Day 70: The Platinum Jubilee of Jabs

Seventy.

Days.

On.

Mounjaro.

Can we just take a moment?

Because at this point, I feel like I should be receiving a telegram from the King, a medal for bravery in the face of nausea, and perhaps even a Netflix documentary about my struggles with food noise titled “Silence of the Crisps.”

When I started this journey, I thought: “Oh, how lovely, an injection that will magically turn me into a goddess who sashays past bakeries without so much as a twitch.” Reality?

Day 70 looks more like a heavily caffeinated pigeon trying to navigate life while avoiding the call of carbs.

And honestly, who am I now?

Pre-JABatha, I was the girl who could demolish a family-size bag of Doritos alone in the car before reaching the driveway.

Post-Jabatha, I stare at a cracker like it’s a complex moral dilemma.

Do I want it?

Do I really want it?

Do I want it enough to risk The Nausea™?

Reader, sometimes the answer is yes.

And sometimes the cracker wins.

But let’s be real.

Seventy days isn’t just a milestone, it’s a full-blown season finale.

We’ve had:

The Case of the Vanishing Appetite

The Mystery of the Sudden Weight Gain Despite Doing Absolutely Nothing Wrong

The UTI Episode Nobody Asked For

And other ridiculous occurrences.

Speaking of survival - last night I actually slept quite well.

Shocking, I know.

Of course, there were the occasional wake-ups, courtesy of Meow Cast, the nightly feline opera broadcast directly into my bedroom. Combine that with yet another midnight performance of “Butt in My Face: The Musical” (guest starring Ruby, Molly, or whoever feels like dropping their derrière onto my pillow), and it was still a semi-restful miracle.

Mandatory coffee with collagen was consumed before I even logged into work at 7:20am.

Who does that??

By 8:30am, PPT slides were already flying out of my inbox like Hogwarts acceptance letters.

Someone please send Hagrid, because I’m clearly in the wrong magical universe.

Breakfast was civilised: a lovely slice of sourdough and rye bread with a very thin slice of chicken, tomato, and Polish pickles.

Then my daily vitamin line-up - multi, biotin, magnesium, and vitamin D - like the Avengers but for women trying not to fall apart before lunchtime.

Lunch?

Just a few nuts. Am I a squirrel now?

Tomorrow is jab day and the food noise is already lurking, pacing in the shadows like a Scooby-Doo villain.

I started thinking about dinner after lunch, but when it came down to it, I raided the fridge and freezer and eventually ended up having half a soup.

So I guess 7.5 is working!

Also, weigh-in tomorrow.

Please, scales, be kind.

Don’t betray me like last week.

And while we’re on the topic of miracles - the REHAB hair stuff is amazing. Truly divine.

I use it religiously every day on top of the ridiculous pile of other things I’ve purchased in a desperate bid to keep my hair attached to my head.

Hair, hear me now: stay put.

Ideally, on my scalp, not decorating the bathroom sink.

So here’s to the next 70 days.

May they be less dramatic, but let’s be honest - if they’re not, at least they’ll make great content.

With Love,

JABatha Christie, The Officially Unofficial Queen of Mounjaro