Week 1 on Ozempic: Syringe Staring, Pastry Regrets, and The Coffee Crisis

 

➕ Week 1 - Stats

• Ozempic Dosage: 0.25ml
• Start Weight: 116.3kg (256.4 lbs.)
• End Weight: 114.3kg (251.98 lbs.)
• Total Weight Loss: 2.0kg (4.41 lbs.)
• Exercise: I tried but my body failed
• Energy Level: Low but optimistic
• Mood: Nervous optimism with bursts of laughter
• Sleep Quality: Surprisingly restful after emotional exhaustion
• Mental Focus: Sporadic; overly fixated on syringes and thoughts of a tropical island
• Social Engagement: Minimal; avoided eye contact with cake on counter
• Self-Care: Coffee instead of wine; considered yoga but got distracted by Netflix
• Side Effects of Ozempic: exaggerated paranoia around syringes
• Time spent staring at syringe like it owed me money: 18 minutes, 34 seconds
• Number of times I considered quitting: 12 (including 1 serious contemplation involving a croissant)
• Total battle scars from syringe attempt: 2 (one literal, one emotional)
• Amount of inner monologue involving pastry-themed regrets: Approximately 87% of thoughts
• Water consumed vs. coffee consumed: 1:12 (but it’s progress!)

Victory! Or Is It?

Ladies and gentlemen, I have survived my first week on Ozempic. That’s right, I made it through seven full days without a single sugary treat passing my lips. 

No cake!

No chocolate!

No "just one little bite" that turns into an entire dessert buffet!

I basically walked past the bakery section in the grocery store like a soldier returning from battle, eyes weary but determined.

I am now officially a warrior of willpower—an elite, sugar-resistant machine! My self-control is unparalleled… 

except for the part where I still drink twelve cups of coffee a day, but let’s not dwell on technicalities. 

If caffeine consumption were an Olympic sport, I’d have a gold medal, a sponsorship deal, and my own line of branded mugs by now.

Also, my digestive system is currently engaged in a silent protest. Mild headaches made an appearance, but honestly, it was nothing compared to the sheer paranoia I experienced staring at that syringe like it had personally insulted my ancestors.

The Coffee Crisis: A Tale of Desperation and Determination

So, about the coffee. You know when people quit smoking, and they suddenly become insufferable to be around? 

That was me this week, but with caffeine. 

I used to drink around 20 cups a day (yes, I know, I should be studied by scientists), but I cut down to a measly twelve. And let me tell you, the headaches were relentless. I couldn’t tell if they were from the Ozempic, the coffee withdrawal, or the sheer existential dread of realizing that I’ve basically been functioning on pure caffeine fumes for the last 30 years.

To put things into perspective, my water-to-coffee ratio this week was approximately 1:12. But hey, progress is progress.

By mid-week, I started seeing things. Not hallucinations, but very vivid daydreams of frothy cappuccinos with caramel drizzle. I swear I smelled vanilla syrup in my sleep. I’m not saying I need help, but I might need an intervention!

In my more desperate moments, I actually considered adding artificial sweetener to my coffee just to trick my brain into thinking it was a treat. Then I remembered that I have taste buds and self-respect, so that plan was quickly abandoned.

Instead, I tried drinking my coffee slower, savoring every sip like a sommelier analyzing a fine wine. It lasted three sips before I was chugging it like a college student during finals week.

I even experimented with cutting down to ten cups—just to see if I could. 

By noon, I was slumped over my desk like a character in a tragic Shakespearean play, whispering dramatic farewells to my energy levels. 

I swear I could hear my brain cells staging a protest. It was at this moment that I realized: twelve cups is my baseline. Any less, and I become a shell of a human being.

The struggle is real, my friends. I fear that if I continue this treacherous descent into "normal" caffeine consumption, I may start experiencing strange side effects, like patience and reasonable bedtimes. We can’t have that.

So, for now, I remain devoted to my coffee ritual. And if anyone tries to convince me that I should cut it down further, they better be prepared to fight a very alert, highly caffeinated, and slightly unstable woman.

My Body Has Turned Into a Xylophone

I knew weight loss journeys required movement, but my body had other ideas. Every time I tried to do something even remotely active, my joints made a symphony of clicking noises that could probably be translated into an African dialect. 

I attempted a gentle stretch one morning, and my knee popped so loudly that my dog ran for cover. I stood up from the couch, and my hip made a sound that can only be described as "haunted house door creak." This isn’t exercise; this is ghost-hunting, and I am the possessed one.

Then came the ultimate betrayal. I bent down to pick up a sock from the floor, and my back let out a noise that can only be described as "a tree falling in the forest." I froze, contemplating whether I had just paralyzed myself or if this was merely my body's way of warning me that my warranty had officially expired.

At this point, I started questioning my life choices—was this what it meant to age? Was I slowly turning into the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz? Should I start carrying around a bottle of WD-40 just in case? Maybe start a GoFundMe for a new spine?

In any case, I made a mental note to gently reintroduce movement next week—perhaps something less ambitious, like waving at joggers from my front porch or dramatically gesturing while recounting my struggles to friends. That counts as cardio, right?

The Constipation Chronicles: The Battle of Bloat

Let’s talk about an unexpected side effect: the total shutdown of my digestive system. Apparently, Ozempic has decided that I no longer require… movement. You know what I mean.

By day four, I was contemplating whether I’d ever see the inside of a bathroom stall again. I started making bargains with the universe. "I swear, if this situation resolves itself, I will eat a vegetable. A real one. Maybe even broccoli."

I drank gallons of water, ate fiber, and paced around my living room like a woman possessed. 

Nothing!

At one point, I considered calling my doctor, but how do you phrase that conversation? "Hi, yes, I’m loving the weight loss, but could you please inform my intestines that they still have a job to do?"

By day five, I was googling "how much fiber is too much fiber?" and contemplating whether I needed to make a will. I caught myself staring wistfully at laxatives in the pharmacy aisle like they were the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.

On day six, I finally had a breakthrough (literally). Let’s just say it was an emotional moment. I nearly lit a candle in gratitude. I may or may not have whispered, "Thank you, sweet digestive gods," under my breath. I am now a believer in the power of hydration, fiber, and sheer desperation.

The Scale: My Unforgiving Frenemy

After a week of eating less, resisting cake, and enduring the aforementioned digestive stand-off, I stepped on the scale with a mix of excitement and dread.

114.3kg.

A loss of 2kg in one week!

My first thought? Finally! My second thought? WHY NOT THREE?!

Yes, I was immediately ungrateful. I wanted more. My inner dramatic diva emerged: "I have suffered, I have sacrificed, and this is all I get?!"

I envisioned the scale mocking me in a robotic voice: "Your suffering is noted but irrelevant."

Then I took a deep breath and reminded myself that this is a marathon, not a sprint. Also, I realized that if I threw the scale out the window, I’d have to explain to my neighbors why there’s a flying object coming from my bathroom. So, I calmed down, told myself that 2kg is a victory, and resolved to keep going—after all, the scale may be heartless, but I am relentless.

The Week Ahead: Less Clicking, More Moving

This week, I am embracing movement in whatever form my creaky joints will allow. Maybe a walk that lasts more than five minutes. Maybe a YouTube workout where the instructor is annoyingly perky but somehow motivating. Perhaps I’ll even stretch without fearing my hip will file for divorce.

I’ll also be experimenting with actual meals—because apparently, humans are meant to chew food. While my USN Dietfuel Ultralean shakes have been convenient, I also made an effort to include wholesome, nutritious meals this past week—lean proteins, fresh veggies, and even some whole grains. Turns out, there’s a world beyond blended sustenance, and my taste buds are finally rejoicing.

This week, I plan to continue balancing shakes with real food to curb the hunger pangs, exploring new healthy recipes, and hopefully finding options that don’t taste like sadness.

The road to me is paved with fewer lattes, a whole lot of fiber, and an occasional existential crisis over a scale. But I’m still here. I’m still trying. And that, in itself, is worth celebrating.

👉 Tell me: What’s the hardest habit you’ve ever had to break? And more importantly, how many cups of coffee is too many cups of coffee? Asking for a friend…