Stepping on the scales for the first time in 10 days, I saw the result I’d been fearing: I’d lost 21 pounds in under two weeks.
It was June 2025, and I was preparing to have my gallbladder removed. Despite the fact that I was in so much pain and had virtually no appetite, my hospital had put me on a strict, two-week diet to shrink my liver, to make it easier for the surgeon to access the gallbladder itself.
In the Ozempic era, rapid weight loss is seen as an overwhelmingly positive thing. But throughout that diet, I was terrified of losing it too quickly, and the impact it might have on my physical and mental wellbeing.
Sure enough, I soon started experiencing constant fatigue, brain fog, fragile emotions – my hairline even receded. My body wasn’t getting the nutrients it needed to function at a basic level, and my brain was paying the price.
Switching diets and restricting food, sadly, has become my new normal.
In the last two years, I’ve been managing symptoms of four chronic illnesses; during which time, I’ve struggled to maintain my weight.
At my slimmest, I was malnourished, and it took a massive toll on my mental health. I felt exhausted, quick to anger (or break down in tears) for seemingly no reason, and I was trying to push myself to function normally despite the brain fog.
I enjoy being a midsize, curvy woman – because fundamentally, that’s what healthiness looks like to me. But, two years on, my weight is still in a constant state of fluctuation, and the tiredness I feel is second-to-none.
My health woes began in June 2024. Unbeknown to me, I was living with gallbladder disease which was progressing to a dangerous level.
I had just one gallstone,but it was the size of a golfball and was preventing my gallbladder from working properly, which gave me frequent, excruciating pain attacks and had a domino effect on my appetite.
At the time, I took measures to eliminate all saturated fat and spicy food from my diet, as well as cutting down on alcohol.
I’ve never had any desire to stigmatise food for myself – but I developed a phobia of eating socially in case I’d suffer an attack while out and about.
Birthday meals and date nights became anxiety-inducing – and I’d often find myself leaving sooner than I wanted to.
My biggest fear was – and still is – pain, vomiting or diarrhoea coming out of nowhere, which happened on several occasions. I worry about everything from not having easy access to bathrooms, to how long I’ve spent in the bathroom itself.
While preparing to go out for my ex-partner’s birthday dinner last year, I started suffering from terrible stomach cramps and diarrhoea – which has become my new normal – and I spent the entire Uber ride to the restaurant shaking with anxiety.
‘What if my body betrays me?’ I thought. The pain wasn’t just something I could ignore, it was agonising. I managed to get through it, praying no-one would notice I barely touched my meal.
And, of course, I lost a lot of weight.
To anyone else, dropping from a size 18 to 12 might seem healthy – I was even praised by a neighbour who said I looked ‘great’ – but I was getting more and more frustrated with how physically weak and tired I was, all the time.
Gallbladder surgery was my light at the end of the tunnel. By the time I had to start my NHS-prescribed pre-op meal plan, I was already limited on food choices because of how much pain and discomfort I was in, and I was looking forward to being able to tuck into a gigantic roast dinner when I was well enough to do so.
Unfortunately, though, my health issues didn’t end there.
Two months post-op, I began experiencing more pain – this time at the very top, midsection of my stomach. Again, these were 10-out-of-10 on the pain scale, and would often result in violent vomiting. Sometimes it would start after a glass of wine; occasionally, it would be triggered by stress or a big, bloaty meal.
While my appetite wasn’t necessarily smaller, I was incredibly selective about which food I ‘allowed’ myself to eat. I subscribed to anti-inflammatory diets and would only stick to what I deemed to be ‘safe’ meals.
My symptoms stumped various GPs for months, and I was referred for a gastroscopy – a small camera fed through the throat, into the stomach.
In January 2026, I was diagnosed with stage three gastro-oesophagus reflux disease (GORD) as well as chronic oesophagitis (inflammation in my food pipe), and placed on a lifelong prescription of omeprazole, which decreases stomach acid production.
Even now, I’m in the middle of more abdominal investigations and a potential fourth diagnosis. Food of any type has been causing sudden, intense lower tummy cramps and diarrhoea on a daily basis for months.
My diet – if you can call it that – has been pared down to fruit, plain carbohydrates and protein. Fibre, while healthy and important for most, is a major trigger for me; and, without a gallbladder, I need to be careful about how frequently I tuck into a sweet treat nowadays.
I rarely eat takeaways and restaurants are mostly off-limits, because I need to be aware of every single ingredient.
As a foodie who used to feel genuinely ecstatic about trying new meals, it all feels like a bit of a cosmic joke. My chronic digestive illnesses are debilitating, and it can be exhausting trying to plan my days around them.
I feel like I’ve lost a little part of myself – the person who used to love a morning coffee and croissant, as well as a weekly takeaway without a care in the world, is long gone.
Constantly having to keep an eye on my body, in case it decides to freak out, is really fatiguing – and I wish it wasn’t my life.
My weight is still not stable, having recently lost seven pounds in under a month. My confidence now is tied to how physically strong I feel – all I want is to build muscle, not lose fat.
And so I despair when I hear people lauding skinniness as their ultimate goal. Though I appreciate (and feel endless empathy for) those who find Ozempic helpful for existing health issues, it’s hard to not feel frustrated when others treat it as a silver bullet.
Skinniness, often, isn’t actually the pinnacle of health. That certainly hasn’t been true for me.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing izzie.price@metro.co.uk.
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