Week 51 Weigh-in - dose 5mg

Weekly Weigh-In: Week 51 - The Scales Have Chosen Violence!

Well…It finally happened.

After 156 days of what can only be described as surviving rather than living, the scales have looked me square in the face and gone…

“Excuse me, we’d like to lodge a formal complaint.”

+6.6 lbs.

SIX POINT SIX.

Honestly…I’ve had less dramatic break-ups.

Now before anyone starts dialling the Mounjaro Police or revoking my membership to the GLP-1 Appreciation Society…

Can we all just remember what the last 156 days have looked like?

Because I certainly haven’t been living my best “gym girl” era.

Unless repeatedly walking from the sofa to the kettle counts as CrossFit.

Spoiler alert…

It doesn’t.

Over the last five months I’ve managed to collect a brand new diagnosis, another diagnosis, a shoulder that’s decided to retire early, enough hospital appointments to qualify for my own parking space, and a nervous system that’s apparently forgotten how standing up works.

Exercise? HAHAHAHAHAHA.

My left shoulder currently behaves like it’s being possessed by an angry Victorian ghost.

Going for a long walk? Brilliant idea…

Provided there’s a bench every 47 metres, the temperature stays below “slightly warm”, someone follows me carrying electrolytes, and the wind blows in exactly the right direction.

So yes…

I’m not exactly shocked.

Am I thrilled?

Absolutely not.

Did I throw the scales out of the bathroom?

No.

Mainly because they’re heavier than the amount I’ve gained.

Perspective.

Let’s also remember something important.

I’m still 29.8 lbs (13.5 kg) lighter than when I started.

That’s nearly 30 packets of butter.

Or approximately 240 sausages (depending on the butcher).

It’s the weight of a border collie.

A large bag of dog food.

Around 135 tubs of Lurpak if you buy the little ones because apparently remortgaging for butter is now completely normal.

Or…

For my DJ friends…

It’s roughly the weight of nine vinyl records in their flight case before you’ve even added the case.

Actually…

No.

It’s basically the amount of shopping I now carry out of Tesco before immediately wondering why I’m exhausted.

The irony.

So yes…I’ve put 6.6 lbs back on.

Let’s put that into perspective too.

That’s…

About the weight of three house cats.

Not Molly. Molly believes she’s a panther.

A small microwave.

Roughly 53 Creme Eggs.

One particularly chunky Christmas turkey.

Or one of those unnecessarily expensive handbags I absolutely don’t need but somehow convince myself is an investment.

Honestly…

I’ve put on less weight than my Amazon parcels.

The funny thing is…

I actually knew this was coming.

The hunger has slowly crept back in.

Not dramatically.

Just quietly.

Like an ex who starts liking your Instagram stories after six months of silence.

At first it’s…

“Ooh… I could eat.”

Then…

“I fancy a biscuit.”

Then…

“I wonder what’s in the cupboard.”

Before you know it you’re standing in the kitchen eating cheese while pretending you’re “just deciding what to make.”

We’ve all been there.

Mounjaro at 5mg has basically looked at me and gone…

“I’ve done my bit now. You’re on your own, kid.”

And to be fair…

It’s been through a lot.

I’ve been on 5mg for a while after going down to 7.5mg from 10mg that definitely did not like me.

Unfortunately…

It seems my appetite has realised the babysitter’s gone home.

Now…

Normally I’d simply say…

“No worries.

I’ll exercise a bit more.”

Except…

Have we met?

One shoulder currently has all the flexibility of reinforced concrete.

Standing up too quickly turns me into Bambi on roller skates.

Heat now affects me the way garlic affects vampires.

And walking too far requires military planning, electrolyte calculations and an exit strategy.

Honestly…

If calories could be burned through overthinking…

I’d disappear completely.

So yes…

I’ve made a decision.

The 5mg has been wonderful.

It got me through an incredibly difficult few months.

It stopped me rebounding completely.

It gave me a chance to breathe.

But…

The mission isn’t over.

I’ve ordered 7.5mg.

Do I know whether it’s the right decision?

Absolutely not.

Do I know whether it’ll probably make me feel sick again?

Probably.

Do I also know that vomiting and PoTS are about as compatible as socks and sandals?

Unfortunately… yes.

But equally…

I didn’t lose nearly 30 lbs to let my old habits quietly sneak back in while I can’t exercise properly.

We’ll call it…

Operation: Let’s Not Buy Another Wardrobe.

Because quite frankly, I’ve become rather attached to fitting into clothes that don’t require an elasticated waistband and a motivational speech.

The biggest lesson I’ve learnt?

Progress is never a straight line.

Sometimes you lose weight.

Sometimes life punches you square in the face.

Sometimes your nervous system decides standing up is now optional.

Sometimes your shoulder declares war.

Sometimes the scales go up.

And sometimes…

You simply laugh because the alternative is launching the scales through the bathroom window.

So…

Week 51…

You win this round.

Enjoy it.

Because JABatha is coming back swinging.

Well…

Not literally.

The shoulder won’t allow it just yet.

(Still nearly 30 lbs lighter. Still refusing to let one bad weigh-in define the journey. Still powered by sarcasm, Hydrava and sheer bloody-mindedness.)

With Love,

JABatha Christie