Looking in the mirror at my svelte silhouette in a flattering bias-cut dress, I can barely believe the reflection is mine.
I’m so pleased with my new frock for my work Christmas party but when the £50 cost left my account, I did shudder.
The reason I look so good in the dress is the very reason I can’t truthfully afford it. Over the past nine months I’ve been injecting myself with Mounjaro.
I’m thrilled with my weight loss. I’ve dropped from 18st and a size 24 to 14st and a size 16-18. I’m more than halfway to my target weight of 11st, with a further 3st to go. But it’s come at a cost. Literally.
I’ve got myself in credit card debt to the tune of £2,500 to pay for my syringes. It’s a figure that fills me with panic – particularly as the more my waistline shrinks, the more my debt balloons.
If I’ve spent £2,500 to get to this point, I’ve probably got to spend more than the same again to lose the remaining weight, especially since the price of Mounjaro almost doubled last September – so it will be in the region of £6,000, plus credit card interest.
And then there’s the question of how much I’ll have to pay to maintain my weight loss. I am terrified of returning to my old eating habits and so plan to keep up with the jabs – or at least a ‘maintenance’ dose – for the rest of my life.
I’ve made a financial commitment I can’t afford to keep. And yet, the rewards for my figure and confidence have been so great I can’t bear to give up the jabs. I’m not, as you might assume, some financially illiterate fool.
Emma Donaldson has dropped from 18st and a size 24 to 14st and a size 16-18, and is now more than halfway to her target weight of 11st
On Valentine’s Day last year, Emma threw a grenade into her finances. As she was getting dressed to go out, she caught sight of herself naked in the mirror and was horrified
Until now, I’ve never been in financial trouble, having always budgeted carefully. While I earn around £30,000 a year as a tutor, well under the national average salary, I do own my terraced house in Leicester outright, so there’s no mortgage to pay.
And while I’m in a relationship, I’m not married and don’t have any children, so my money is mine to spend as I like. But I also have no one to share the utility bills, council tax, food and car costs.
With repayments on a £10,000 car loan, it all adds up. While I can normally cover my expenses, there is very little to spare. And yet, on Valentine’s Day last year, aged 55, I threw a grenade into my finances.
I was getting dressed to go out when I caught sight of myself naked in the mirror. I was horrified – had I always been so fat?
Seeing myself that day – all 18st of me – I finally recognised what should have been apparent long ago: I was obese. With a BMI of 37, I was putting my health at risk.
My doctor had said for years that it was a case of when, rather than if, I would develop high cholesterol and high blood pressure. But until then, I’d remained wilfully blind to how large I’d become. Now, like so many other women my age, my mind turned to weight-loss jabs.
I asked my GP about getting the drugs on prescription on the grounds I was likely prediabetic.
But when he said ‘no’ – the NHS cut-off requires a BMI of 40 – I didn’t push it. After all, my obesity is totally down to my own choices.
So I contacted an online pharmacy and when I passed all the screening checks I didn’t think as hard as I should have about the long-term costs – or even the means to pay for it in the short-term.
With the jabs starting at £169 a month, I casually popped the payment on to a credit card, reasoning that feeling slimmer would be worth it. I was more nervous about giving myself the injection than I was about the cost, to be honest.
The irony is that, until that morning in February, I had spent most of my adult life telling everyone I was ‘fat and proud’.
As a teenager I’d been a beanpole – 5ft 11in and a size 10 – but I hated it. All the girls I knew had curvy, hourglass figures – boobs and bums – which men seemed to prefer. In attempts to mimic their figures, I ate what I wanted, when I wanted.
Eventually, my behaviour caught up with me. By the age of 29 I was a size 16. In my mid-30s I was an 18-20 – and by 40 I was a size 24. No matter what the ‘body positivity’ movement says, in reality being obese is unhealthy.
And unhealthy lifestyles can be lethal, as I learnt when my mum passed away. She wasn’t obese like me, but she did have a lifelong smoking habit.
Last Easter, I got into a relationship with a lovely man I met while volunteering at a charity shop. I wanted to be healthy for both of our sakes, although he likes me just as I am.
So Mounjaro seemed like a godsend. No dieting, just the pounds magically falling away.
Just 48 hours after that first jab, I noticed that the desire to polish off a packet of ginger biscuits at 11am had vanished.
The thought of reheating last night’s Chinese takeaway for lunch made my stomach churn. At the pub that Friday, I couldn’t finish my large glass of wine – unheard of for me. You might assume I’d be saving on my grocery bills as I’m eating so much less.
In fact, I’m spending more. Now I buy the best quality ingredients I can find and as a result, my weekly food bill has doubled.
I tell myself I deserve it after years of treating my body as a dustbin. Plus, it’s not worth forking out for Mounjaro if I don’t respect my new body. You wouldn’t put cheap fuel into a racing car, would you?
I’m also paying for swimming sessions and Pilates classes, as I want to get fitter. And because of my weight loss I keep needing to update my wardrobe because my clothes don’t fit.
All in all, the associated costs of using the jabs is an extra £600 a month. That’s £7,200 a year – a quarter of my salary.
I did have a bit of a panic when the cost of Mounjaro went up in September – as a result of ‘international price alignment’ – which nearly doubled my monthly syringes bill to £300. But I begged my credit card company to double my limit to £3,000 and it agreed.
However, I know I can’t rely on this for ever. For many people it might seem hard to justify going so much into the red, but I treat it like a loan for a car or an overdraft for home improvement. Why not go all out on ‘hire purchase’ for my figure and my health?
My friends have validated my choices in the same way. One framed my debt as a mortgage –an investment in my future.
That said, the mounting debt is keeping me awake at night. If I get an urgent vet’s bill for my cats or the washing machine or fridge breaks down, I will be in trouble.
But whatever happens, I will not stop taking the jabs.
In truth, I’m more terrified of the return of the constant compulsion to eat than I am of my debts. I’m doing as much work as is offered to me and I have started selling some of my paintings online.
I’ll nibble away at the debt over the next few years and hope and pray that the prices come down and I’ll get a windfall somehow.
It’s just a shame the compliments about my figure that come thick and fast aren’t legal tender.
- Find Emma’s artwork at artsper.com
- As told to SAMANTHA BRICK
