Day 57: The Return of ADHD, Space Rocket Legs, and the 7.5mg Jab

Sep 11
3 min read

Wow.

Just WOW.

Yesterday evening my ADHD decided to make a full dramatic entrance back into my life like it was auditioning for Britain’s Got Talent.

Out of nowhere, it was like my jab just said: “And now for my next trick… I shall disappear!”

Gone. Poof.

Chaos ensued.

My poor boyfriend was just sat there blinking at me like: “What the actual F is happening?!” He hasn’t seen me like that in 55 whole days, so it was basically like introducing him to my feral twin.

Welcome back, darling - strap in, it’s going to be a ride.

Speaking of rides - TV update.

We watched The Rookie, Season 7, Episode 15, and I honestly have one question:

WHAT.

WAS.

THAT.

ABOUT???

I thought I’d accidentally sat on the remote and switched over to Doctor Who. Truly one of the weirdest episodes I’ve ever seen, and yet somehow I couldn’t look away.

Bedtime? Don’t ask me. No idea when I went. But oh! I do remember one thing: suddenly leaping out of bed like a NASA rocket because I got a cramp in my calf.

The sheer drama! The swearing! The hopping around! I’m sure the neighbours thought I was possessed. Thankfully, I collapsed back into bed almost immediately and passed out.

Now, in breaking feline news: there was NO cat podcast last night. Shocking, I know.

Instead, I was woken by Ruby performing her favourite morning trick - butt in my face.

Front-row seat, no ticket required.

But the saving grace?

The magical, healing, soul-lifting sound of her purrs. Honestly, the frequency of that little engine should be studied by NASA (since they already had me doing rocket impersonations).

I’ll take more purrs, Rubs, and maybe a little less butt, if you don’t mind.

Morning routine update: Week 8 weigh-in.

Another pound gone.

Which means nearly 20 lbs in total!

How amazing is that?

Honestly, I feel like I should start carrying bags of sugar around just to dramatically fling them away from me one by one.

Followed this monumental moment with the holy trinity: coffee, collagen, and a Graze protein bar (Cherry Bakewell).

Verdict?

Delicious… for cardboard.

Work?

Mental. Emails, meetings, Teams calls. The usual. But the cats adore me, so naturally they kept interrupting, demanding belly tickles with dry bunny tails.

So needy.

So fluffy.

So distracting.

Food report: I managed to eat a thin protein bagel with truffle Boursin and smoked salmon - and get this… I didn’t feel sick.

Incredible.

Truly a culinary triumph.

Back to work again. More meetings. More emails. I basically live in Outlook now.

Then came my exciting mid-afternoon adventure: popped to the GP to collect my fresh estrogen butt patches.

Oh, the glamour of perimenopause!

Still, all under control now.

One less plot twist, thank you very much.

But the highlight of the day (other than weigh-in)?

The ceremonial stabbing of my thigh with my first 7.5mg pen.

I did it.

I jabbed it.

Done and dusted.

Now we wait and see what this new dose brings.

If it’s kind to me, I might just stay here for a while.

(Dear 7.5mg: please behave. Don’t pull an ADHD-disappearing-act stunt on me.)

Dinner was another saga. Couldn’t decide what to have, so in the meantime I ate one lime Dorito. Just the one. I know - who am I?

Eventually I settled on chicken and veg soup from Waitrose.

Pretty decent.

Of course, I had to add peas.

You know me: peas are life.

Although I did feel a bit nauseous straight after - soup or the jab? Hmm...

Cats? Nowhere to be found.

Probably off moonlighting as nocturnal acrobats or plotting world domination.

Fine.

Be that way.

Evening entertainment? Naturally: MasterChef and Bake Off.

And yes, I did try to test my tastebuds to see if they’d salivate at the sight of food on TV.

Result: nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

No reaction.

Clearly the jab has turned me into a monk.

And now, dear readers, I am off to bed. Hoping for no midnight rocket-launch cramps, fewer cat butts, and maybe some dreams that actually make sense - unlike The Rookie.

JABatha Christie, Day 57: signing off, nearly 20 lbs lighter, freshly patched, newly jabbed, and still wondering what on earth happened in that episode.

With Love,

JABatha Christie

Wow.

Just WOW.

Yesterday evening my ADHD decided to make a full dramatic entrance back into my life like it was auditioning for Britain’s Got Talent.

Out of nowhere, it was like my jab just said: “And now for my next trick… I shall disappear!”

Gone. Poof.

Chaos ensued.

My poor boyfriend was just sat there blinking at me like: “What the actual F is happening?!” He hasn’t seen me like that in 55 whole days, so it was basically like introducing him to my feral twin.

Welcome back, darling - strap in, it’s going to be a ride.

Speaking of rides - TV update.

We watched The Rookie, Season 7, Episode 15, and I honestly have one question:

WHAT.

WAS.

THAT.

ABOUT???

I thought I’d accidentally sat on the remote and switched over to Doctor Who. Truly one of the weirdest episodes I’ve ever seen, and yet somehow I couldn’t look away.

Bedtime? Don’t ask me. No idea when I went. But oh! I do remember one thing: suddenly leaping out of bed like a NASA rocket because I got a cramp in my calf.

The sheer drama! The swearing! The hopping around! I’m sure the neighbours thought I was possessed. Thankfully, I collapsed back into bed almost immediately and passed out.

Now, in breaking feline news: there was NO cat podcast last night. Shocking, I know.

Instead, I was woken by Ruby performing her favourite morning trick - butt in my face.

Front-row seat, no ticket required.

But the saving grace?

The magical, healing, soul-lifting sound of her purrs. Honestly, the frequency of that little engine should be studied by NASA (since they already had me doing rocket impersonations).

I’ll take more purrs, Rubs, and maybe a little less butt, if you don’t mind.

Morning routine update: Week 8 weigh-in.

Another pound gone.

Which means nearly 20 lbs in total!

How amazing is that?

Honestly, I feel like I should start carrying bags of sugar around just to dramatically fling them away from me one by one.

Followed this monumental moment with the holy trinity: coffee, collagen, and a Graze protein bar (Cherry Bakewell).

Verdict?

Delicious… for cardboard.

Work?

Mental. Emails, meetings, Teams calls. The usual. But the cats adore me, so naturally they kept interrupting, demanding belly tickles with dry bunny tails.

So needy.

So fluffy.

So distracting.

Food report: I managed to eat a thin protein bagel with truffle Boursin and smoked salmon - and get this… I didn’t feel sick.

Incredible.

Truly a culinary triumph.

Back to work again. More meetings. More emails. I basically live in Outlook now.

Then came my exciting mid-afternoon adventure: popped to the GP to collect my fresh estrogen butt patches.

Oh, the glamour of perimenopause!

Still, all under control now.

One less plot twist, thank you very much.

But the highlight of the day (other than weigh-in)?

The ceremonial stabbing of my thigh with my first 7.5mg pen.

I did it.

I jabbed it.

Done and dusted.

Now we wait and see what this new dose brings.

If it’s kind to me, I might just stay here for a while.

(Dear 7.5mg: please behave. Don’t pull an ADHD-disappearing-act stunt on me.)

Dinner was another saga. Couldn’t decide what to have, so in the meantime I ate one lime Dorito. Just the one. I know - who am I?

Eventually I settled on chicken and veg soup from Waitrose.

Pretty decent.

Of course, I had to add peas.

You know me: peas are life.

Although I did feel a bit nauseous straight after - soup or the jab? Hmm...

Cats? Nowhere to be found.

Probably off moonlighting as nocturnal acrobats or plotting world domination.

Fine.

Be that way.

Evening entertainment? Naturally: MasterChef and Bake Off.

And yes, I did try to test my tastebuds to see if they’d salivate at the sight of food on TV.

Result: nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

No reaction.

Clearly the jab has turned me into a monk.

And now, dear readers, I am off to bed. Hoping for no midnight rocket-launch cramps, fewer cat butts, and maybe some dreams that actually make sense - unlike The Rookie.

JABatha Christie, Day 57: signing off, nearly 20 lbs lighter, freshly patched, newly jabbed, and still wondering what on earth happened in that episode.

With Love,

JABatha Christie

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