Day 196-352 (Part 10): JABatha Isn't Going Anywhere (Even If My Blood Pressure Occasionally Does)

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 DJ booth.

Annoy my boyfriend.

Spoil the cats.

Live happily ever after.

Instead…

Covid decided to leave me one final parting gift.

PoTS.

Orthostatic Hypotension.

Long Covid.

A shoulder that’s still behaving like it’s auditioning for Casualty.

A collection of hospital appointment letters that now deserves its own filing cabinet.

And a weather app that has become the most stressful application on my phone.

Honestly…

I check the forecast more than I check Facebook.

Twenty-seven degrees?

Absolutely not.

I’m staying indoors with the curtains shut like a Victorian widow.

The irony is unbelievable.

For years I moaned that British summers were rubbish.

Now the second the sun appears, I’m hissing at it like Dracula.

“Not today, Satan.”

If you’d told twenty-year-old me that I’d one day be frightened of sunshine, she’d have laughed in your face.

Then she’d have gone clubbing until 4am.

Now…

If I’m still awake at 10pm it’s because I’ve had a late coffee and made a terrible life decision.

Speaking of terrible life decisions…

Let’s revisit Mounjaro one last time.

Because I know that’s why a lot of you started following this blog.

Am I staying on it?

For now…

Yes.

As you know I’ve ordered 7.5mg.

Not because I want to spend my life injecting myself.

Not because I’m chasing some impossible number on the scales.

Because quite frankly…

The hunger came back.

The fear came back.

And right now…

I simply haven’t got the emotional energy to fight two battles at the same time.

I’m already negotiating with my heart…

My blood pressure…

My shoulder…

My nervous system…

My energy…

My brain…

I’d quite like my appetite to remain quiet for a little bit longer.

Maybe that’s the right decision.

Maybe it isn’t.

Time will tell.

One thing I’ve learnt through all of this is that life isn’t as black and white as social media likes to make out.

Everyone wants simple answers.

“Should I stay on Mounjaro?”

“Will PoTS get better?”

“Will Long Covid go away?”

Honestly…

I haven’t got a clue.

If I’ve learnt anything over the last five months it’s that my body clearly doesn’t read instruction manuals.

So I’ll keep listening to it.

Even when it’s shouting nonsense.

Even when it decides my feet should resemble a family of Smurfs.

Even when standing up becomes an extreme sport.

Because fighting it hasn’t worked.

Working with it might.

I’ve also learnt something else.

Actually…

I’ve learnt loads.

For example…

Google should come with parental controls.

Hydrava deserves a knighthood.

Compression socks were clearly designed by someone who hates happiness.

Hospital parking should be free after your fifth visit.

Weather forecasts have become a personal attack.

My smart watch needs to calm down.

My cats genuinely couldn’t care less about my circulation as long as breakfast arrives on time.

And my other half?

Well…

He’s proved that love sometimes looks less like flowers and candlelit dinners…

And more like carrying electrolyte sachets in your backpack “just in case.”

Checking whether I’ve eaten.

Walking slower without making me feel guilty.

Never once complaining when I suddenly need to sit down.

Looking at my feet more times than any man should ever have to.

Honestly…

I think he’s earned that medal.

Or at least unlimited cups of coffee (he is not a tea drinker), plenty of cider and wine.

This whole experience has changed me.

I won’t pretend it hasn’t.

I think I’ve become softer.

More patient.

More understanding.

I’ve also become significantly saltier…

Literally.

If anyone tells me to “just drink more water” one more time, I may actually season them.

Because here’s the thing…

Water alone isn’t enough.

Who knew?

Certainly not me.

Apparently my body now requires enough electrolytes to hydrate a small village.

Who’d have thought that would become my personality?

But despite everything…

Despite all the appointments…

The exhaustion…

The heat…

The shoulder…

The blue feet…

The tears…

The frustration…

I’m still here.

Still laughing.

Still swearing.

Still buying clothes I probably don’t need.

Still winding everyone up.

Still talking to Molly and Ruby like they’re tiny furry flatmates.

Still dancing in the kitchen…

Even if it’s only for one song now.

And most importantly…

Still writing.

Because somewhere along the way, this blog stopped being about weight loss.

It stopped being about Mounjaro.

It became a diary.

A place where I could be brutally honest.

Where I could laugh at myself before anyone else did.

Where I could say, “Today was rubbish,” without pretending everything was perfect.

And judging by the messages I’ve had over the last five months…

Some of you have really missed it.

Thank you.

Honestly.

Thank you.

For every message asking where I’d disappeared to.

For every comment.

For checking in.

For sharing your own stories.

For making me realise that this silly little blog has become something much bigger than I ever expected.

So…

JABatha is officially back.

Maybe not every day.

My brain genuinely hasn’t got the processing power for that anymore.

Maybe not every week.

Life has a habit of throwing plot twists at me lately.

But I’m back.

There will be more adventures.

More catastrophes.

More questionable medical stories.

More updates on whether my feet have decided to audition for the next Smurfs film.

More tales of Molly and Ruby continuing to believe they’re the true owners of this house.

More Mounjaro updates.

More PoTS updates.

More life.

Because that’s what this blog has always been about.

Real life.

The funny bits.

The painful bits.

The ridiculous bits.

The bits nobody usually admits out loud.

If there’s one thing these last 156 days have taught me, it’s this…

Life can change in a heartbeat.

Sometimes literally.

You can make all the plans in the world, and your body can still decide to write a completely different script.

You can either spend the rest of your life mourning the story you thought you were going to have…

Or you can pick up the pen…

And start writing the next chapter.

It might not be the chapter you wanted.

But it can still be a bloody good one.

So here’s to whatever comes next.

Here’s to more music.

More laughter.

More adventures.

More Hydrava.

Slightly fewer hospital appointments if the universe is listening.

And hopefully…

Slightly less blue feet.

Although let’s be honest…

They’ve become a bit of a celebrity now.

See you in the next blog.

With Love,

JABatha Christie

(Still fabulous. Still sarcastic. Slightly saltier than the average human. Occasionally Smurf-coloured. Permanently over-hydrated. And somehow… still standing. Most of the time.) ❤️