I’ve come to accept that I’ll likely be on statins—and hopefully Mounjaro—for life, if I’m allowed to continue. I pay for Mounjaro privately because, despite having type 2 diabetes, a history of obesity, and high cholesterol, my starting levels weren’t considered high enough to qualify for it on the NHS.
Back when my BMI was 33.4 and my HbA1c was 80, I wasn’t offered any medication—not even metformin. So I took matters into my own hands. I went all-in on a zero-carb, intermittent fasting regime. It worked: I lost a lot of weight, brought my HbA1c down to 42, and my BMI dropped to 23. But it wasn’t sustainable. The weight crept back on, especially after starting statins, which triggered intense cravings and a bigger appetite.
Eventually, I started Mounjaro and things turned around again. My HbA1c is now 37, and my cholesterol has improved dramatically (from 7.6 to 3.9 mmol/L total cholesterol, and non-HDL from 6.4 to 2.7). These are numbers I’m proud of.
What frustrates me is that if I hadn’t worked so hard to lose weight on my own, I probably would have qualified for treatment sooner. But because I succeeded through diet alone, the assumption was that I didn’t need help. The truth is, I do. Diet alone didn’t work long-term. It was exhausting and unsustainable.
I’m happy to pay for Mounjaro because, honestly, what price can you put on health? For me, this isn’t about vanity—it’s about staying well, managing my diabetes, and avoiding complications. I just wish the system recognised that needing help doesn’t mean you’ve failed—it means you’re committed to staying healthy.