Day 106-111: The JABatha Resurfaces (Slightly Unhinged, Very Traumatised, But Still Fabulous)

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 despair - weigh-in day. I practically floated to the bathroom, hair in a bun, heart full of optimism, ready to greet the scales like an old friend.

And what did those cold-hearted metallic liars do?

Absolutely nothing.

Not a flicker.

Not a wobble.

Not even a pity 0.1kg drop to say “well done for trying, queen.”

Nope.

They sat there smugly, taunting me with a digital no change as if to say: “We’re on strike.”

But fine, I told myself, this is why we jab.

And oh yes it was jab day too.

My last 7.5mg before the big 10mg upgrade.

The “go hard or go home” moment of the Mounjaro journey.

Time to shake things up, literally.

As I injected that little miracle, I thought about all the potential side effects: nausea, dizziness, spontaneous rage, unprovoked cleaning sprees, and the possibility of speaking fluent French in my sleep.

None of that happened, though. Just the usual soundtrack of my stomach performing what I call “The Phantom of the Foodra” - a deeply dramatic opera of gurgles and growls that could easily win a Grammy in the “Noisiest Gut” category.

The real comedy highlight, however, was that my ADHD came storming back like an uninvited ex. I went from “zen injection goddess” to “oh look, shiny thing!” in five minutes flat.

I spent the evening reorganising my sock drawer by vibe while trying to remember if I’d already fed the cats or just thought about feeding them.

Here’s hoping the 10mg jab will sedate my brain enough to let me finish one single task before Christmas.

Friday Day 107 - Jab Aftermath: Tired, Starving (Emotionally), and Supermarket Chaos

Friday was… not great.

Work was stressful, my inbox looked like an explosion in a spreadsheet factory, and my jab hit me like a ton of very judgmental Mounjaro-branded bricks. I was exhausted, tired, and so not hungry - which, let’s face it, is both the dream and the nightmare.

But life doesn’t stop just because your pancreas is on strike.

We had friends coming over Saturday for a little house party, so off I went to do the food shop.

Reader, I lost my mind in Sainsbury’s.

I bought half the supermarket.

Dips, cheeses, three types of olives (because variety = sophistication), charcuterie board items, quiche, hot nibbles, fancy crisps that cost more than gold flakes, and enough hummus to fill a paddling pool.

How much of that would actually go into my stomach?

Approximately one mouthful, if that.

By the end of my chaotic supermarket spree, I decided I’d earned a little reward. So off we went to our favourite countryside pub - the kind that smells faintly of oak, gravy, and regret.

Two glasses of wine later… my stomach revolted.

No warning.

No mercy.

Just a full-on mutiny.

So yes - it’s official.

I can’t drink bloody wine anymore.

The last acceptable form of therapy is gone.

RIP wine.

You’ll be missed.

Days 108–109 - Saturday & Sunday: The House Party Chronicles

Saturday began as all glorious weekends do: with me refusing to get out of bed and the cats sitting on my chest like tiny, fluffy overlords demanding tribute.

But then - the cleaning mania began.

Because obviously, I can’t have people over unless the house looks like an IKEA showroom.

My OCD was thriving.

Floors mopped.

Surfaces disinfected.

Even the oven was cleaner than my conscience.

And then came the moment of chaos: the guests arrived!

The ring doorbell went off just as the oven timer screamed its war cry, creating a symphony of domestic panic. I’m sure the neighbours thought I was summoning demons.

Dinner was served - or, as I like to call it, “everyone else’s feast.”

I managed to eat:

1 arancini ball

A sliver of quiche

1 slice of salami

3 olives

And a tragic, collapsing mushroom croquette

I was basically living my best cheap date life.

The others tucked in like Michelin critics, and I just smiled serenely like a woman on a fasting retreat.

Then, of course, the boys jumped on the decks and turned our living room into a mini Ibiza.

There were questionable dance moves, some heroic transitions, and at least one moment where someone shouted, “TURN IT UP!” when it was already vibrating the window frames.

Sunday?

The complete opposite.

I didn’t move all day.

Netflix, bed, cats.

My boyfriend watched sports like it was an Olympic event - football, NFL, possibly competitive ironing, I lost track.

I emerged from my duvet cocoon around 7pm to watch something together and remind him that yes, I am still alive.

Monday Day 110 - The Horror Story (aka The Tailgating Incident)

Oh.

My.

God.

Monday.

I honestly don’t want to relive it, but for the sake of storytelling - let’s go there.

I was all set for an office day.

Dressed, caffeinated, in a rare moment of motivation.

Then it happened.

Some lunatic decided to tailgate me on the road - or follow me - or try to audition for Fast & Furious: Kent Drift.

I still don’t know what their deal was, but I was absolutely terrified.

By the time I pulled over, my heart was pounding out Morse code.

I called the Police.

I turned the car around and drove home shaking, crying, and googling “how to move to Iceland immediately.”

Did I work that day?

Absolutely not.

Did I cry, sleep, and catastrophise my life choices?

100%.

It was much worse but I don't want to go into details on here...

This was the scariest experience since the time I was nearly kidnapped as a kid - and believe me, that bar was HIGH.

I’m not being dramatic when I say PTSD might start sending me emails soon.

Honestly, this country is getting ridiculous.

I might start looking up rural Italian villages with good WiFi and no one within a 10-mile radius.

Tuesday Day 111 - Recovery Mode: Emotional Hangover Edition

Tuesday was basically Monday, but horizontal.

I slept, watched TV, stared into space, and stress-retching made its dramatic comeback - but not from Mounjaro this time!

Just pure anxiety and adrenaline.

I barely ate.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because my stomach and my brain had filed for divorce.

Thank goodness for my boyfriend and the cats - my emotional support trio. Cuddles, purrs, and snacks I didn’t eat but appreciated the thought of.

Summary - Six Days of Chaos, Courage & Cat Hair

So, to summarise this wild ride:

Weight loss: None. My scales are now enemies.

Mounjaro side effects: Mostly food noise, occasional existential dread, and an allergy to wine.

ADHD: Back and throwing confetti.

House party: A roaring success with 0.5 arancini consumed.

Scary Monday: 10/10 would not recommend.

Emotional state: Fragile but fabulous.

Support system: Two cats, one boyfriend, and an internet full of strangers cheering me on.

Sometimes I think this Mounjaro journey isn’t just about losing weight - it’s about building character, testing resilience, and discovering just how many olives one woman can eat before calling it dinner.

Here’s to the next chapter - new dose, new drama, and hopefully, a less traumatic commute.

Stay tuned, my loves.

JABatha is back… and probably about to retch in style.

With Love,

JABatha Christie