Day 68: The Virus, The Toilet, and The Pilates Machine

Well my darlings, today was supposed to be a productive “office-ready, power-suit, boss-lady” kind of day. But instead, the universe whispered, “Nah babes, you’re coughing like a Victorian chimney sweep and peeing like a racehorse every ten minutes – sit yourself DOWN.”

So yes, I surrendered to a day off.

Not glamorous.

Not fun.

Unless you count sprinting to the bathroom like I’m training for the Toilet Olympics as a sport.

(Honestly, if bladder marathons were a thing, I’d have the gold medal and a sponsorship deal with Andrex by now.)

Tried to have my morning coffee…

FAILED.

Couldn’t finish it.

That’s when you know things are dire.

Coffee is basically my blood type and if I abandon it mid-cup, just assume I’m already halfway into the afterlife.

For breakfast, I managed a thin with sliced chicken, Polish pickles (because of course), and tomato. Ate it with the elegance of a starved raccoon, then promptly went straight back to bed.

Netflix on.

Cat glued to my side.

If you don’t watch Netflix with a cat judging your every snack choice, are you even living?

I basically slept most of the morning and afternoon – like Sleeping Beauty, except with more sneezing, coughing, and a UTI instead of a curse.

Clearly my body needed it.

Lunch/Dinner (let’s call it linner): Forced down a BOL protein soup – Thai green noodle – with some leftover roast chicken for flair. I say “forced” because MJ 7.5 is currently kicking me harder than Beyoncé’s backup dancers.

Appetite?

Deleted.

Hunger?

Uninstalled.

I didn’t finish it, because apparently food is now optional.

And then there’s the UTI.

Ah yes.

That glamorous chapter of womanhood.

Let me paint the picture: me, hunched over, glaring at cranberry juice like it’s a magic potion, muttering Shakespearean soliloquies in the bathroom. I’ve basically set up camp in there.

If you can’t find me, check the loo.

Oh – exciting delivery! My REHAB hair stuff arrived today. Haven’t tried it yet, but it better work miracles, because my hair currently resembles a tumbleweed that’s been electrocuted.

Will report back.

And yes, in my fever haze, I also bought a used foldable Pilates reformer machine.

Why?

Because apparently my brain thinks I’m some lithe, graceful ballerina who “needs to stretch and tone.”

Reality check: I’ll probably trap myself in the springs and need rescuing by the fire brigade.

But hey – low impact on joints, slow muscle build, no risk of looking like a bodybuilder smeared in marmite.

That’s my kind of vibe.

SIDE EFFECTS ROLL CALL (the whole saga so far):

Nausea: Comes and goes like an uninvited ex. My solution? Ginger tea, dry crackers, and dramatic sighs.

Constipation: Ah yes, the brick factory. Prunes, senna, Movicol – my holy trinity.

The Runs (when constipation is bored): Truly a Russian roulette. One day bricks, the next day waterfalls. Imodium at the ready.

Fatigue: Sleep like a sloth. No shame. Bed is life.

Headaches: Hydration and paracetamol. Sometimes just whining helps too.

Heartburn: Gaviscon shots. It’s like tequila, but sadder.

UTI (today’s special): Water, cranberry, antibiotics, and cursing the patriarchy.

Suppression of appetite: Real. Brutal. Can’t finish food. Honestly, it’s like someone pressed mute on my stomach.

Occasional dizziness/lightheadedness: Happens when I forget I’m on a jab. Sit down before I fall down.

Retching (thanks to my already existing gastroparesis): Add that to the fun. Managed with patience, ginger, and a lot of glaring at the ceiling like “why me, Lord?”

BUT LET’S TALK PERKS – because despite the circus of side effects, Mounjaro is still delivering the goods:

Weight loss – actual pounds gone, not just “wishful thinking on the scales.”

Visceral fat melting – goodbye muffin top, hello jeans zipping up without a prayer circle.

Overall body fat down – feeling less Michelin Man, more sleek seal.

ADHD symptoms suppressed – less chaotic ferret brain, more focused queen.

Better habits – no more endless snacking, no overeating, just… normal.

Sharper focus – brain fog lifted, productivity unlocked (unless I’m sleeping like a medieval plague victim, but that’s today’s virus talking).

Despite ALL THIS, I still managed cuddles from Mr. JABatha and the cats.

They continue their highly suspicious Meow Chat WhatsApp group where I am 99% sure they discuss overthrowing me as Queen of the Sofa.

Tomorrow – I have to go to the office.

Even if I crawl.

Pray for me, Jabbers.

And that, my loves, was Day 68.

Not glamorous.

Not exciting.

But painfully, hilariously real.

With Love,

JABatha Christie