All the Reasons I Didn’t Want to Try a GLP-1 Diet (a.k.a. My Love Letter to Food and Mild Hypochondria)
Dear Diary (just kidding—but also not kidding),
Let’s just start with this:
I. Love. Food.
Not in a quirky, “oh haha I can’t resist a biscuit” kind of way. I’m talking soul-deep, makes-me-emotional, food-is-my-favourite-hobby love. If carbs were a man, I would’ve married them long before “the husband” came along.
So, when I first heard about GLP-1 medications like Mounjaro, I laughed. Hard. Out loud. Alone in my kitchen. And then I said, “Absolutely not.”
Because let’s face it—injecting myself with something that might make me sick and stop me enjoying food? Erm, pass me the custard creams and jog on, thanks.
Here are just a few of the reasons I was firmly in the “Nope” camp:
🥴 The horror stories.
People online talking about vomiting, stomach cramps, being glued to the loo... Honestly, if I wanted that experience, I’d just eat dodgy prawns.
🤢 Needles.
I'm not scared of a lot, but willingly jabbing myself with a needle every week? I’m more likely to wrestle a spider out of the bathtub while blindfolded.
💸 The cost.
Let’s be real—it’s not exactly pocket change. It’s more like “there goes the Pret subscription, the impulse buys at Boots, and three months of pretending I don’t need a budget.”
👀 What will people think?
You know that voice in your head that says, “Oh great, another failed diet?” Mine practically hosted a TED Talk on the subject.
🍽 Family meals.
I didn’t want to cook separate food, explain myself, or start some weird one-woman dinner theatre about “why Helen isn’t eating the lasagna.”
But then... something changed.
Actually, everything changed.
Enter: Lymphedema, Stage Left 🎭
I’ve lived with lymphedema for years. And not the “oh I retain a bit of water” kind. No. This is the “legs like actual tree trunks, painful to walk, can’t see my knees” kind.
They don’t show you this bit on the leaflets.
It’s not just how it looks (though, elephant legs aren’t exactly trending on Pinterest). It’s the pain. The hopelessness. The feeling that your body is slowly locking you out of life.
I had this vision of my future: housebound, on a mobility scooter, getting heavier and heavier, and thinking… this can’t be it. This cannot be it.
And then I read something.
A doctor mentioned hundreds of people with lymphedema finding relief on GLP-1 meds. Relief. As in, less pain, more movement. More life.
That was the dealbreaker. The turning point. The moment I said: “OK fine, maybe I’ll just look into it (whilst simultaneously Googling ‘can I die from Mounjaro?’ because balance).”
The Hunt Begins 🕵️♀️
I didn’t qualify for NHS treatment (cheers, BMI of 45.1—you’ve been consistently unhelpful), so I started researching private options.
And let me tell you, finding a reputable pharmacy that doesn’t feel like it’s run from a garden shed is not easy. But eventually, I found one that actually talked to me like a human. Answered my endless questions. Didn't try to upsell me collagen powder or give me vague advice like “just trust the process.” (I trust cheese, I don’t trust vague.)
So I ordered.
The Day It Arrived 🎁
The package came the next morning (which felt suspiciously like Christmas, minus the tinsel and with added existential dread).
The delivery was slick—one-hour slot, chilled box, clear instructions.
Then came the moment:
The injection.
Reader, I panicked.
Why on earth did I think I could do this? I can barely pluck my eyebrows without flinching. I considered asking “the husband” to do it, but then imagined him chasing me round the kitchen with a needle while I screamed “THIS ISN’T LOVE!”
Eventually, I did it.
Just me, the needle, and a very deep breath.
And honestly? It was fine. Like, totally anticlimactic. Barely a sting. I felt like I should get a sticker and a lollipop.
So that’s where I am.
Day one of this brand-new chapter. No idea how it will go. But for the first time in a long time, I’m doing something bold—for me, my health, and my future.
Will I miss food the way I know it? Probably.
Am I still slightly terrified? Oh, absolutely.
But do I think this could actually change my life?
Yes.
More updates soon. You’ll get the real-deal—side effects, wins, wobbles, emotional cake cravings and all.
Because this isn’t about perfection. It’s about progress.
And I’m doing this. One small step at a time. 🦋
With love, hope (and maybe a leftover biscuit),
Helen x
One small step at a time.
