Let’s Talk About It…

Okay y’all, before anyone digs up the receipts from my last blog—yes, I did say I was moving forward with semaglutide. I meant it. I was organized. I had a whole plan, a checklist, a food schedule, water reminders, and my “let’s do this” attitude strapped on tight. I was ready to ride that wave straight to my goal weight and a new closet full of sassy size 10s.

But life—oh, life. It always has a way of showing up just when you think you’ve got it all figured out.

First came the coffee (w/ loads of cream) mishap. I drank it right before my bloodwork and the lab folks looked at me like I’d just eaten a cheeseburger on the way in. That little moment made me pause. Maybe it was just a random mistake. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was trying to tap me on the shoulder like, “Hey girl… maybe slow your roll?”

So I did what I always do when I feel that tug—I looked at it from all sides.

My general practitioner? She’s on board. No worries. She knows my history, my goals, and she supports me if I decide to use semaglutide. But my neurologist? Different story. He isn’t exactly waving red flags, but he’s got concerns—especially about the long-term effects. And not just for me and my MS, but for anyone using these meds long-term. And I respect that.

Truth is, I’ve had some nagging worries too. The potential for hair loss and muscle loss? That’s not nothing. But what really makes me nervous is the nausea. I already live with vestibular migraines—basically vertigo and nausea’s evil lovechild. I’ve had days where just getting upright feels like an accomplishment. Add medication-induced nausea on top of that? Pass.

So for now—I’m taking a step back. I’m going to focus on the plan I already made: eating clean, eating enough, eating with intention. Hydrating. Moving. Resting. Rinse and repeat. It won’t be as easy as having an appetite suppressant doing some of the heavy lifting, but I’m not afraid of hard. I’ve done hard before. Hell, I am hardwired for hard.

And if I change my mind again down the road? That’s okay, too. This isn’t me quitting. This is me pivoting. Listening to my body, my doctors, and that quiet little voice in my head that sometimes sounds like my Gramma saying, “You already know what to do.”

So no, I’m not jumping on the semaglutide train just yet. I’m staying on the Mary Jane plan. Because life is too short to pass out while tying your shoes. And if I’m going to go down, let it be from dancing in the kitchen or chasing a grandbaby—not because I couldn’t keep my breakfast down.

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