Praise God and pass the Ozempic

Sure, I'm taking Ozempic. Aren't you? Isn't everybody?

OK, that's an exaggeration. There's also Zepbound and Wegovy and all those other drugs that belong to the GLP-1 class of weight-blasting tonics. Some folks take those instead (though really, just among us Ozempic users — we view those as cheap knock-offs, right? Like a restaurant serving Red Gold ketchup instead of Heinz. We've got the good stuff).

Thirty million Americans — one in eight — take GLP-1 drugs, which not only curb your appetite so you can be a svelter, happier, more successful you, but seem to offer a wide and expanding range of positive results, from quieting the howl of addiction to healing brain trauma. According to the rapidly building data, taking such drugs can cut your risk of heart attack or stroke by 20%. I mentioned to a young person of my acquaintance that I was taking Ozempic and he expressed an emotion not often heard when old people are cataloging their medicines: envy. Ozempic is supposed to keep you young, he said, wishing he could get some.

I believe that ship has already sailed for me. Though freezing the decline process at this point would be welcome.

All of this is relatively new. Ozempic received FDA approval in December, 2017. Researchers are dancing as fast as they can but, if, after 10 full years of use, Ozempic causes your head to tumble off your shoulders, then the joke will be on humanity, again. Remember another hugely popular drug that helps keep you thin, nicotine. People didn't figure out tobacco's lethality for 400 years after Europeans first embraced it. Millions still haven't.

Though given Ozempic's fat-busting abilities, we'll accept the occasional head bouncing down the sidewalk, giving it a quick soccer flick as we pass.

Despite dieting continually for the past half century — I've counted more calories than stars in the known universe — I would have never sought out Ozempic had Type I diabetes not fried my pancreas and a doctor suggested I might try it. Technically, Ozempic is used for Type II diabetes, to help your not-dead pancreas produce insulin, which doesn't mean much if the organ is merely decorative (There's a fun online shop for Type I diabetes t-shirts and various gadgets called "The Useless Pancreas.”) But apparently mine is still quivering, kind of — I seem to have what some call Type 1.5; doctors tend to shrug and mumble when pressed for details — so a GLP-1 drug might do some good.

Or not. I've taken Ozempic for over a year, with no result whatsoever except a couple weeks of constipation when I first started, cleared up by mixing MiraLAX into my morning coffee. I haven't lost any weight at all, which happens in about 10% of people using Ozempic.

But I haven't gained any weight either. People who take insulin — and I inject from one to four shots a day — often put on the pounds. So in my case, nothing happening might be a sign of progress.

Two important aspects should be addressed before this topic is gratefully abandoned. First, this is another example of the insured/uninsured divide. Ozempic will run around $1,000 a month if you pay out-of-pocket. With my insurance, it's $0 a month. If it cost money — my money — I would not be so sanguine about whether it works or not. Though with effort, or accepting a knock-off, you can cut that by half or even three-quarters. I'd rather live in a country where everybody has health insurance than a country building condos on the moon.

Second, I wonder how a slimmer nation will view obesity. For a while, the notion of fat-shaming was up there in the holy writ of political correctness. I'd no sooner suggest someone was fat than fling a racial slur. Now that the utopia of universal slenderness is being approached, abrupt thinness might be seen as an undesirable state — there's already a term, "Ozempic face," for celebrities who are ridiculed for the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks that come from rapid weight loss (poor Katy Perry, the celebrity everybody loves to ridicule, is the poster girl for Ozempic face).

Myself, I weigh 40 pounds more than my adult low, graduating college at 148, and 40 pounds less than my continually pounding back Jack-on-the-rocks high. Which seems a sweet spot to be content with until nature steps in with the final, irreversible weight loss regimen.

Regarding the whole topic, I defer to a line from "Light on in the Kitchen," Ashley McBryde's warm country ode to parental wisdom and love: "There's more to life than being skinny/If you feel fat, it's mostly in your mind."