“Why do I have to finish dinner when you don’t have to daddy?”
Adam was reacting to me not finishing my meal – something we don’t really let him or his brother do. But my doctor had prescribed a new medication for my diabetes – Ozempic – so as you probably know, my appetite isn’t the same. After being on the medication for a few months now, I’ve learned many things aren’t the same: how I feel, eat and, most interestingly, how I communicate with others.
Adam saw this as me wanting him to “do as I say, not as I do,” which he deemed unfair (fairness with a 4-year-old is a whole other column). We talked about it and moved on, but the questions were only the beginning.
When my medication was changed, I never really planned to talk about it, because I didn’t know what to say. But because of the reactions I’ve been getting from others, here I am. Talking about it. I’ve spent enough of my younger life worrying about being judged and keeping things to myself, often to my own detriment. I’ve found being honest about my struggles sometimes can help myself just as much as others.
I’ve found people have very different approaches to managing their care and health, obviously. They also have different approaches to how much they talk about it – or don’t.
When it comes to taking Ozempic, I never thought to hide it. And the few times when I would break the ice and open up about my current medication, it led to some really meaningful and often deep conversations. Selfishly, I’ve been able to learn a lot from others, including how they feel on the medicine, foods they avoid, tips about when to take it and other suggestions that I didn’t even consider. That’s been helpful.
In other conversations though, some have nervous fun with it and make quick jokes (one person asked if the jingle for one of the medicines was stuck in my head). It’s nothing harmful, but they just seem unsure what to say. Others have serious questions I know will impact their own health decisions, whether they’ve been thinking about taking it or talking to their doctor. Their questions mean a lot because I know it means they trust me. It can be difficult for someone to talk about their own health decisions and here they were opening up to me.
Then there are others who I suspect are taking the same medication (or something similar), but they choose to keep that to themselves. I don’t pry, because it’s not my business if they don’t want it to be, but it’s also hard when I’m open and it’s not reciprocated.
But the most impactful conversations have been with people who did open up, sharing how judged they felt at first. They talked about how they chose to not say anything until someone else, like me, started the conversation. I’ve fought my own mind on feeling judged for much of my life, so I felt that on a personal level.
Others have talked about how they’re not used to hearing positive comments about their appearance. They struggled not really knowing how to handle the complimentary words. I could relate, because I don’t handle compliments well either. I don’t know what to say when someone comments on my appearance. That was one of the things I found most unfortunate. It made me think we might want to say something nice to others a little more often.
The experiences I’ve had while on this medication, the lifestyle changes I’ve made – and especially the conversations I have been privileged to be in – have all been extremely meaningful. It’s led me to talking more with the boys, learning more about healthier options and becoming closer to some people because we trusted each other enough to share our personal health challenges. But the biggest thing I’ve discovered has been eye opening: While I’m comfortable being open about my own health, everyone is on their own journey, moving at their own pace, for their own reasons. I don’t judge, I don’t question, I just observe. I’m here to talk about it with whoever would like to. Or not.
