This month (November 2025), the White House announced a deal with Novo Nordisk and Eli Lilly & Company to lower the cost of weight-loss injections for certain Americans while expanding coverage under Medicare and Medicaid.
Full disclosure: I’m a proud member of the Pinch-and-Poke Club. Not by choice. I’ve been prescribed Mounjaro to manage my diabetes and, fingers crossed, shed a few pounds along the way.
Once upon a time, I was an active, healthy mom who never skipped her daily three-mile walk. I cooked for my family at least six days a week so I could keep a tight rein on what went into our mouths. Everything was cruising along just fine, until a routine procedure flipped my world upside down.
For thirteen years, I was part of the living-room furniture. When I wasn’t at yet another doctor’s appointment, I was at physical therapy or recovering from the last round. Taking a shower could wipe me out so badly that I couldn’t lift my arms to get dressed. My days revolved around budgeting energy; some “breaks” lasted all day. The sicker I got, the more pounds I packed on, and with the weight gain came a delightful assortment of other “gifts.” My blood pressure was through the roof, my cholesterol numbers were out of control, and my blood sugar soared. All of these conditions were blocking me from a back surgery I desperately needed.
Then came a miracle disguised as a doctor. My new physician, an angel among mere mortals, sent me to a nutritionist who micromanaged every bite and prescribed a trusty little needle called Mounjaro. In just two months, I slashed my blood sugar by four points, finally earning my ticket to the back surgery I’d been waiting for.
I’m not back to normal and never will be. I’ve got enough metal in my spine to double as a Transformer. My family jokes about using me as a cell-service antenna, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t break out in a cold sweat every time lightning strikes nearby. But I’m figuring things out. My life is a thousand times better, but it will always be a work in progress.
So why share all this? Because I’m not some bitter old bat, green with envy over all the “Skellingtons” strutting around with their hollow cheeks and ghostly pallor. I live the pinch-and-poke lifestyle.
Let’s face it: broccoli is boring, jogging is overhyped, and willpower is overrated. Many are swapping out the treadmill for a weekly jab of “slim-down serum.” Sure, Ozempic, Mounjaro, semaglutide, tirzepatide, take your pick, sound like the lazy person’s golden ticket to shrinking pants and dropping pounds. But maybe this so-called “easy way out” isn’t all that easy. There’s a world of difference between actually getting healthy and simply strong-arming your body’s appetite controls.
These meds are like having a personal bouncer for your appetite, shoving temptation out of the club. They slow your digestion, make you feel full longer, and trick your brain into thinking you’ve eaten enough. Go ahead, polish off a whole bag of Doritos (I like mine drenched in that tangy sour-cream goodness), and your brain will shout, “Enough!” Nutritional value? Pfft. Who cares? You’ll stop eating anyway. Sounds like a no-brainer, right?
Not so fast.
Skinny ≠ Healthy
First things first, kick that idea to the curb that skinny automatically means healthy. It doesn’t. Plenty of slim folks battle heart disease, diabetes, and chronic fatigue. Health isn’t a number on your scale or a tag on your jeans. The truly healthy shine from the inside out: they’ve got energy, clear skin, and a body that actually feels good to live in. So stop confusing skinny with strong.
The Shots Heard ‘Round the Belly
These meds come in handy little pens, EpiPen’s cooler cousin. You jab them into the fatty bits: upper arm, thigh, or straight into the jelly roll. Pinch, poke, and poof, let the fat-burning fiesta begin!
Until, of course, the side effects crash the party.
Almost immediately, I was hit with nausea so brutal my doctor prescribed anti-nausea meds just so I’d eat again. Fabulous diet plan, right? Ten out of ten, would not recommend. Did I drop any weight? Nope. But my blood sugar was angelic, even as I felt like a horror-movie extra 24/7.
Then came the headaches and body aches. My migraine meds became my new candy, and my legs felt like they’d been steamrolled. My arms? Useless. But since my blood sugar was on its best behavior, I soldiered on.
Fatigue? Check. Lack of appetite? Double-check. Two bites of chicken and I was done for the day. Don’t even get me started on the stomach pain that followed a single slice of pizza or sip of a milkshake on cheat day.
This is, hands down, the least glamorous medication on earth. My body was a dumpster fire; my mind, a mess. I was haunted by the thought of developing rickets just because I couldn’t stomach a salad.
Welcome to the Haunted Mansion: “Ozempic Face”
Let’s pause for a sec, malnutrition, gaunt, drawn, emaciated. Those are the real buzzwords behind the oh-so-trendy “Ozempic face.”
Before I joined the club, I’d never seen it in person. Then one day, scrolling through photos of old PTA friends on Facebook (oh hush! We all do it!), I stopped cold. “What happened to them?” I asked a friend. She shrugged. “Ozempic face.”
Really? Is the quest for thinness so intense that looking half-mummified is the new badge of honor?
Here’s the deal: when women shed pounds at lightning speed, their skin can’t keep up. That trusty fat layer beneath your skin acts as nature’s filler. When it vanishes overnight, your face sags, your glow goes missing, and gray undertones move in like an uninvited guest. So yes, the pounds disappear, but so does your vibrance. Talk about trading one problem for another.
A Temporary Fix, Not a Forever Friend
These fat-melting needles were never meant to be forever friends. Most experts warn against staying on them for more than 2 years without major lifestyle changes. If you haven’t developed decent eating habits while taking them, congratulations, you’ve set yourself up for a spectacular disaster.
Believing you can gorge on garbage and still lose weight is a fool’s errand. A doctor should always manage these meds, and ideally, paired with a nutritionist who keeps you honest. But let’s be real, half the skeleton army are flying solo, buying their meds from sketchy online “pharmacies” and chatting up tele-docs for refills.
The real point of these injections isn’t vanity; it’s health. If a few lost pounds come along for the ride, great, call it gravy on your mashed potatoes. But don’t kid yourself. This isn’t magic. It’s a tool. Use it wisely.
The After-Party Nobody Talks About
Two years fly by fast, and when the shots stop, the fun ends abruptly. Research shows your appetite doesn’t just return, it skyrockets. GLP-1 hormone levels nosedive, hunger soars, and suddenly you’re raiding the pantry like it owes you money. It’s “easy come, easy go” in cruel, metabolic form.
Without the meds, your body’s appetite controls go on strike, making maintenance a Herculean task. Relying solely on injections is like building your health castle on quicksand, unstable and destined to sink.
My One-Year Check-In
One year later, I’m still taking Mounjaro. My blood sugar? Perfect. My weight loss? A modest eight pounds, and that’s with effort. I have a meal service for dinner, two smaller meals for breakfast and lunch (a dairy, a veggie, and a lean protein), and snack on nuts, beef sticks, and cheese. I’m meticulous about what I eat. And while I’m not as active as I’d like to be, I’m finding my “new normal.”
There are no guarantees and no such thing as a sure thing.
Final Thought
If you’ve been eyeballing the “get thin without the gym” vibe of these injections, ask yourself: is the temporary trim worth the long-term cost?
Nourish your body, move it in ways that feel good (you don’t have to be a gym rat), and let your health shine naturally, because no quick jab can replace the real, rewarding grind of true wellness.
It’s only worth it if you do the behind-the-scenes work.
The Creative Quill 
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