If you’d told me a year ago, while I was standing in my kitchen having a full-scale emotional breakdown over a tiny injection pen, that twelve months later I’d be writing an anniversary post about losing nearly 36 pounds while also learning how to live with Long Covid, PoTS and Orthostatic Hypotension, I’d have laughed. Then I’d have asked if you were absolutely sure you had the right person. Because my plan for this year was beautifully simple. Lose some weight. Feel healthi

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

Weekly Weigh-In: Week 52 - My Scales Have Finally Decided To Apologise Can we all just take a moment to appreciate how unbelievably dramatic the human body can be? Honestly. If my body had a Facebook status, it would permanently read: “It’s complicated.” Last week, I stepped on the scales and was greeted by a number I definitely hadn’t invited. +6.6 lbs. Six point six. Not six ounces. Not “maybe I’ve had a big dinner.” A proper, full-on, “have I accidentally swallowed a small

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

Well… If you’ve made it this far… Firstly… Congratulations. This is the fial part of a missing JABatha story. Secondly… I think you probably deserve a Hydrava. Or a gin. Possibly both. If somebody had told me back on Day 195 that this would be my life 156 days later… I’d have laughed. Then probably thrown something at them. Because none of this was part of the plan. The plan was simple. Lose the weight. Come off Mounjaro. Enjoy my new wardrobe. Go on holiday. Dance behind the

Something changed in me over the last few months. Not physically. Mentally. And I don’t think I admitted it to myself until very recently. I’ve always been the person who gets on with things. Problem? Fix it. Feeling rubbish? Push through. Someone tells me I can’t do something? Watch me. I’ve always been stubborn. Probably too stubborn. It’s one of my best qualities. It’s also one of my worst. Because you can’t out-stubborn your own nervous system. Believe me… I’ve tried. For

Let’s just change the subject for a minute. Because as if PoTS, Orthostatic Hypotension, Long Covid, hospital appointments, blue feet, compression socks and my body’s complete refusal to cooperate weren’t enough… There’s also the tiny little matter of… Mounjaro. Remember that? The injection that this entire blog started with. The injection that changed my life. The injection I swore I was coming off. Yeah… About that. If you’ve followed this blog from Day One, you’ll know I’d

Ok let's talk about it. So I officially have PoTS. Excellent. Now what? This is the bit nobody tells you. Getting a diagnosis feels like crossing a finish line. You spend months trying to work out what’s wrong with you, finally get an answer and think… “Right… brilliant. Now fix me.” Except… There isn’t really a fix. There’s management. There’s learning. There’s trial and error. There’s discovering your body has become more high maintenance than a Range Rover. Nobody actually

There are certain moments in life that stay with you forever. Your first kiss. Passing your driving test. Buying your first house. And then… The day your feet decide they’re auditioning for Avatar. But I’m getting ahead of myself... By the beginning of April, I’d completely hit the wall. Not a gentle little bump. A full-speed, face-first collision. After months of telling myself I was “just tired”, my body finally staged a full-scale rebellion. I was signed off work for three

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

Weekly Weigh-In: Week 51 - The Scales Have Chosen Violence! Well…It finally happened. After 156 days of what can only be described as surviving rather than living, the scales have looked me square in the face and gone… “Excuse me, we’d like to lodge a formal complaint.” +6.6 lbs. SIX POINT SIX. Honestly…I’ve had less dramatic break-ups. Now before anyone starts dialling the Mounjaro Police or revoking my membership to the GLP-1 Appreciation Society… Can we all just remember w

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

Weekly Weigh-In: Week 27 - AKA: The One Where My Brain Took Annual Leave and My Body Kept the Receipts Well hello there. It’s me. Alive. Mostly. Emerging slowly from the fog like a Victorian child with a fainting couch and a dramatic sigh. Yes. SIX WEEKS. Six whole weeks since my last blog post. Week 21 feels like a previous era. A different season of life. Possibly a different government. Before anyone panics: I did not fall off the planet, I did not rage-quit the internet,

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

WEIGH-IN WEEK 21: THE POLISH PIEROGI PARADOX (aka: How I Lost 0.5 lbs While Acting Like a Competitive Eater in Kraków) Week 21. 10 mg jab. 0.5 lbs down. Total loss: 32.2 lbs / 14.6 kg. And honestly? After the last week, I should’ve been gaining the weight of a mid-sized toddler, not dropping half a pound. Because let’s be very clear: I did not behave like someone on a weight-loss journey. I behaved like someone unleashed into Poland with the emotional stability of a toddler a

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