I once remarked semi-seriously that my epitaph should read: “He Wanted To Be Thin.’’ Well, here’s my chance.
As you know, a new class of weight-reducing wonder drugs has been visited upon us. Known by trade names such as Ozempic, Wegovy, and others, these GLP-1 agonists have dramatically reduced obesity for diabetes patients, and their use has quickly broadened into popular culture. Jaunty “Oh, Oh, Ozempic!’’ ads seem to be everywhere.
Roughly one in eight adult Americans say they are taking the drugs. Of those roughly 26 million patients, four out of ten are using them for weight loss, not to address a chronic condition like diabetes.
Taking a drug beats the heck out of fasting, weighing portions before meals, or sticking to a diet of home-delivered meals. The headline on one recent poll read: “37% of Gen Z skipping the gym, going straight to Ozempic.’’
What’s more, the Ozempic-class drugs seem to address an ever-increasing panoply of maladies, including sleep apnea and addictive behavior such as compulsive gambling. A recent article in New Scientist magazine reports that two current agonist trials in treating Alzheimer’s disease “could mark a breakthrough in treating this intractable condition.’’
The patient base seems certain to grow, and fast. The reported side effects seem statistically tolerable, and the agonists share one trait with almost all weight-loss schemes — when you stop taking the pills, you start to regain lost weight.
The drugs now cost between $1,000 and $2,000 a month, but private and public insurers face increasing pressure to cover more of the charges. The GLP-1 agonists won’t be cheap any time soon as generic versions remain far in the future: The US patents for Ozempic and Wegovy won’t expire for another six or seven years.
It is true that I have always wanted to be thin. I’m not officially obese, but with a so-called Body Mass Index of 28, I am deemed “overweight.’’ My health is OK. My body weight is more of a vanity thing. A lifetime of transitioning from the “Husky’’ section of Sears children’s clothing department to the “comfort fit’’ trousers options in mail order catalogs has taken a toll.
But unless they start adding GLP-1 agonists to the water supply — pretty darned unlikely right around now — I won’t be taking Ozempic or its lookalikes.
Why not? For starters, it’s no crime to entertain a healthy ambivalence about heavily hyped wonder drugs, especially in the weight-loss sphere. (Remember fen-phen?) I am, after all, the guy who quit eating meat and milk fats to avoid taking statins, so far successfully.
Having said that, I’m no Christian Scientist; I will take drugs when I need them. I’m vaxxed to the max, and I’ve ingested plenty of post-operative Oxycontin in my day. It works like a charm. Yes, I am a tad skeptical about the anti-Purdue Pharma jihad, but I’ll save those opinions for another outing.
A doctor once shot me up with Toradol for excruciating kidney stone pain, and the next few hours were among the happiest of my life. High as a kite, I dialed a half-dozen friends and told them I loved them. So yes, I have lived better pharmaceutically.
But cosmetic and lifestyle drugs don’t interest me. Sure, I’d like to happier — who wouldn’t? — but I’m not going to take a pill to get me there. I can never forget Aldous Huxley’s description of the societally approved mood drug “soma’’ in his 1932 novel, “Brave New World:’’ “All the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects.’’
My weight concerns mainly injure my considerable vanity, and I’m not about to outsource my self-esteem issue to Big Pharma if I don’t have to. At the end of the day aren’t we the sum of our imperfections? I’m not sure I would feel alive without them.
Alex Beam’s column appears regularly in the Globe. Follow him @imalexbeamyrnot.