Sometimes, when you know a change is coming, the anticipation itself can create other sorts of change.
Regular Dispatch readers might remember a few issues back—in Will Ozempic Kill Movie Theaters?—when I explored how the possibility of 10% of the U.S. population going onto GLP-1 weight-loss drugs like Ozempic might be the final nail in the collective coffin of moviegoing.
That piece was part of broader research we’re doing at the Center for the Digital Future about how Ozempic (and other weight-loss drugs like it) will have second-order impacts (movie theaters, sporting events, concerts, restaurants, adult beverages, travel, fashion) that go far beyond their expected deep impact on healthcare. We’re about to go into the field with a national survey, and I’ll report back soon.
This issue, though, I want to explore a more personal Ozempic journey: my own.
I have Type 2 diabetes as well as other maladies that are worse because I’m overweight. I’m lucky that I don’t need to give myself insulin shots, but it isn’t getting better. I tried a drug called Metformin that would have done more work to manage my blood sugar and also help me to lose weight, which would have been great, but it torched my stomach.
Since I took up swimming several times each week, my general health has improved (and my knees don’t hurt, which—after being a competitive fencer in my youth and slamming my knees into concrete over and over—is amazing), but my weight hasn’t budged, which means neither has the diabetes.
One important secondary benefit of GLP-1 drugs like Ozempic is weight loss. Wegovy, the no-diabetes weight loss drug made by Novo Nordisk, is the identical substance as Ozempic, just at a higher dosage. Likewise, Eli Lilly’s Mounjaro is for diabetes, and Zepbound, the identical substance, is just for weight loss.
At my annual physical a couple weeks back, I talked with my doctor about whether it’s possible that I could trade several drugs (all for health problems made worse by weight) for one Ozempic shot each week. He said it was, and we decided to give it a try. I’m now waiting for insurance authorization, which is likely—another way that I’m lucky (probably) since out of pocket Ozempic can cost up to $1,300 per month (yikes).
I haven’t even started Ozempic, but it has already changed my life.
What most people on weight-loss drugs report is that the drugs silence ongoing “food noise” in their heads. They still enjoy the taste of food, but they don’t eat as much. Between meals they don’t have tiny voices crooning, “y’know what would be good right now? A burger, fries, and a shake… and then lunch!”
Since I decided to try Ozempic, my food noise has gotten louder.
We were in L.A. visiting family, and my son wanted to go to In-N-Out Burger, which is what right-thinking 19 year olds want to do. While standing in line I kept thinking, “what will happen when I’m on Ozempic? Will I still want to do this with my boy?”
There’s no mystery about why I’m overweight: I love food. All sorts: savory, sweet, carbs, salads… the only thing I don’t like at all is spicy food (as I’ve recently described in detail). As I’ve gotten older, I’ve only come to love more kinds of food: I still love the things I loved as a kid, and now I also like sushi, vegetarian, and a lot of other things I would have found icky decades back.
The idea that this love of food will just go away is scary. Loving food is a big part of who I am, so who will I be once I start taking a weight-loss drug that quiets that love of food?
I find myself pre-mourning the coming death of my love of food with every meal. Last night, La Profesora and I had a light dinner because we’d enjoyed a late lunch. I made myself a tuna melt… but after Ozempic will I just think, “nah,” and skip it altogether?
I want to be healthier, to lose weight, to take fewer meds, and I also like the idea that some of my mental bandwidth devoted to food will cascade into other topics, but I already forget to eat when I’m concentrating… will that get worse? I’m investigating high-protein shakes because people on GLP-1s need to push protein to hold onto muscle mass.
Still scarier, I worry about what Ozempic might do to my other desires. Does the drug only turn down the contrast on my food noise?
What will happen to my desire to write articles like this one? To keep working on the novel I’m writing? To correspond with friends? To watch television? To go to the theater?
Will I still want to read books?
In life, there are two kinds of change: the expected and the unexpected.
When you get married, adopt a pet, buy a house, have a kid… you know these things are coming ahead of time, although that foreknowledge never really helps you avoid the numberless surprises that come with those changes.
Then there’s the unexpected changes: a new opportunity or sudden loss, and old friend moving away or a new neighbor becoming a friend.
For me, going on Ozempic will bring expected but unpredictable changes. I’m eager to get started.
I’m also nervous.
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* Image Prompt: A picture of an open suitcase on a California king-sized bed with a brown duvet. The suitcase is half filled with clothes, toiletries, black running shoes, and a hardback book peeking out from under a red hoodie. Sun is shining onto the bed from the windows, which are not visible.
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