my glorious grand total to 27.6 lbs (

Ahhh, the mornings of working from home. You know the ones - you convince yourself you’ll “sleep in a little” but still end up awake at 6:59am, staring at the ceiling, haunted by flashbacks of Monday’s car hijack attempt. Yes, THAT terrifying moment when I, JABATHA CHRISTIE herself, nearly became an episode of Crimewatch - all because I dared to drive the most elite vehicle known to mankind: my beloved Mini Cooper. They clearly picked the wrong woman. The wrong day. The wrong

Oh, my darlings! Before we begin - apologies for the radio silence! I know, I know. You probably thought I’d jabbed myself into another dimension or eloped with a pharmacist. But no. I’ve simply been living through a six-day emotional rollercoaster that made the Tower of Terror look like a gentle carousel. Buckle up - this is going to be a long one. Thursday Day 106 - Weigh-In and Jab Day: The Scales of Injustice Thursday dawned with hope, promise, and the faint whiff of desp

Ah, the sweet joy of working from home - also known as “the illusion of peace until your cat decides you’ve slept enough.” This morning, I was deep in a glorious dream involving a spa, Idris Elba, and unlimited snacks that somehow didn’t count as calories… when BAM! Molly the Cat decided I was her breakfast butler. Full leap, claws of doom, right onto my stomach. “FEED ME, WOMAN!” So naturally, I stumbled out of bed half-asleep, hair resembling a tumbleweed, muttering somethi

Well, hello darkness my old friend - literally. Because that’s what greeted me at 5am this morning. Again. Dragged myself out of bed expecting to trip over a cat or three… and nothing. Not a whisker in sight. Weird, I thought. Had they finally run away to a better life? But then it hit me - the heating! We had the radiators on last night because winter is creeping in, and I bet my last Mounjaro pen those little furballs were welded to them like fluffy hot water bottles. Hones

Ah, Day 103. Otherwise known as: “Why am I awake at 5am when I could be a cat?” After a gloriously lazy Sunday filled with Netflix marathons, cat cuddles that verged on emotional therapy, and zero ambition to do anything productive, my Monday morning self was not thriving. When the alarm went off at 5, I had an out-of-body experience. I could see myself in bed, wrapped up like a burrito of denial, muttering, “No. Absolutely not.” But in a true Jabatha Christie style, I rose f

(A JABatha Christie special: starring toast, gastroparesis, and one delusional Cruella De Vil) Wow. What. A. Weekend. Honestly, if there were medals for surviving chaos wrapped in glitter and digestive failure - I’d be a gold medallist by now. Saturday - The Witching Hour Begins 🧙‍♀️🎶 It started slow… too slow. A lazy Saturday morning, the calm before the storm. I had plans - big plans - but my stomach apparently had other ones, namely, “let’s retch dramatically for no reas

Well, my darling Jabbers… we made it. ONE. HUNDRED. DAYS. A whole century of jabs, cravings, burps, plateaus, triumphs, and toilets. And how did I celebrate this momentous milestone, you ask? By starting the morning with my head in the toilet. No, not because of champagne or questionable kebabs. Not even because I wanted to admire my new toilet duck. But because my stomach decided, “You know what would be fun? Let’s expel everything she’s eaten since August.” It was like a ga

Ah, my darling Jabbers. We meet again. Day 99. Ninety-nine days of jabs, bloating, burping, bravery, and now… rain. So much rain. Let’s dive right in (quite literally, as you’ll soon see). 5am - Rise and Whine: Another 5am wake-up. Why? Who am I trying to impress? The King? The sunrise? Nevertheless, I heroically rolled out of bed, muttering obscenities and negotiating with my knees, who were not in the mood to bend. First mission of the day: weigh-in. And let me tell you - t

Ah, Day 98. It began, as all glamorous mornings do, with me waking up at 5pm… wait. No. That’s not a typo. 5pm. I woke up to Molly’s butt in my face. The alarm hadn’t even gone off - apparently, I’m now on dog time. There I was, bleary-eyed, fumbling in the darkness, trying to locate my dignity and a pair of socks, before realising: I actually had to function like a human being today. So off I went, driving through the pitch-black abyss, muttering motivational quotes to mysel

Week 14: Plateau? I Hardly Know Her! Gather round, my darling Jabbers, for it is I - your ever-hopeful, ever-hungry heroine - reporting live from the Mounjaro rollercoaster, week 14 edition. And what a thrilling ride it’s been… except the ride seems to have stopped. On the same spot. For two. Whole. Weeks. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the scales and I are currently locked in a passive-aggressive staring contest. Every morning, I approach with optimism and perhaps a touch of del