Week 53 Weigh-in - dose 7.5mg

Jul 20
4 min read

Weekly Weigh-In: Week 53 - The Incredible Shrinking JABatha Strikes Again

Weekly loss: 2 lbs

Total loss: 35.5 lbs (16.1 kg)

Well…

Would you look at that.

Another two pounds have packed their bags, left without paying rent, and disappeared into the witness protection programme.

At this point I’m convinced my fat is secretly emigrating.

When I got ill with Long Covid, PoTS and OH, life threw me a plot twist that absolutely nobody ordered.

One minute I was happily jabbing away on Mounjaro…

The next I was spending my days horizontal, measuring blood pressure like it was my new full-time profession and wondering if standing up was perhaps a hobby I’d have to retire from.

Then came the decision to pause on 5mg.

Cue dramatic music.

I genuinely thought…

“Well that’s it. Here comes all 35 pounds wearing matching tracksuits and carrying suitcases full of carbohydrates.”

Every morning I expected my scales to greet me with…

“WELCOME BACK, OLD FRIEND.”

Instead…

Nothing.

Then I restarted.

Then I waited.

Then…

BOOM.

Another 2 lbs gone.

I’m now almost back to where I was before everything went sideways, which honestly feels like a bigger victory than the number itself.

Considering my daily exercise consists of:

Walking to the kettle.

Walking back from the kettle.

Occasionally chasing Molly because she’s stolen something she absolutely shouldn’t have.

…I’ll take that.

Things I’ve now officially lost…

35.5 lbs so basically nearly 36!

Which sounds nice.

But let’s convert it into proper Jabatha measurements.

I’ve lost approximately…

322 potatoes

Imagine peeling those.

No thanks.

About nine British Shorthair kittens.

Molly and Ruby are looking at me like…

“Excuse me… where have our cousins gone?”

Around 18 large bottles of Coke.

Which is ironic because if I’d actually drunk 18 bottles of Coke I’d probably have found all the weight again.

Roughly two bowling balls.

No wonder my knees don’t file daily HR complaints anymore.

A medium-sized Christmas turkey.

I’ve basically been carrying Christmas Dinner around with me for years.

Nearly 730 standard house bricks’ worth? No, wait - that’s wrong.

This is exactly why nobody lets me teach maths.

Let’s stick to…

One very chunky Border Collie.

Approximately 80 supermarket watermelons.

Actually…

No.

I’ve made that up too.

Clearly the remaining body fat contained my maths skills.

One emperor penguin.

Somewhere in Antarctica there’s a penguin wondering why he’s suddenly freezing.

Sorry mate.

A fully loaded cabin suitcase.

Which explains why airport security would now probably let me walk straight through.

“Anything to declare?”

“Only improved cardiovascular efficiency.”

Speaking of airport security…

I’m genuinely excited about holidays again.

Last year I’d have been wondering whether I’d fit comfortably into the aeroplane seat.

Now I’m wondering…

How many cocktails can I drink before my other half starts pretending he doesn’t know me?

Growth.

Meanwhile…

My wardrobe has become absolute chaos.

Every week I put something on and discover…

“Oh…

Apparently this is now a tent.”

At this rate I’m going to have to start shopping in reverse.

Usually people size up.

I’ve become that annoying person asking…

“Do you have this in… smaller?”

Who even am I?

The scales have also become emotionally confusing.

Every Sunday morning now looks something like this…

Step on.

Step off.

Step back on.

Move the scales.

Take socks off.

Blame the floor.

Stand again.

Take a deep breath.

Question physics.

Celebrate.

Eat scrambled eggs.

The cats remain completely unsupportive.

Molly:

“Have you considered giving me second breakfast instead?”

Ruby:

“I’m happy for you but could we focus on my snack requirements?”

Honestly, I’ve received more emotional encouragement from my kettle.

The funniest part…

People still ask…

“So… are you finished now?”

Finished?

FINISHED?

Have you met my body?

My hormones still wake up every morning and choose violence.

PoTS still thinks standing up is an extreme sport.

Long Covid still likes throwing surprise episodes into my diary.

Perimenopause occasionally joins in because apparently she’s not busy enough ruining everyone else’s lives.

This isn’t a finish line.

It’s maintenance.

It’s patience.

It’s consistency.

And occasionally it’s lying flat on the sofa because gravity has become a personal enemy.

One thing this journey has taught me…

Progress isn’t always measured by what disappears.

Sometimes it’s measured by what comes back.

Confidence.

Energy.

Hope.

Believing your body isn’t working against you forever.

Being able to look in the mirror and recognise yourself again.

That bit is worth infinitely more than the number on the scales.

(Although I won’t lie… seeing another -2 lbs did result in a tiny victory dance that almost triggered my PoTS. Worth it.)

Current status report:

Weight:

Another 2 lbs gone.

Body:

“We’re nearly back where we were before the illness interrupted the programme.”

Brain:

“Excellent work. Let’s celebrate with cheese.”

Stomach:

“Remember gastroparesis? We don’t do reckless celebrations.”

Visible Band:

*“Slow down.”

PoTS:

*“Absolutely not.”

Me:

“Fine… I’ll celebrate by buying smaller jeans instead.”

Week 53 complete.

35.5 lbs (16.1 kg) gone.

One whole year into this wonderfully weird adventure, and somehow I’m still here…

Still jabbing.

Still laughing.

Still making terrible weight comparisons.

Still confusing my scales by standing on them seventeen times.

And still proving that even when life hits pause, progress doesn’t necessarily disappear.